Chapter 12
Kael
I woke to the scent of her.
Not just the vanilla and steel I'd come to associate with Sarah Potter, lawyer and force of nature.
This was deeper. Richer. The scent of her skin after sleep, warm and slightly musky.
The lingering traces of our lovemaking—salt and arousal and something uniquely her that made my chest tighten and my pulse quicken.
She was curled against my side, one arm draped across my chest, her dark hair spilling over my shoulder. Her breathing was slow and even, her face relaxed in sleep in a way it never was when she was awake. No armor. No walls. Just Sarah, soft and vulnerable and utterly devastating.
I didn't move. Couldn't move. Because if I did, I might wake her, and I wasn't ready to let this moment end.
The morning light filtered through the thin curtains, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. Dust motes drifted lazily through the air. Outside, birds were starting their morning chorus, and somewhere in the distance, I heard the faint rush of the stream that ran behind the cabin.
It was peaceful. Perfect.
And it was killing me.
Because I knew—with a certainty that made my bones ache—that I was in serious trouble.
I'd seen this before. Watched it happen to Ruka when he'd met Jordan. The way his entire world had narrowed to her, the way he'd become obsessed with her scent, her voice, her presence. The way he'd looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered.
And Argon. Gods, Argon had been insufferable after meeting Tori. Couldn't focus on anything else. Couldn't talk about anything else. Every conversation somehow circled back to her—what she'd said, what she'd done, how she'd smiled at him.
I'd teased them both mercilessly. Called them whipped. Told them they'd lost their damn minds over human women who probably didn't even understand what they were getting into.
And now here I was, lying in a borrowed bed with Sarah sleeping against my chest, and I finally understood.
This was what a mate bond felt like.
The recognition that this person, this one female, was different from everyone else. That their scent was home. That their happiness mattered more than your own. That the thought of losing them made you want to tear the world apart.
I was obsessed with her.
Completely, utterly, dangerously obsessed.
And she had no idea.
Sarah shifted in her sleep, her hand sliding lower on my chest, and I had to bite back a groan.
Even unconscious, she affected me. Even now, with my mind screaming warnings about how this was temporary, how she'd made it clear this ended when we left the mountain, my body responded to her touch like she owned it.
Because she did.
She owned all of me, whether she knew it or not.
I carefully extracted myself from her embrace, moving slowly so I wouldn't wake her. She made a small sound of protest, her hand reaching for me even in sleep, and I had to force myself to step away from the bed.
If I stayed, I'd wake her. And if I woke her, I'd want her again. And if I had her again, I'd fall even deeper into this impossible situation.
So I left her sleeping and padded quietly into the main room.
The cabin was cold. The fire had burned down to embers overnight, and my breath misted in the air as I moved to rebuild it.
I worked methodically—clearing ash, adding kindling, coaxing the flames back to life—trying to focus on the simple, physical task instead of the woman sleeping in the next room.
It didn't work.
My mind kept circling back to her. To the way she'd looked at me last night when she'd proposed her rules.
To the vulnerability in her eyes when she'd admitted she trusted me.
To the sounds she'd made when I'd touched her, the way her body had responded to mine, the way she'd whispered my name like a prayer.
I'd had lovers before. Plenty of them. Human women who were curious about Orcs, who wanted the thrill of something different, something dangerous. Orc females who simply wanted to scratch an itch. I'd enjoyed them, pleased them, moved on without a second thought.
But Sarah wasn't like them.
Sarah was... everything.
And I was running out of time.
Two days. That's all we had left. Two days before Dr. Atkins's report came out and hopefully cleared my name. Two days before we had to leave this mountain and go back to our real lives. Two days before Sarah's rules kicked in and this—whatever this was—ended completely.
The thought made me want to put my fist through the wall.
I moved to the kitchenette instead, pulling out ingredients for breakfast. Eggs. Bread. The last of the bacon. I worked quietly, trying to lose myself in the familiar motions of cooking.
But even that reminded me of her.
The way I'd watched her make grilled cheese that first night, her expression softening when I'd admitted I'd never had it before.
The way she'd laughed when I'd eaten eight of them, her guard dropping for just a moment.
The way she'd looked at me across the table, maybe the first time she started to see me as more than just her client.
I cracked eggs into the pan with more force than necessary, watching them sizzle and pop.
This was supposed to be simple. A temporary arrangement. Physical pleasure with no emotional complications. That's what she'd said. That's what we'd agreed to.
But nothing about this felt simple.
Nothing about Sarah had ever been simple.
I plated the food and set it aside, then grabbed the axe from beside the door. Physical labor. That's what I needed. Something to burn off this restless energy, this growing panic that I was losing something I'd never really had in the first place.
The morning air was crisp and cold, my breath fogging as I moved to the woodpile.
I'd already chopped enough firewood to last us through winter, but I needed the distraction.
Needed the burn in my muscles, the satisfying thunk of the axe biting into wood, the simple, mindless repetition of the task.
I worked for an hour, maybe more, splitting logs with methodical precision. Sweat beaded on my skin despite the cold, and my shoulders ached in a way that felt good, grounding.
But it didn't help.
