Page 12 of Bite Sized Bride

KAEL

T he sky screams.

It is a raw, furious sound, a howl of wind and a crash of thunder that makes the very rock around us tremble. Rain comes down not in drops, but in solid, grey sheets, turning the world outside our small cave into a churning chaos of water and wind.

Inside, it is dry. It is safe.

I have made it so.

I sit on my haunches near the mouth of the cave, a silent sentinel, my back to the warmth of the fire.

The storm outside is nothing compared to the one that usually rages inside my head.

Tonight, for the first time, the red is quiet.

It is a sea of embers, not a conflagration.

The reason for this quiet sits a few feet away, huddled by the fire.

Mikana.

She is shivering.

It is not a violent, panicked tremor. It is a slow, deep chill that has sunk into her bones.

Her tattered tunic, still damp from our journey, offers little warmth.

Her arms are wrapped around her knees, her small frame curled in on itself, trying to conserve what little heat she has.

Her teeth chatter, a soft, clicking sound that is a spike of ice in the hollow, empty place inside me.

Cold.

The word is a threat. Cold is an enemy. It weakens. It kills.

My primary command, the one that has overwritten every curse and every memory, is a single, burning imperative: Protect Mikana.

The fire is not enough.

I push myself to my feet, my massive form casting a long, flickering shadow across the cave wall. She flinches, her dark eyes snapping to me, wide with a familiar, reflexive fear. The scent of it, sharp and electric, fills the small space. It always does when I move too quickly.

I ignore it. I have to.

I cross the space between us in two strides. I kneel before her. It is an awkward, clumsy movement for a body built for charges and stomps. My knees crack like splitting logs. I am a mountain trying to bow.

She shrinks back, pressing herself against the stone wall, making herself smaller, as if she could disappear into the rock itself.

I do not speak. The words I have are too few, too rough for this. I must use my hands. My hands, which have crushed skulls and torn flesh. My hands, which are weapons of nightmare. I must make them gentle.

Slowly, deliberately, I reach for her.

She squeezes her eyes shut, a soft, whimpering sound escaping her lips. She is expecting a blow. She is expecting the end.

My hand, a slab of scarred hide and thick, black claws, does not strike. It settles on her shoulder. I do not grab. I do not squeeze. I simply… rest it there.

Her skin is so fragile beneath the thin, damp cloth. I can feel the sharp, bird-like bones of her shoulder, the tremor that runs through her entire body. She is a leaf in the storm of my presence.

I tug, a gentle, insistent pressure. Come.

She does not resist. She is too terrified, or perhaps too cold, to fight. She allows me to pull her away from the wall, away from the cold stone. I shift my position, sitting back on my haunches, and guide her into the space between my legs, turning her so her back is pressed against my chest.

The moment her small, shivering body makes full contact with mine, a jolt, hot and powerful, shoots through me. It is not the pain of the curse. It is something else entirely. It is the feeling of a key sliding into a lock that has been rusted shut for an eternity.

She is so small. Her head barely reaches the center of my chest. My legs, bent at the knee, form a protective wall on either side of her.

I wrap my arms around her, my massive forearms crossing over her stomach, my hands resting on her far side.

I have made a cage for her. A cage of flesh and bone to keep the cold out.

She is rigid in my grasp, a statue of pure terror. I can feel the frantic, hammering beat of her heart against my ribs. I remain perfectly still, my own breathing a slow, deep rhythm. I am a mountain. I am a wall. I will not hurt her.

Minutes pass. The only sounds are the crackle of the fire and the roar of the storm outside.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the tension begins to drain from her body.

The frantic drumming of her heart slows.

The shivering subsides, replaced by the steady warmth radiating from my body.

She lets out a long, shuddering sigh, and her head lolls back, resting against my shoulder.

The scent of her fills my senses. Rain and damp earth, yes, but beneath it, the smell of her skin, of her hair. The scent of summer grass and quiet strength. It floods the hollow space inside of me, and at last, I feel… full.

The crimson storm is gone. Not just quiet. Gone. There is only a profound, absolute peace.

My curiosity, the new, childlike thing she has awakened in me, is a powerful urge. I want to know the texture of her. I want to learn the landscape of her.

My hand, the one resting on her side, moves. I do it slowly, a glacier’s pace, giving her time to protest, to pull away. She does not. She is pliant in my arms, warm and trusting.

My clawed fingertip, a tool made for rending, traces the line of her jaw.

Her skin is impossibly soft. I have never touched anything so soft.

I run my thumb over her cheek, feeling the fine, downy hair there.

I touch her hair, a spill of dark silk against my rough, scarred knuckles.

It is a river of shadow, cool and smooth.

She makes a soft sound in her sleep, a murmur of contentment, and shifts, pressing herself deeper against me.

The sound is my undoing.

It is permission. It is acceptance. It is a spark falling on the dry tinder of an instinct I didn’t know I possessed. The ghost of the orc inside me, the warrior, the hunter, awakens. And it knows this. It knows this feeling. It knows this ritual.

Mate.

The word is a brand on my soul. A truth that eclipses every command, every curse.

My body moves on its own, driven by a need so deep, so primal, it is a geological force. I shift, turning her to face me, my hands gentle, so gentle, as I lay her down on the pallet of furs and moss I made for her earlier.

