Page 25 of Bound By Blood (Orc Warrior Romances #1)

DROKHAN

T he war council's pyre crackles and spits, casting a fiery glow over the gathered faces.

The air is thick with tension and burning wood.

Eirian sits beside me, her eyes reflecting the dancing flames.

Her hand rests on my arm, her touch gentle yet firm, a silent reminder of the bond we share.

The threat of another border battle looms large in the air.

I wrap my cloak around her shoulders, feeling the softness of her hair against my cheek. She leans into me, her breath warm on my neck. "Drokhan," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the crackling fire. "What if this is our last night together?"

Her words cut through me like a blade. I tighten my grip on her, pulling her closer. "It won't be," I growl, my voice rough with determination. "I won't let it."

"But if it is," she insists, her voice even.. "Promise me you'll remember this moment. Promise me you'll remember us."

I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing against her cheeks. "I promise," I say, my voice thick with emotion. "I promise I'll remember every moment, every touch, every whisper."

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, but she blinks them away, her expression turning fierce. "Then let's make this a night to remember," she says, her voice resounds with a passion that matches my own.

I capture her lips in a searing kiss, my hands tangling in her hair. She responds with equal fervor, her arms wrapping around my neck, her body pressing against mine. The world fades away, the noise of the war council, war drums becoming nothing more than a faint echo.

Her hands roam over my chest, tracing the lines of my tattoos, the scars of battles long past. I shudder under her touch, my body responding to her with a primal need. I break away from her lips, trailing kisses down her neck, my hands sliding down her back to grip her hips.

She gasps, her head falling back, exposing more of her delicate skin to my hungry mouth. I nip at her collarbone, my hands roaming over her curves, memorizing every inch of her. She shivers, her breath coming in quick gasps, her fingers digging into my shoulders.

I lift her into my arms, her legs wrapping around me. I carry her away from the pyre, away from the prying eyes of the war council. I find a secluded spot, hidden from view by a cluster of ancient stones. I lay her down on the soft moss, my body covering hers, my lips finding hers once more.

Her hands tug at my braids, her fingers weaving through the copper wire that binds them. I groan, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through me. She smiles against my lips, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I've been wanting to do that since the last time," she admits, her voice breathless.

I chuckle, my hands sliding under her robes, my fingers touch the soft skin of her thighs. "And I've been wanting to do this everyday," I say, my voice low and husky. I capture her lips in another searing kiss, my hands roaming higher, my fingers finding the heat of her.

She gasps, her hips arching against my hand, her body trembling with need. I explore her with slow, deliberate strokes, my fingers teasing and tantalizing, my mouth capturing her moans of pleasure. She clings to me, her nails digging into my back, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

The distant war drums grow louder, their rhythm echoing the pounding of my heart.

I feel the urgency of the moment, the need to claim her, to make her mine before the battle takes us both.

I strip away her robes, my eyes feasting on the sight of her, her body bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight.

She reaches for me, her hands trembling as she unfastens my armor, her fingers tracing the lines of my tattoos. I shudder under her touch, my body aching with need. I capture her lips in another searing kiss, my body covering hers, my hips pressing against her.

She wraps her legs around me, her body arching against mine, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. I enter her with a single, powerful thrust, her body tightening around me, her moans of pleasure filling the night air.

We move together, our bodies locked in a primal dance, our breaths mingling, our hearts pounding in unison.

The world fades away, the distant war drums becoming nothing more than a faint echo.

There is only us, only this moment, only the passion that burns between us.

Her fragrance has notes of wild herbs and the faintest hint of smoke, fills my nostrils, intoxicating me.

Her skin is soft under my rough hands, a contrast that sends a jolt of desire coursing through me.

As my cock enters her body tightens around me, her moans grow louder, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

I can feel the tension building within her, see the flush of pleasure spreading across her skin.

Her eyes, storm-cloud grey and shining a fire that matches my own, meet mine, and in that moment, we are bound not just by flesh, but by something deeper, something ancient.

