Chapter 8
Becken
Iwoke to the sound of chattering teeth.
The cabin had gotten colder during the night, frost crystallizing on the inside of the windows. My breath formed visible clouds as I turned toward Carla.
She lay curled on her side of the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest, her shoulders shaking with each shiver. Even covered with blankets, she was still too cold.
Orcs ran warmer than humans. I’d been comfortable under my share of the blankets, but she was freezing.
I should wake her. Help her rearrange the covers, doubling them up on her side. Keep a respectable distance while ensuring she didn’t suffer.
Instead, I found myself moving closer to her.
The mattress dipped under my weight as I shifted across the space between us. Carla’s shivering intensified, and she reached out, her body seeking warmth even in sleep. When I pulled the blankets up to slide all the way onto her side of the bed, she unconsciously pressed closer to me.
Her back fitted against my chest, her hair tickling my face. The citrus scent of her shampoo filled my nostrils, mixing with the warm smell of her skin. She was small compared to me, delicate in a way that made every protective instinct I possessed roar to life.
This was going to be a problem. Not only the proximity, but the way my body responded to hers. My damn cock… I wasn’t going to think about my cock.
I should move away. Put distance between us before she woke and found herself in the arms of a male she barely knew.
But she’d stopped shivering. Her breathing had evened out into the deep rhythm of peaceful sleep. Moving now might wake her, and she needed rest to heal.
At least that’s what I told myself as I lay there, too aware of every point where our bodies touched. Of my damn cock. Of her shoulder blades pressing against my chest. The curve of her spine along my stomach. The way her legs tucked up toward mine under the shared blankets.
Wexla had never felt like this in my arms.
The thought hit me like a sorhox kick to the chest. How could I even think such a thing? Wexla had been kind. Gentle. We’d shared a comfortable partnership, built on mutual respect and affection. She’d deserved better than dying young from an illness no healer could cure.
She’d also never made my pulse race the way Carla did just by breathing in my arms.
Guilt twisted through my belly. It had been six months since I’d held Wexla’s hand as she drew in her last breath, promising her I’d carry her memory forever. And here I was, holding another female, thinking thoughts I should shove from my mind.
Carla shifted in her sleep, her hand finding my arm and curling around it. Even unconscious, she sought warmth and comfort.
From me.
The trust implied in that simple gesture undid me.
I hadn’t felt needed for more than my work or my expertise with sorhoxes in a long time. Wexla had been independent, capable. She’d never needed me the way Carla did right now. She’d never looked at me like I was the solution to all her problems.
The comparison felt like a betrayal.
I closed my eyes and tried to force sleep, but it remained elusive. The wind howled around the cabin, driving snow against the walls with enough energy to rattle the windows. It showed no signs of weakening. If anything, it had intensified during the night.
We’d be here another day. Maybe longer.
The prospect should’ve filled me with dread.
Instead, a traitorous part of me felt relieved.
More time with Carla meant more opportunities to understand the pull I felt toward her.
More chances to figure out what it meant that I could already imagine her laugh, picture her smile, and anticipate her questions before she asked them.
Dawn came slowly, gray light creeping through the windows. I waited until I was certain Carla was deeply asleep before carefully extracting myself from the warmth of our bed. She murmured a protest, her hand searching for the heat I was taking away, but she didn’t wake.
I pulled the blankets up to her chin and dressed quickly, striding to the window.
The world outside had disappeared under a blanket of white. Snow drifted against the cabin walls, reaching halfway up the windows. Pine trees bowed under the weight of accumulated snow, their branches creating strange, sculptural shapes in the dim morning light.
No one was coming for us today. Maybe not tomorrow either.
Behind me, Carla stirred. I heard the rustle of blankets, a soft yawn, then her sharp intake of breath.
“Oh.”
I turned to find her sitting up, staring at the depression in the mattress where I’d been lying. Her hair stuck up at odd angles, and confusion clouded her brown eyes as she took in the disturbed blankets, the way the sheets on her side of the bed had been thoroughly warmed.
Color roared up into her cheeks.
“Did we… Did I…” She gestured vaguely at the space between where we’d been lying.
“You were cold.” I kept my voice neutral, boss-like. “Body heat is the most efficient way to prevent hypothermia.”
“Right.” She smoothed her hair, avoiding my eyes. “It was practical.”
“Exactly.”
We stared at each other for a moment, both of us pretending the charged atmosphere in the cabin was purely imagined. Her lips were pink again, no longer pale with cold. She looked warm, rumpled, and entirely too appealing for my state of mind.
“How’s the ankle?” I asked, desperate to shift to safer territory.
“Better.” She flexed her foot under the blankets. “Still sore, but the swelling’s gone down.”
“Good. Do you need the bathroom?”
