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“…they’ll know,” Vorgath replied as his fingers brushed lightly over the spot on my neck again, his eyes following the motion as if trying to memorize the sight of me marked by him. “It’s rarefor us to give that kind of mark to someone outside our people,” he said, almost to himself.

“Rare, but not unheard of?”

“My brother, Gorkath, had a bit of a reputation for it.” A faint, almost amused smile tugged at his lips.

I settled back against his chest. “A reputation?”

Vorgath nodded, his gaze turning distant as he recalled the memory. “Gorkath was… well, he had a way with words.” His lips twitched, as if recalling a fond but exasperating memory. “He was the opposite of me in many ways—loud, brash, always the center of attention. And he loved to flaunt his conquests—orc or fae or wolfkin. He’d mark them with these bold bites and then brag about it to anyone who would listen.”

“Sounds like he was quite the character.”

“He was.” Vorgath’s jaw tightened. “He made some mistakes, but he wasn’t a bad person.”

I reached up, cupping his cheek, feeling the tension there. “You loved him,” I said gently, my voice filled with understanding.

Vorgath’s eyes met mine, and for a moment, the stoic mask he usually wore cracked, revealing the raw grief and guilt beneath. “I did. I still do, even after everything.” He let out a slow breath, as if releasing some of the burden he’d carried for so long. “We were close when we were younger, inseparable, really. But when the war came, everything changed.”

I stayed silent, letting him speak at his own pace, my hand moving in slow, soothing strokes against his jaw.

“Gorkath couldn’t stand the idea of being just another warrior in the clan. He wanted more—power, recognition. And when the dark mage offered him that… he took it. I tried to stop him, tried to talk him out of it, but he said I was too scared, too weak to understand.” His voice cracked slightly, and he swallowed hard. “He was my brother, but on that battlefield, he felt like astranger. I failed him, Soraya. I failed to save him, and I couldn’t stop him from becoming something he wasn’t.”

My heart ached at the pain in his words. I leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, then to his forehead. “You didn’t fail him. He made his choices, but you were there, trying to bring him back. That’s not failure. That’s love.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into my touch. “I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself for not being strong enough to stop him. But being with you… it’s the first time I’ve felt like I can try to move past it.”

“Tell me more about him,” I whispered, running my fingers through his hair. “About your brother.”

Vorgath hesitated but then nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing as he began to speak. He told me about their childhood, the mischievous pranks Gorkath used to pull, the way he could charm even the grumpiest elders of their clan. He spoke of their first battle together, how proud he’d been of his brother’s strength and courage.

And I listened, holding him, until sleep claimed us both.

Hours later, I woke to the sound of silence, the kind that filled a room when everyone else was asleep, but my mind wouldn’t let me rest. I was still in Vorgath’s arms, his warmth surrounding me like a protective cocoon. His chest rose and fell steadily under my cheek, and the soft rumble of his breath was a soothing, familiar lullaby. I should have been at peace, but something stirred restlessly inside me.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, I untangled myself and slipped out of bed. The night air was cool against my skin, and I shivered as I pulled on a robe and padded quietly through thecottage. Each step sent a gentle ache through my legs, and I brought my hand up to my neck, touching the tender spot where Vorgath had claimed me. I relished these physical reminders of our connection, the way he had held me, taken me, and made me feel alive.

I checked on Elias and found him sprawled across his bed, one arm dangling off the side, snoring softly. His small face was peaceful, innocent, and I brushed a kiss against his forehead, smoothing a stray curl away before pulling his blanket up over his shoulders.

In the kitchen, I poured myself a glass of water, sipping it slowly as I tried to shake the unease that had woken me. I stared out the window, my gaze drifting to the silhouette of the forge against the night sky. It stood tall and proud, the new beams sturdy, the stonework strong.

A flicker of movement caught my eye, and I froze, the glass halfway to my lips. There, in the shadows of the forge, a figure moved. I narrowed my eyes, straining to make out the details, and my heart leaped into my throat when I recognized the broad silhouette and the faint gleam of gray hair catching the moonlight.

Thorne Ironsmith.

It was too dark, and he was too far away for me to see his expression, but the way he just stood there, motionless and silent, sent a chill down my spine.

What was he doing here?

Was he here to sabotage my work again, to tear down what I had built before I’d even had a chance to get it off the ground? Or was he here because of Lira?

I gripped the edge of the counter, my knuckles white, as I watched him. His presence, uninvited and looming, should have sent a chill down my spine. And yet, staring at him now, in the heart of my forge, I didn’t feel fear.

I felt anger.

I had worked too hard, lost too much, to let him intimidate me or scare me into giving up what I’d fought so desperately to reclaim. This forge, this life, this chance—it was mine.

With a deep breath, I set the glass down, opened the door, and stepped out into the cool night air, the soft glow of the forge lighting my way as I walked toward the shadowy figure of Thorne Ironsmith.

Because if he thought he could scare me away from what was mine, he was about to learn just how wrong he was.