Chapter 22
Riley
Warmth surrounded me, cocooning me in a bubble of contentment I hadn’t experienced in years.
I burrowed deeper into the feeling, not wanting to open my eyes and break the spell.
Dungar’s arm draped across my waist, his large body curved protectively around mine.
His steady breathing tickled the back of my neck, and I found myself matching my inhales and exhales to his rhythm.
Last night played through my mind, and I smiled as I remembered his tenderness, his strength, and the way he’d looked at me like I was everything he’d ever need in life. My body still hummed with pleasant soreness, reminding me of every place he’d touched, every inch he’d claimed.
I stretched, careful not to disturb him, and that’s when I noticed something on my inner wrist. I lifted my arm, squinting in the early morning light filtering through the blinds.
A perfect circular pattern had been etched into my skin. I traced the design with my fingertip. It wasn’t a tattoo. It seemed to exist beneath my skin, as though it had always been there and had simply chosen this moment to reveal itself.
A mating mark. Like the ones Dungar’s brothers shared with their mates. Like the one that had appeared on Dungar’s wrist when we first touched.
“You see it.” Dungar’s voice, rough with sleep, rumbled in my ear. He wasn’t asking a question.
I rolled over to face him, finding his dark eyes already open, watching me with an intensity that stole my breath. “When did this happen?”
He reached for my wrist, cradling it gently in his much larger hand. His thumb brushed over the mark, sending shivers up my arm. “Sometime during the night.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “We’re true mates.”
“You don’t seem surprised.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Did you know this would happen for me as well?”
“I hoped.” He brought my wrist to his lips, and his kiss on the mark made my entire body tingle.
He sat up, the sheet pooling around his waist, revealing his broad green chest. “The mating bond is sacred to orcs. It can’t be forced or rushed.
I let the fates decide if you’d wear it or not, but no matter what, we’re mates. ”
I studied his face, taking in the quiet satisfaction in his eyes, the subtle pride in the set of his jaw. He looked like an orc who’d won the lottery and was trying not to gloat.
“You’re awfully smug about this,” I said, fighting a smile.
“Am I?” He raised an eyebrow, his hand sliding around to cup the back of my neck. “Perhaps I’m just pleased that the woman I’ve been wanting since the moment she walked into my office is now officially mine.”
“Yours, huh?” I poked his chest. “Pretty presumptuous, Sheriff.”
“Not presumptuous. Accurate.” He leaned closer, his eyes darkening. “Just as I’m yours. The mark makes it official, but my heart had already decided.”
My heart stuttered at his words. This beautiful, meticulous, gentle giant of an orc was mine. The thought both thrilled and terrified me. Despite the mark on my wrist, despite the way my entire being sang at his touch, the truth remained unchanged.
Eventually, I might have to leave to keep him safe.
But I couldn’t bear to say it. Not with his eyes so full of hope and happiness. Not when his hands were gently pulling me onto his lap, his lips finding mine in a kiss that felt like coming home.
I wound my arms around his neck, melting into him, memorizing the feel of his skin against mine, the taste of him on my tongue. If our time was limited, I would cherish every second.
Our kisses deepened, and when his fingers stroked between my legs, I couldn’t take it anymore. I pressed him down onto the bed, marveling again at his size, at the trembling of his coorails I knew would soon give me pleasure.
Then I climbed onto my orc cowboy and gave us both an amazing ride.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked when we’d finished.
“How hungry I am. Feed me, orc-man.”
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. “As my mate commands.”
The word ‘mate’ sent another flutter through me, equal parts joy and apprehension. I pushed the latter away, determined to live in this moment.
Dungar slid out of bed, and I took a moment to appreciate the view. His powerful body moved gracefully as he retrieved a pair of pants from his dresser drawer.
I must’ve made a sound, because he glanced over his shoulder, catching me staring. “Does my body distract you, Deputy?”
“Terribly,” I said. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to focus on breakfast at all.”