She nodded, and I crossed to the bed, tugging away the blankets, then dragging my gaze from the pale skin of her legs, the way her shirt had ridden up to expose the scant undergarment she wore beneath her pants.
With a gasp, she grabbed her pants and tugged them on, securing them quickly, without looking my way. She dressed in her coat and zipped it up, tying the hood beneath her chin.
Nodding curtly, I lifted her into my arms. The contact sent awareness shooting through me, the same electric recognition I’d felt during the night. Her body fitted against mine like it belonged there.
The bathing cabin was even colder than ours, frost covering every surface. I set her down near the sink and turned on the water again, then the faucet, waiting for the heater to kick in and the water to warm before stepping outside to give her privacy.
Snow had piled up past my knees, and more fell steadily from the heavy gray sky. I trudged to the supply shed, gathering more food and checking to see how much water we had left. It was frozen, but it would thaw inside the cabin. I hoped. We had enough for several days if we were careful.
When Carla called that she was finished, I used the facilities myself while she waited, then drained the pipes again and carried her back to our cabin. It would be much too easy to get used to holding her like this in my arms.
“What’s the verdict?” she asked as I settled her on the bed and tucked a pillow beneath her leg to elevate her ankle.
“The storm’s not weakening. We’re here for at least another day.”
She absorbed this information with surprising calm. “Then we’d better make the best of it.”
I laid out the bread and meat on a table between the bed and my chair. The routine felt oddly domestic, sharing a simple meal, planning our day around basic survival needs.
“Tell me about the orc kingdom,” Carla said, tearing off a piece of bread and nibbling on the edge. “What was it like growing up underground?”
The question caught me off guard. Most humans asked about the surface. How long we’d been here, why we’d emerged, what we thought of their technology. Few asked about home.
“Different,” I said, then realized how inadequate that sounded. “The cities are carved into rock formations, connected by tunnels wide enough for sorhox caravans. Our light comes from phosphorescent insects we cultivate along the vast cavern ceilings.”
“It sounds beautiful.”
“It is. Was.” I paused, surprised I’d made the correction. “The air smells of minerals and growing things. Water runs through channels cut into the stone, and there are steaming pools where we bathe, though many have running water inside their homes.”
“Do you miss it?”
The question unlocked something I’d been holding tight inside my chest. “Every day. The surface is bright. Loud. Overwhelming sometimes.”
“Then why stay?”
I met her eyes, finding genuine curiosity rather than judgment there. “Because the kingdom holds too many memories. Wexla and I had a home there, a life. After she died, everything reminded me of what I’d lost.”
“So you came here to start over.”
“I came here to work. To be useful.” I shrugged. “Starting over implies hope for something new. I was trying to survive.”
Carla leaned forward, wincing as she adjusted her position. “What changed?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said was. Like maybe you’re here for more than just survival.”
Her perceptiveness didn’t surprise me. She saw through my carefully constructed defenses as easily as reading a book.
“Maybe it’s working with the sorhoxes again. Being part of something that matters.”
“Only the work?”
The question hung between us, loaded with implications I wasn’t ready to examine. “What about you? What made you choose rodeo consulting over staying in one place?”
“Safety,” she said without hesitation. “If you never stay anywhere long enough to put down roots, you can’t be disappointed when people don’t want you with them.”
“You speak of your aunt and uncle.”
“Among others.” She picked at her bread, breaking it into small pieces but not eating much yet. “I learned early that enthusiasm wasn’t welcome. That taking up space was an inconvenience. So I made myself useful instead.”
“Useful isn’t the same as wanted.”
“No.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “But it’s safer.”
We ate in silence after that. The storm continued, but inside the cabin, everything had shifted. The awkwardness of the morning had faded, replaced by an unexpected intimacy.
“What was Wexla like?” Carla asked quietly.
The question should’ve hurt. Instead, I found myself wanting to answer, to share memories that had been locked away since her death.
“Very sweet. Everyone loved her.” Me included. “She made the sorhox figurine during her final weeks. Said she wanted me to remember that even in darkness, we could create something beautiful.”
“She sounds wonderful.”
“She was. We weren’t…fated mates, but we loved each other. Built a good life together.”
“Could you tell me more about fated mates?”
“Orcs sometimes find their perfect match. Sometimes, the couple knows right away, though sometimes, the bond takes time to kick in. It’s unbreakable, though I guess there are ways around that. Wexla and I chose each other instead. It was comfortable.”
“And now?”
I looked at her, this human who’d stumbled into my life and turned everything on the other end in less than a week. Who made me want things I’d thought died with my mate.
“Now I don’t know what I want,” I said.
Snow continued to fall beyond our windows, sealing us into our small world of warmth and heart-wrenching confessions. For the first time since arriving on the surface, I wasn’t thinking about work or grief or the weight of survival.
I was thinking about a future where I might be able to be happy again.