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His words hung heavy in the air, and I felt an unexpected urge to comfort him. Without thinking, I reached out, gently touching his arm. “I'm so sorry, Vorgath.”

He looked down at my hand, then back at me, his eyes softening. “It was long ago. But it is why I left, why I sought a different path. I could no longer be the warrior they wanted me to be.”

His shoulders, usually so steady, seemed weighed down by a burden he rarely let others see. He spoke of loss with quiet resignation, and for the first time, I saw the loneliness behind his strength, the isolation he carried.

It struck me, then, that we weren’t so different. Maybe that was why I felt this growing connection with him—because he understood what it meant to start over, to carve out something new from the ashes of the past. His journey made me feel less alone in my own.

Without a word, I stepped closer, wrapping my arms around his broad chest in a hug.

At first, Vorgath stiffened, clearly surprised by the gesture. Then, slowly, his arms came around me. I felt almost tiny in his embrace, my head barely reaching his chest. His arms, thick as tree trunks, encircled me gently, as if he was afraid of crushing me.

I pressed closer, splaying my hands across his broad back, feeling the hard muscles beneath his tunic. The heat of his body seeped through my dress, and I pressed my ear to his chest, listening to the steady, powerful thump of his heart.

The world seemed to shrink to just the two of us. The forge, with all its memories and possibilities, faded away. There wasonly Vorgath's warmth, his strength, the surprising gentleness of his touch.

I tilted my head back to look up at him and found his dark eyes fixed on me. My lips parted slightly, a silent invitation I hadn’t realized I was offering until I saw his gaze drop to my mouth, and the space between us seemed to shrink, charged with a new tension.

My thoughts raced. This was Vorgath—my mentor, an orc, so different from anyone I’d ever known. And yet, standing here now, he felt like the most familiar thing in the world. His solid frame, the way my curves seemed to mold perfectly against him, as if we were two pieces that had always belonged together.

I knew I should step back, break this spell before it went too far. But I couldn't bring myself to move. I didn't want to. For the first time in so long, I felt awake, every nerve alive with awareness.

Vorgath's hand moved, ever so slowly, to cup my cheek. His palm was rough, the skin weathered by years of work and war, but the warmth of his touch seeped into me, and I leaned into it, my eyes closing to savor the feeling.

“Soraya,” Vorgath said, his voice low and rough, deeper than I’d ever heard it. The way he spoke my name sent a thrill through me.

I opened my eyes to meet his gaze, trying to decipher the emotions I saw there. Desire, certainly, but also a hint of uncertainty, maybe even fear. It struck me then that this was likely as new and overwhelming for him as it was for me.

“Vorgath,” I whispered back, my voice barely audible even in the quiet of the forge.

He leaned down, painstakingly slow, as if giving me every opportunity to pull away. But I didn't want to pull away. I tilted my chin up, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he must be able to hear it.

Just as his lips were about to meet mine, a loud crash from outside the forge shattered the moment. We jerked apart, both of us turning instinctively toward the sound, the spell broken.

“Mama!” Elias's voice called out. “Mrs. Crumble says dinner's ready!”

I stepped back, a rush of cool air filling the space where Vorgath's warmth had been. My cheeks burned as I smoothed down my dress, avoiding his gaze. “We should go inside,” I stammered, my voice shaky and not at all like the level-headed woman I prided myself on being.

Vorgath cleared his throat, nodding. “Yes, we shouldn't keep them waiting.”

As we walked toward the house, I couldn’t resist stealing glances at him. His face was stoic, composed to the point of seeming deliberate, but the subtle tension was there—in the way his jaw clenched and his hands flexed at his sides.

What had just happened? And more importantly, why did I feel so disappointed that we’d been interrupted?

I paused just before we reached the cottage door, the reality of it all sinking in, making it hard to take the next step.

“Soraya,” Vorgath’s deep voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, and I blinked, realizing he was watching me. “Are you alright?”

I inhaled slowly, then forced a smile. “Yes, I’m fine. Just a bit overwhelmed, I suppose.”

His gaze held steady, his hand flexing at his side as though caught between action and restraint. “We don’t have to talk about what happened,” he said. “If you’d rather let it go—”

“No,” I interrupted, surprising myself with the vehemence in my voice. “I don't want to forget. I just... need time.”

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and I felt some of the tension ease from my shoulders. He gave a quiet grunt, more like an acknowledgment. “Alright.”

With one last deep breath, I pushed open the door, and we stepped into the warm, fragrant air of the kitchen.

Chapter 8