Page 114 of Her Orc Healer

“Inside,” I whispered, breath hot against his ear. “I want all of it.”

He came with a growl, clutching me tight, hips jerking once, twice, then still. His breath shuddered against my neck. I held him through it, kissed his jaw, his temple, ran my hands through his damp hair. His arms stayed wrapped around me, not possessive—just present. As if now that he had me, he had no intention of letting go.

We lay together afterward, tangled in the bedsheets, my head resting on his chest as he idly stroked my hair. The afternoon light spilled across us, turning his skin to burnished gold. I traced a finger along a scar that curved around his ribs—a remnant of the war, from a time before I knew him.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, voice lazy with contentment.

I smiled against his skin. "That we should lock the shop more often."

He chuckled, the sound rumbling beneath my ear. "Agreed."

"We can even make it a sign," I added. "'Closed for restorative treatment.'"

A sharp knock at the door downstairs cut off our conversation. We both froze, listening. When the knock came again, more insistent this time, Kazrek sighed deeply.

"Ignore it," I suggested, pulling the blanket over my head. "They'll go away."

A beat passed. Then—

“Kazrek Bloodfang, I know you’re in there! Don’t make me scale the wall like last time.”

I sat bolt upright. Kazrek groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Stars above,” he muttered. “She found me.”

“Who?” I asked, already reaching for the nearest article of clothing.

“My sister,” he said grimly, standing and yanking his trousers off the floor. "She always knocks like she’s breaking down a fortress."

"Your sister? The one who lives in Port Haven?"

Another knock—this one more like a bang.

“And she’ll do it,” he added as an afterthought. “She climbed the tower at Karsil with a baby on her back and a sword in her teeth.”

I blinked. “That feels like an exaggeration.”

He pulled on his shirt, already halfway to the door. “Not even a little.”

By the time I threw on my robe and padded downstairs, Kazrek had already opened the door. A gust of spring air blew in with it—along with a woman who marched in like she owned the place, a baby strapped to her chest in a faded green sling and a travel-split pack slung over one shoulder.

She was shorter than Kazrek by a head, broad through the shoulders, her braid fraying down her back. Her boots were muddy, her coat wrinkled, and her eyes—sharp and ringed with fatigue—went straight to mine.

“You’re Rowena,” she said, not bothering with hello. “Thank the Seven. You have the look of someone who knows what to do with spit-up and stubborn men.”

I blinked. “Sometimes. Depends on the day.”

Kazrek cleared his throat. “Larka.”

She waved him off and kept speaking to me. “I’m his sister. This,” she gestured vaguely at the sleeping baby pressed to her chest, “is Miren. She’s six weeks old, farts like an ogre, and will scream if you look at her wrong. I brought her so I wouldn’t murder my husband. You’re welcome.”

“Your husband…” I echoed.

“Is still back in Port Haven,” she said, already unbuckling the sling. “Being a perfectly decent, infuriating man who I love and currently cannot stand. I told him I was visiting Kazrek. I didn’t tell him it’d be for two weeks. Possibly three.”

Kazrek reached for the baby without protest, arms already out. He took her like he’d done it a hundred times before, and maybe he had—in another life, long before Everwood. Miren barely stirred, just let out a small sigh and burrowed against his chest.

“You’ve been writing,” Larka said, glancing at him. “All that talk of peace and tea and children glowing like lanterns—I had to see it for myself.”

“And the baby?” I asked.