“Then my plan is working.” He winked, and my heart did a somersault in my chest. This playful side of Dungar was new and utterly charming. “You take the bathroom first.”
“No, you can. I’m going to lay here a moment longer.” And continue savoring that view.
A shirt and clean loincloth in hand, he nodded and headed for the door, pausing to straighten a picture frame that hung slightly crooked on the wall.
Once he’d finished in the bathroom, I scooted into the room myself.
I stood at the sink, studying my reflection, searching for visible changes.
The woman who looked back at me seemed brighter somehow, her eyes clearer, her cheeks flushed with a happiness I hardly recognized.
The golden mark on my wrist gleamed, beautiful and impossible to ignore.
I touched it, wondering what it truly meant. Was it just a physical manifestation of the connection I already felt with Dungar, or something more mystical? Did it change anything about who I was, what I could do, what I had to do?
No answers came.
By the time I joined Dungar in the kitchen, wearing one of his shirts that hung to my knees, he’d already arranged ingredients on the counter. Chumble eggs, butter, cheese, and cragroot clumps formed a neat line.
“Chumble omelets?” I asked, sliding onto a stool at the island.
“With a side of sauteed cragroot.” He looked up from dicing one of the clumps. “I’ve been told I make the best fried cragroot in Lonesome Creek.”
“You’re modest, too,” I teased. “Need any help?”
“You could start the coffee.” He nodded toward the coffee maker that sat in its designated spot on the counter. “Remember. Three scoops, not four.”
“How could I forget?” I hopped down and moved to his side, deliberately brushing against him as I reached for the coffee canister. “Is that an official measurement, Sheriff?”
His hand caught my waist, steadying me. “I’ve conducted extensive testing to determine the optimal coffee-to-water ratio.”
“I’m not surprised.” I leaned into his touch, savoring the warmth of his hand through the thin fabric of his shirt. “Did you create a spreadsheet to track your results?”
“Two, actually.” His deadpan delivery made me laugh. “One for taste variables and one for brewing efficiency.”
I filled the coffee maker, conscious of his eyes on me, the weight of his attention a tangible thing that wrapped around me like a caress. When I turned back to him, his gaze had darkened, a hunger that had nothing to do with breakfast evident in his expression.
“My shirt looks so much better on you than me.” His voice had dropped an octave.
“Doubtful. But it smells like you.” I lifted the collar to my nose. “Pine and leather and something uniquely Dungar.”
He set down his knife and stepped toward me. His hands cupped my face with so much care it made me want to cry.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asked.
“Show me.” I tilted my face up to his.
He lifted me onto the counter, settling between my legs. His mouth claimed mine with a possessiveness that sent heat spiraling through my core. Unlike our previous kisses, this one held an edge of desperation.
I wound my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, exploring the expanse of his back under his shirt. His skin felt hot beneath my fingertips, the muscles jumping and flexing as I ran patterns across them.
His lips left mine to trail down my neck, finding the sensitive spot below my ear that made me gasp. One large hand slid beneath the shirt, spanning my ribcage, his thumb brushing the underside of my breast.
“Dungar,” I moaned, arching into his touch.
He pulled back, his breathing ragged. A mischievous smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Stop distracting me, Deputy. We have work to do.”
“You started it,” I whined, tugging at his shoulders to bring him back.
“And I’ll finish it.” He pressed a quick kiss to my lips. “Later. When we’re not standing in front of unchopped cragroot and uncooked chumble eggs.”
I groaned but released him, enjoying the flush that darkened his skin and the way his eyes kept drifting back to my bare legs. “Fine. But I’m holding you to that promise.” I hopped down from the counter, straightening the coffee mugs that had been jostled during our embrace.
We moved around the kitchen together, settling into a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing.
I whisked eggs while he finished chopping cragroot, passing ingredients to each other without needing to ask, anticipating each other’s movements in a dance that seemed choreographed by something deeper than conscious thought.