Her eyes flutter open, dark and dazed in the firelight. She looks at me, looming over her, and the fear returns, but it is a confused, sleepy fear. It is not the stark terror of the hunted.

“Kael?” she whispers, her voice thick with sleep.

The sound of my name on her lips is a prayer. It is an absolution.

I lower my head. My lips, rough and clumsy, find hers. It is not like the first time, the awkward, hesitant question in the fissure. This is a claiming. It is a statement. Mine.

Her lips are soft and warm. They part with a soft gasp of surprise. I do not know what I am doing. I only know the overwhelming urge to taste her, to know her. I am a creature of instinct, and my every instinct screams that she belongs to me, and I to her.

My hands, those clumsy, destructive things, begin to explore. I run a hand down her side, over the sharp angle of her hip, the soft curve of her thigh. She is all delicate lines and fragile strength. I am someone with brute force and jagged edges. I am terrified I will break her.

I pull back, a low growl of frustration and self-loathing rumbling in my chest. I cannot do this. I am a monster. I will ruin her.

Her hand, small and warm, comes up to cup my jaw. Her thumb strokes the rough, scarred skin beside my broken tusk.

“It’s all right,” she whispers, her voice a fragile thread in the darkness.

I do not know if she is talking to me or to herself. It does not matter. It is permission.

I move with a reverence I had no idea I possessed. My claws, so recently stained with the blood of my enemies, are now tasked with the delicate work of her ruined tunic. I tear the fabric, but with a slow, deliberate care, exposing the pale skin beneath.

Her body is a revelation. A landscape of soft hills and gentle valleys, starkly beautiful in the flickering firelight. I trace the line of her collarbone, the curve of her breast, the gentle swell of her stomach. My touch is a question. Am I hurting you?

She answers by arching into my touch, a silent, breathtaking surrender.

The last vestiges of my control shatter. The primal need, the orc’s instinct to bond, to seal this claim, is overwhelming. I move between her legs, my massive body a stark, monstrous contrast to her pale fragility. I am a shadow falling over the moon.

I look at myself, at the thick, monstrous reality of my flesh, and then at her, so small, so perfect. A wave of revulsion for my own form washes over me. How can this be? How can a thing like me touch something so pure?

But her eyes hold no revulsion. They hold fear, yes, but also a deep, unwavering trust that I have done nothing to earn. She trusts me not to break her.

I will not.

Mikana calls my name as if begging for me, “Kael…”

I grasp my cock, hard and long and as monstrous as the rest of my body. Even the veins are as thick as human fingers. There’s no way this will fit inside such a small, soft female.

Seeing my cock, her face pales, and I almost flinch. It’s like a hit to my head. Of course, we can’t do this. I move to stand up, but she drags me back down.

“Kael… I need you,” she whispers as if begging. Who am I to refuse her?

I swallow my saliva, lust burning inside me like a wildfire. My cock’s so hard, it’s bordering on painful. Driven by instinc, I rub the tip of my cock on the wet slit of her cunt.

“Oh…” A soft gasp escapes her lips as her body shivers. “Kael… oh..”

Her voice is calling me, and mesmerized, I enter her pussy inch by inch, a glacier moving through a valley of silk and fire.

It’s a tight fit but wet, so small. She gasps, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her body arching against mine.

The pain is there, I can see it in the tightening of her face, but there is something else too.

A raw, desperate need that mirrors my own.

This is not about pleasure. It is about survival. It is about two broken, hunted things, finding an anchor in a world that is trying to tear them apart. It is a desperate, physical confirmation that we are here, that we are alive, that we have each other.

Her pussy clenches my cock, and I let out a low growl. My body convulses, I’ve never felt something like this. All this time, torture and pain was all I know.

But this… this might be heaven.

I move within her, a slow, deep rhythm that is as old as the stones around us. Each thrust is a vow. I will protect you. Each retreat is a promise. I will not harm you.

Fire courses through my veins, so as my promise. In the deep red of my mind, she’s the only peace. The pleasure drives the red away, lingering, and anchoring me. My body feels like a boat in the middle of a tsunami, driven by waves of ecstasy.

The storm outside rages, a symphony of chaos. But in here, in our small pocket of warmth and flickering light, there is only the sound of our breathing, the slick slide of our bodies, the frantic, beautiful beating of her heart against mine.

“Kael… Kael…” Mikana’s hold on me tightens, and I carefully hoist her up closer to me. I need her body to mold against mine, her softness against my hardness.

A growl reverberates throughout my body as this unidentifiable feeling rushes from my spine throughout my body and hitting my brain like a sledgehammer.

“Oh!” she screams as her pussy convulses around my huge cock. “Gods!” her nails dig on my skin but I barely feel it.

Colors explode in my mind, not just red. When my release comes, it is a torrent, a shattering of every wall, every chain, every curse. It is a roar of pure, unadulterated possession that I swallow before it can escape my lips. I pour myself into her, my essence, my claim, my soul.

I collapse beside her, my massive body trembling with the aftershocks. I pull her against my chest, wrapping her in my arms, her back pressed against my heart. She is so small, so fragile. So mine.

The storm inside my head is silent. The red is gone. The emptiness is filled.

I am still a monster. I am still a creature of nightmare.

But as I hold her form in my arms, I know, with a certainty that is as real as the stone beneath me, that I am her monster. And that is enough.