Chapter 10 Thalia
THALIA
Hours crawl by like wounded animals. I lie on the thin pallet that passes for a bed, staring at canvas walls that seem to press closer with each breath. Sleep refuses to come. Every time I close my eyes, I see golden fire and feel the weight of a thousand stares.
The marking burns along my arm—not painful, but present. Like a brand that reaches deeper than skin. I trace the delicate vine patterns in the darkness, watching them pulse with their own inner light. Beautiful. Terrifying.
Finally, I give up the pretense of rest and slide to my knees beside the pallet. The packed earth is cold against my shins, but I fold my hands and bow my head anyway.
"Harvest Goddess." My voice barely disturbs the air. "I don't understand why you've chosen me. I'm nobody. Less than nobody."
The marking flickers brighter, as if responding to my words.
"I've served faithfully. Kept my head down. Never asked for more than survival." My throat tightens around the words. "So why mark me? Why put this target on my back when tomorrow they'll probably decide I'm a fraud and execute me for blasphemy?"
Silence answers. But the golden light along my arm pulses steady as a heartbeat, warm against my skin.
"If nothing else," I whisper, "please let me sleep tonight. Let me have peace before whatever comes tomorrow."
The tent flap rustles.
I freeze, hands still pressed together, head still bowed. Wind, maybe. Or a guard checking to ensure I haven't fled like some common criminal.
But then the canvas parts with the soft whisper of fabric, and boots—heavy—step inside.
I turn, heart hammering against my ribs.
Galthan fills the small space like a storm cloud, his massive frame blocking what little moonlight filters through the entrance.
His dark hair hangs loose around his shoulders, no longer bound in ceremonial braids.
Battle leathers replaced by simple cloth that does nothing to hide the breadth of his chest or the scars that map his arms.
"I shouldn't be here." His voice is rough gravel, barely above a growl. Golden eyes find mine in the dim light, wild and restless. "But I can't stop thinking about you."
My breath catches. "You need to leave."
"I know."
He doesn't move. Neither do I.
We stare at each other across the small space, the air thick with unspoken words and dangerous possibilities. His chest rises and falls with each controlled breath, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands flex at his sides like he's fighting some internal battle.
"Galthan—"
He steps forward and drops to his knees beside me with surprising grace for someone so large. The movement brings him close enough that I can smell leather and steel and something uniquely him—wild and clean like mountain air.
One massive hand reaches toward me, hesitates, then gently touches the dark strands that have escaped my braid.
I should pull away. Should order him out before someone discovers us together. Instead, I sit frozen as his fingers trace through my hair with impossible tenderness.
Then his attention shifts to my marked arm, and his touch becomes reverent. One finger follows the golden vine pattern from my wrist upward, barely grazing my skin but leaving fire in its wake.
"Thalia." My name falls from his lips like a prayer, like a vow, like something sacred.
My heart pounds so hard I'm certain he can hear it in the silence.
The air inside the tent is charged, a tangible force that crackles against my skin. Galthan's golden eyes are pools of liquid fire, devouring me with a gaze that feels like a physical touch.
"Thalia," he rumbles, my name a sacred incantation on his lips. "You are a mystery I ache to unravel."
His words, so earnestly spoken, ignite a spark within me, one that I've spent a lifetime suppressing. I am want and need personified in this moment, and it terrifies me.
His hand cups my cheek, a gentle gesture so at odds with his formidable appearance. I lean into his touch, a silent plea for more of this unexpected tenderness.
And then, with a reverence that steals my breath, he closes the distance between us. His lips meet mine in a kiss that is both a claiming and a benediction. I am lost in the sensation, the fierce demand of his mouth coaxing responses from me that I never knew existed.
His hands roam my body, each touch a brand that sears my soul. I tremble beneath his exploration, my skin alight with a fever that only he can quench.
"Galthan—" I gasp as he lifts me effortlessly, settling me onto his lap. The hard ridge of his arousal presses against me, a potent reminder of his desire. He rolls his hips, and I can't help but mimic the motion, a desperate yearning building within me.
He breaks our kiss, his breath coming in ragged pants as he gazes at me. "You are exquisite," he murmurs, and I can feel the truth of his words in the heated caress of his eyes.
One hand slips beneath my shirt, his rough palm gliding over my stomach before cupping my breast. I arch into his touch, a soft moan escaping my lips as he teases the sensitive peak through the thin fabric of my bra.
"Galthan—I've never—" I cut myself off, uncertaintly filling me to the brim.
He stills, his gaze snapping to mine. "Never?" Disbelief colors his tone, quickly followed by a tenderness that brings tears to my eyes.
He lays me back on the pallet, his body looming over mine. "Let me take care of you, Thalia," he says, his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. "I will be gentle. I swear it on my honor."
I want to believe him, to trust in the promise etched in the lines of his battle-hardened face. But doubt gnaws at me. An orc, gentle? It seems an impossible contradiction.
Yet as he peels away my clothing, revealing my body to the cool night air, his touch is surprisingly soft. His lips follow the path of his hands, a trail of fire blazing in their wake.
When his face drops between my legs, I stiffen in surprise, a startled squeak escaping my throat. His large hands grip my thighs, holding me in place as he looks up at me.
"Trust me," he says, his voice steady and sure.
And then his mouth is on me, hot and wet and oh-so-skilled. I writhe beneath the relentless onslaught of his tongue, my hands fisting in the fabric of the pallet as he licks and sucks and drives me to the brink of madness.
The pleasure builds within me, a rising tide that threatens to sweep away all semblance of control. I am gasping for air, my body bowing off the pallet as he coaxes me closer and closer to the edge.
"Galthan!" His name is a prayer, a plea, as I shatter beneath his touch. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over me, leaving me trembling and spent in the aftermath.
He crawls up my body, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he takes in my sated form. "You are magnificent," he growls, and I can't help but believe him.
As I lie there, basking in the warmth of his praise, I can't help but wonder if the Harvest Goddess has blessed me in more ways than one.