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“He made his choices,” Vorgath finally murmured, his voice rough like gravel. “But sometimes, I wonder if I should’ve tried harder. Maybe if I had…”

“You can’t,” I interrupted gently, tightening my grip. “You can't get lost in the what-ifs.” And I would know. I was the queen of what-ifs.

His deep brown eyes flicked to mine, locking me in place. There was so much weight behind that gaze—years' worth of regret, guilt, and the ever-present shadow of someone he couldn't save. The same way I sometimes caught my own reflection in the mirror and found ghosts looking back at me—the ghost of Kald, my husband, gone with barely a trace. Theghost of the life we’d had, buried beneath the ashes of a forge long cold. The ghost of the woman I once was, a woman who thought her heart had frozen alongside that forge.

But it hadn’t, had it?

Not entirely.

Because I was here, with my hand atop an orc’s, at a dwarven festival, feeling entirely too warm for an autumn evening.

I shifted to face him, my body turned slightly toward his. “Vorgath—”

“I don't miss battle,” he interrupted, his voice dipping low. “But sometimes… sometimes I miss losing control. Just… letting go. But I stopped allowing myself that luxury a long time ago.”

Heat spread along my skin, and not from the ale. His confession was raw, unfiltered, and echoed in the hollow places of my own heart. It hurt to see him hold so much of himself back. To watch him wrestle with the restraint he put between us.

But I was the one who had asked for that restraint. I had pushed him away, told him I wasn’t ready. And he—so strong, so patient—had respected that. He’d given me the space I’d needed, held himself back because I had been too afraid to face what I truly wanted.

He was brave—brave enough to let me go when I wasn’t ready, brave enough to offer me his quiet strength even as he battled his own scars. And now it was my turn. I could be brave, too. For him. For me. For the future I hadn’t allowed myself to imagine.

The night folded in closer, the world around us shrinking until it felt like there was only him, only me. I could barely breathe as I asked, “What if you didn’t have to hold back?”

His hand tightened around mine, and I could hear the struggle in his breath, the tiny hitch in his throat. For a moment, he didn't say anything; he just watched me intently before his voice emerged, quiet and rough, like stone grinding against stone.

“I will not touch you, Soraya,” he said.

I blinked up at him in shock, confusion writ across my features.Of course, I had ruined it.The realization felt like plunging into ice water.

I stood so abruptly that I nearly tipped the tankard. “I—I'm sorry. I should just—”

I spun on my heel, heart pounding in my ears. Embarrassment engulfed me, burning hotter than the forge fire we’d tended together, hotter than the molten regret pressing against my ribs. My feet moved on instinct—one step, then another.

Just get away, Soraya. Get away before you make it worse—

But I barely made it a few steps before a massive hand caught my arm.

Vorgath was fast. Too fast for someone his size. He pulled me—gently but firmly—into the shadows of a nearby alley, so quickly that I didn’t even have the breath to protest. Damp stone pressed cool against my back, the noise of the festival muffled beyond the alley’s narrow walls. The smells of night air and cooling metal clashed with the scent of him—leather and forge smoke, the intoxicating, earthy scent of the man who held me now, caging me in with his body.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he growled.

I stopped struggling, though my heart did not. “What else is there to say?” I whispered.

His hand came up faster than I could process, not to my shoulder or wrist, but to the side of my face. His fingers hovered just a hair from my cheek in a way that almost undid me right then. It was surprising just how gentle this giant of an orc could be, the same hand that could bend metal brushing against me as if I’d break if touched too harshly.

“I won’t touch youunless you tell me to, Soraya,” he rumbled, his breath ghosting against my temple. “And unless you tell mehow.”

Chapter 16

Tell him how?

That strange warmth ignited again, burning low, starting in my stomach and spreading up my spine. For a moment, I just stood there, breathless. Every muscle, every nerve in my body on edge, desperate to move but unsure if I dared cross the line he’d drawn.

And then—I crossed it.

“Kiss me,” I demanded.

Vorgath’s lips hovered a mere breath away from mine. “How do you like to be kissed,durlan?”