When the food was ready, we sat at the small table by the window, our ankles hooked together beneath it. Sunlight streamed in, catching in the golden mark on my wrist, making it shimmer.
“Tell me more about this,” I said, holding up my arm. “What does it mean, exactly?” We’d talked about it a bit, but he hadn’t said much. He may have been waiting for my mark to appear.
Dungar took a sip of his coffee before lowering his mug back onto the table. “The mating bond is ancient magic, older than the orc kingdom itself. It recognizes compatible souls and binds them together.”
“So it’s like orc marriage?”
“Similar, but deeper. More permanent.” His eyes met mine over the rim of his mug. “Orcs mate for life, Riley.”
The implications of his words hung in the air between us. The concept seemed simultaneously terrifying and exactly right.
“And it just happens without anyone asking?” I tried to keep my tone light, though my heart was racing.
“The bond forms naturally, but it requires acceptance from both parties to manifest physically.” He reached across the table, stroking his fingertip across the mark on my wrist. “You accepted me, even if you didn’t know you were doing it.”
Had I? I thought back to our night together, to the moment when pleasure had crashed over me like a tidal wave, when I’d felt more connected to him than I’d ever been with another person.
In that moment, I’d surrendered completely, not just my body but something deeper, something I hadn’t even known I could give.
“I did,” I whispered, turning my hand to lace my fingers through his. “I accept you, Dungar Bronish.”
His smile came like sunrise breaking over the mountains. “And I accept you, Riley James.”
His phone rang, breaking the moment.
He answered, his expression shifting to professional mode. “Greel. What’s the report?” He listened intently, nodding occasionally. “Nothing suspicious all night? Good. We’ll be heading in soon to coordinate the next steps.”
He ended the call, setting his phone down by his placemat. “No activity at the luminook pens overnight. Sel and Holly maintained surveillance for a few hours, then Ruugar and Beth took over.”
“So if whatever Joyce was planning involved the luminooks, it wasn’t last night. Tonight, maybe?” My mind was already shifting to deputy mode despite the lingering warmth in my chest. “Assuming her plans involve Lonesome Creek or the luminooks.”
“That’s my guess as well.” Dungar stood, collecting our empty plates and arranging them in a neat stack to take to the counter. “We should get to the office and review the surveillance footage again. See if we missed anything.”
I nodded, reluctantly sliding off my chair. “I’ll get dressed.”
His hand caught mine as I passed and he pulled me back against his chest. “Thank you,” he said against my hair.
“For what?”
“For being you. For being here.” His arms tightened around me. “For making me feel like I’ve finally found where I belong.”
The sincerity in his voice made my throat tighten. I turned in his embrace, rising on tiptoes to press a kiss to his chest. “Thank you for making me feel safe. I didn’t know how much I needed that.”
We dressed quickly, his hand at the small of my back as he passed, my fingers brushing his arm as I reached for my boots. Each contact sent a small thrill through me, the newness of our connection still fresh and exhilarating.
Outside, Treelee waited in the paddock, her big form silhouetted against the morning sky. She snorted a greeting as we approached, lowering her head to bump gently against Dungar’s chest.
“Good morning to you too,” he said, stroking her nose. “Ready for a ride?”
Treelee snorted again, pawing at the ground with one massive, clawed hoof.
Dungar swung me up onto her back and with one leap, settled behind me.
“Comfortable?” he asked, his chest a solid wall of warmth against my back.
“Very.” I settled against him, fitting perfectly within the circle of his arms.
With a gentle nudge of his heel, we set off toward town, the sorhox’s smooth gait carrying us at a pace that made the landscape blur around us. I leaned back into Dungar’s embrace, savoring the security of his arms around me, the steady beat of his heart against my spine.
Whatever danger still lurked from my past or from those who might try to harm the luminooks, I felt as if I could face anything.
Lonesome Creek came into view, a tinny Wild West tune ringing out through the air.
For now, I would focus on the case and on the way Dungar’s arms around me felt like everything I’d never dared to dream I could have.