Because even here, surrounded by the scent of pine and earth and fresh-cut wood, I could still smell her. Still feel the ghost of her touch on my skin. Still hear the echo of her voice saying my name.
I was so far gone it wasn't even funny.
I thought about Ruka, about the way he'd looked at me when I'd asked him how he knew Jordan was his mate. He'd gotten this distant, almost pained expression, like he was trying to explain something that didn't have words.
"You just know," he'd said finally. "It's like... everything else fades away. Nothing matters except her. Her happiness. Her safety. Her presence. And the thought of losing her—" He'd shaken his head. "It's not something I can survive."
At the time, I'd thought he was being dramatic.
Now I understood.
Because the thought of leaving this mountain, of going back to my village while Sarah went back to her practice, of never touching her again, never hearing her laugh, never seeing that soft, unguarded expression she got when she thought I wasn't looking—
It felt like dying.
I brought the axe down harder, splitting a log clean in half.
This was insane. We'd only really known each other for what, a week? Before that, I didn't even like her, or at least pretended that I didn't. This was just... proximity. Adrenaline. The intensity of the situation making everything feel more significant than it was.
Except I knew that was a lie.
I'd been drawn to Sarah from the moment I met her. From the first time she'd looked at me with those sharp, intelligent eyes and seen through every bit of bravado I'd thrown at her.
She'd terrified me then.
She terrified me now.
But for completely different reasons.
I set down the axe and wiped sweat from my forehead, staring at the cabin. I could see the bedroom window from here, the curtains still drawn. She was probably still sleeping, exhausted from last night, her body needing rest after everything we'd done.
I wanted to go back inside. Wanted to crawl back into that bed and pull her against me and pretend we had more than two days. Wanted to wake her slowly, with kisses and touches, and lose myself in her again.
But that would only make this harder.
And it was already impossible.
I forced myself to stay outside for another hour, checking the perimeter of the property, making sure there were no signs of anyone approaching.
The isolation that had seemed like such a blessing now felt like a curse.
Because every moment we spent here, every touch, every whispered word, every shared laugh—it was all just making the inevitable goodbye more painful.
When I finally went back inside, the cabin was warm from the fire, and the smell of coffee filled the air. Sarah must have woken up and found the breakfast I'd made.
But she wasn't in the kitchen.
She was standing by the window, wrapped in one of the blankets from the bed, staring out at the mountains. Her hair was tousled from sleep, and she was wearing one of my shirts—when had she grabbed that?—the fabric hanging loose on her smaller frame.
She looked beautiful.
She looked like mine.
And I knew, with absolute certainty, that I was never going to be able to let her go.
"Hey," I said quietly.
She turned, and the smile that lit her face made my chest ache. "Hey yourself. You've been busy."
"Couldn't sleep."
"Me neither." She moved toward me, the blanket trailing behind her like a cape. "After you left, I mean. The bed felt... empty."
The admission was quiet, almost shy, and it undid me completely.
I closed the distance between us in three strides and pulled her into my arms. She came willingly, melting against me, her face pressed to my chest.
"Sarah," I said, my voice rough. "We need to talk about—"
"No." She pulled back just enough to look up at me, her eyes fierce. "We have two days left, Kael. Two days before this ends. I don't want to spend them talking about what happens after."
"But—"
"Please." Her hand came up to cup my cheek, and I leaned into the touch helplessly. "I know what I said. I know the rules. But right now, in this moment, I just want this. I want you. Can we have that? Just for two more days?"
I should have said no. Should have been the strong one, the rational one. Should have protected us both from the pain that was coming.
But I'd never been good at denying her anything.
"Yeah," I whispered. "We can have that."
She smiled, and it was sad and beautiful and full of things neither of us were saying. Then she took my hand and led me back toward the bedroom.
"Sarah—"
"I want you," she said simply. "Again. Now. Is that okay?"
Was it okay? Was she seriously asking if I wanted her?
I answered by lifting her into my arms, blanket and all, and carrying her to the bed. She laughed—actually laughed—and the sound was so perfect it made my heart stutter.
I laid her down gently, following her onto the mattress, and she reached for me immediately. Her hands found my face, pulling me down for a kiss that was slow and deep and tasted like coffee and promises we couldn't keep.
"Kael," she breathed against my mouth. "Make me forget. Make me forget everything except this."
So I did.
I worshipped her with my hands and mouth, learning every sound she made, every place that made her gasp or arch or whisper my name.
I took my time, even though urgency clawed at me, because I wanted to memorize this.
Wanted to burn every detail into my memory so that when this was over, I'd have something to hold onto.
She was responsive and eager, her inexperience giving way to confidence as she explored me in return. And when I finally slid inside her, when she wrapped herself around me and pulled me deeper, I felt something shift in my chest.
This wasn't just sex.
This wasn't just physical.
This was everything.
And I was completely, irrevocably hers.
We moved together slowly at first, then with increasing urgency, chasing pleasure and connection and something neither of us could name.
And when she shattered in my arms, her body trembling and my name on her lips, I followed her over the edge with the devastating knowledge that I'd never be the same.
Afterward, we lay tangled together, breathing hard, neither of us speaking.
Because what was there to say?
We had two days left.
And I was going to spend every second of them falling deeper in love with a woman I couldn't keep.