Chapter 2
Thane
Humans don't last long in storms like this.
I've seen what the mountain does to them in this weather. Their skin goes gray, eyes glassy, as their breath freezes in their throats. When I kicked in that cabin door, I expected to find a corpse or a fool too far gone to save.
What I found was a woman fiercer than a fire.
She should have screamed. Run. Most humans do when they see tusks and green skin. But she looked straight at me. Met my eyes. Didn't flinch.
The fierce look on her face hasn't left my head.
Now she sits by my hearth, small and soft, wrapped in one of my furs, sipping tea I made with hands that could easily snap her bones. Not that I could ever hurt her. The steam curls around her face. I should be checking traps, watching the treeline, doing anything except standing here like a fool.
But the bond hums beneath my skin. Thurok'hai.
I knew the moment I saw her. The mountain whispered her name before she spoke it.
Lila.
She belongs here. I feel it in marrow and blood.
The problem is, she doesn't know it yet.
"Does it always snow like this?" Her voice is still rough from smoke, and something in my chest tightens at the sound.
"Most winters." I crouch near the fire, turning the venison on the spit. Fat hisses into the flames. "The storms keep people out."
"Except me."
"Except you."
Her laugh is soft, testing the sound in this new place.
The warmth of it slides under my ribs and settles there.
I shouldn't want that. Shouldn't want her.
After all, she can choose to reject the bond—and probably will.
Most humans crave convenience and ease, and life on the mountain is anything but.
I hand her a plate, the meat still steaming, fat glistening at the edges. "Eat."
She does, politely at first, then with genuine hunger that makes something primal in me sit up and take notice.
Watching her is dangerous. Like watching first sunlight after a long freeze—you want to chase it, keep it, make it yours.
She makes a small sound of approval and I have to look away before I forget what restraint means.
"You live out here alone?" she asks.
"For now." I glance toward the shuttered window where wind still prowls. "There are others on the mountain, though. My kin."
"Your kin." She tilts her head. "You mean other—"
"Orcs," I finish.
"Orcs,” she repeats, tilting her head in though. “That’s what you are. I never knew your kind existed.”
She doesn’t sound frightened or confused or repulsed. She sounds fascinated.
"We stay hidden," I tell her. "Humans come too close sometimes. We scare them off if we can. If we can't..." I shrug. "The mountain takes care of it."
She studies me. "You're not planning to scare me off, are you?"
My fingers tighten on the knife handle. "No."
I can hear her heartbeat stutter. Not fear. Interest.
The scent of it winds through the room, sharp and sweet, and every instinct I have turns toward her. Protect. Claim. Keep.
"Then what are you planning, Thane?"
I could lie. But the truth crawls out instead, low and honest. "Right now? To keep you warm. To shelter you through the night."
Her breath catches. Firelight paints gold in her eyes. "And after that?"
I shake my head. "After that, we'll see."
She sets the plate aside, pulls the pelt closer. "You sound like my editor. She never gives straight answers either."
"Editor?"
"She edits my books. I write books." She smiles faintly, tucking her hair behind an ear. "I’m an author. Romances, mostly. Big, tough men who live in the wild. Usually, they’re mythical or paranormal creatures in some way.
" Her gaze drifts over me, deliberate enough to make my pulse kick. "Guess I finally met one in real life."
The words hit deeper than they should. "You write about men who aren’t… human?"
She nods. “Sometimes, they’re part-human. They’re usually shifters.” Seeing the confusion on my face, she adds, “Men who can turn into animals.”
“Why do you like to write about them?” I ask.
"Because human men never measure up." She meets my eyes again. "They break promises. They betray. So, I write about men who are better than humans.”
The ache in her voice makes my hands curl into fists. "Human men have betrayed you?”
“Yes.” For a moment, her expression is sad, but then a slow smile spreads across her face. “I have a feeling I’ll only be writing orc heroes from now on.”
I ponder her words. “You think my kind are better than humans?”
"You already saved me once,” she says softly.
I look at her hands, small against the pelt. There’s a tremor in her fingers. She's fragile. Breakable. And yet she doesn't look away—not from the scars on my arms and not from the tusks that mark what I am.
The bond pulls tighter. It should fade if she’s resisting it.
It doesn't.
Outside, the wind shifts. Snow slams against the door one last time before dying to a hush. The storm's easing.
I'm not ready for her to leave.
"Storm's breaking," I say.
"So, I can go back down the mountain tomorrow?"
The words scrape something raw in my chest. She can't. I won’t allow it.
But I know that’s not true. If she chooses to leave, I’ll let her. I won’t hold her here against her will.
I stand, pacing to the window, buying time. "Maybe not tomorrow. The world will be buried in snow for several days.”
"Then I guess I'm your guest for a while."
Guest. That's one word for it.
I turn back. "Stay here and stay warm. Make yourself at home, but don't go outside alone without me, though. The woods aren't safe."
"Because of bears?" She's teasing now. "Or other orcs?"
I shrug. "Both."
She studies me until the air between us feels charged. Finally, she nods. "All right, Thane. I’ll do whatever you say.”
Then stay. Be truly mine. Forever.
But all I say aloud is, “Good.”