Page 46 of Her Orc Healer

Because his eyes opened.

Bleary, unfocused at first, then sharpening on me—dark, hazy with fever but still piercing right through. I froze, my fingers still tangled in his hair, my heart pounding.

Kazrek blinked sluggishly, like waking was a battle he wasn’t quite ready to fight. His gaze drifted over my face, heavy-lidded and dazed. When he spoke, his voice was raw with sleep.

“I thought I dreamed you.”

It hit me low in my stomach, like warmth curling its way through my spine and setting fire to my skin. My hand jerked back from his hair as if burned, but he caught my wrist before I could fully retreat. His fingers, big enough to wrap easily around mine, were too warm, fevered but steady.

He gave a gentle tug, and I tipped forward onto the bed beside him.

I let out a soft noise of protest, but it was half-hearted at best. The mattress dipped beneath my weight as I landed against him. He shifted, wrapping one arm around me. The heat of his body seeped into mine, the broadness of his chest an unshakable wall of warmth and strength. I fit too easily into the space he made, my legs tangling awkwardly with the heavy furs, my face near the hollow of his throat.

His hand settled low on my back, a slow, steady weight. Not urging. Not pressing. Just holding.

The air between us felt heavier, thicker, but Kazrek only let out a slow breath, his body sinking further into the bed, the last remnants of exhaustion pulling at him once more. His breath stirred the loose strands of my hair, and then, low and quiet, almost too soft to catch, he murmured something against my temple.

“Dorthan’zul.”

The syllables curled against my skin like a secret.

Then he was asleep.

I had meant to stay only a moment. Just long enough to make sure he drifted off. But the fire crackled low, and the heat between us blurred the line between necessity and something else. I closed my eyes.

And let sleep take me, too.

Sometime in the night, I drifted toward wakefulness.

The fire had burned low, casting flickering shadows against the walls. The air was cooler now, but I was warm—impossibly, perfectly warm. My body was cocooned in heat—the steady rise and fall of a broad chest beneath my cheek, an arm curved around my waist.

My eyes snapped open.

Kazrek's fever had broken during the night. I could tell without looking, could feel the difference in his skin where we touched. But that wasn't what made my breath catch.

He was awake.

And he was watching me.

His dark eyes were clear now, alert, fixed on my face with an intensity that made heat bloom across my skin.

"Your fever broke," I said quietly, needing to fill the silence with something practical.

Kazrek hummed in response, the sound low in his chest. His eyes hadn't left my face, and in them, I saw something that made my breath catch—clarity. Whatever fever dream had loosened his tongue before was gone. He was awake now, aware, and still, he held me.

"You stayed," he murmured.

I swallowed hard. "Someone had to make sure you didn't die."

His lips curved slightly, the barest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Is that the only reason?"

The question hung between us, weighted with everything we weren't saying. I could have lied. Could have pulled away, made some cutting remark about duty or obligation. But in the quiet dark of his room, with the dying fire casting shadows across his face, I found I didn't want to.

"No," I whispered. "It wasn't."

His hand tightened on my back, pulling me closer until there was barely any space left between us. Then, his head dipped, his lips brushing mine—a feather-light touch that sent a shiver racing down my spine. It was a question, almost. An offer.

And I answered by leaning in, my mouth meeting his.