I feel her climax, her body convulsing around me, her nails digging into my back, drawing a growl from deep within my chest. The sharp pain is a grounding force, a reminder of the raw, primal connection we share.

I follow her over the edge, my body shuddering with release, my voice hoarse with pleasure.

A wave of heat washes over me, and I can feel the pulse of her heart against my heart, a rhythm that matches my own.

In this moment, there is no room for the guarded walls I’ve built around my heart, no place for the haunted past that has defined me.

There is only Eirian, her touch, her scent, her breath mingling with mine.

The world narrows down to this single, perfect moment, a sanctuary from the storm that rages beyond our embrace.

We lie entwined, our bodies slick with sweat, our breaths slowly returning to normal. The distant war drums grow louder, their rhythm echoing the pounding of my heart. I hold her close, my arms wrapped around her, my lips pressed against her forehead.

"Drokhan," she whispers, her voice soft and filled with emotion. "Promise me you'll come back to me."

I tighten my grip on her, my voice rough with determination. "I promise," I say, my voice thick with emotion. "I promise I'll come back to you. No matter what it takes."

She looks up at me with a fierce determination that matches my own. "Then let's make this a night to remember," she says, her voice has a passion that matches my own. "Let's make this a night to fight for."

I hold Eirian close as our breathing settles, her hair splayed across my shoulder like spilled copper under moonlight. The war drums pulse in the distance, but for these stolen moments, the world exists only in the space between her heartbeat and mine.

She traces the inked beasts that climb my collarbone, her fingertip following each deliberate line. "Tell me about this one."

The tattoo she touches depicts a mountain bear locked in eternal combat with a fire-serpent, my first kill at sixteen, when raiders threatened our winter stores. "Every mark tells a story of survival," I murmur against her temple. "Of protecting what matters."

"And what matters most?" Her face glows with the dying embers of distant torches.

You. The word sits heavy in my throat, foreign and dangerous. Chiefs don't speak such truths aloud. We guard them like battlefield secrets.

"My clan. My people." The practiced answer tastes like ash.

She sits up slightly, studying my face with that penetrating gaze that sees through stone and sinew. "Liar."

The accusation should anger me. Instead, something cracks open in my chest, raw and unfamiliar. When did this human woman learn to read me like sacred glyphs?

"The clan mark on my shoulder…" I guide her hand to the braided spiral that denotes my chieftainship. "…burned for three days when they carved it. Every morning I wake knowing that pain was the price of leadership."

Her fingers trace the raised scar tissue. "And this?"

I catch her wrist, bringing her palm to rest over my heart. "This burns for you. Every heartbeat. No ritual prepared me for it."

She leans down, pressing her lips to the spiral mark. The kiss sears deeper than any branding iron. "Then let me give you a mark of my own."

Before I can ask what she means, she reaches for her healer's satchel, retrieving a slender bone needle and a vial of dark ink—the same obsidian shade as the scroll that led us to the peace totem.

"Eirian—"

"Trust me." She speaks with the same authority she wields over fevered patients and infected wounds. "The way you trusted me with your pain."

I watch her prepare the needle with steady hands. No tremor betrays her resolve. This woman who once flinched at the sight of Orc blood now moves with ritual purpose, focusing with a healer's precision.

"Where?" The question rumbles from somewhere deep in my chest.

She places her palm flat against my sternum, just above my heart. "Here. So every time you feel doubt, you'll remember this moment. Remember us."

The first pierce of the needle sends familiar fire through my skin. But this pain carries no aggression, no conquest—only connection. Each careful stroke builds something new beneath my flesh.

"What are you marking me with?"

"Two symbols becoming one." Her voice stays calm through the intimacy of her work. "The willow of House Thorne, for healing and resilience. The mountain peak of your clan, for strength and protection."

I watch the design take shape as a graceful willow tree growing from the rocky face of a mountain, their forms intertwined until it becomes indistinguishable. Neither symbol dominates; both support the other.

"In my homeland," she continues, the needle never pausing, "lovers exchange tokens before battle. Rings, ribbons, locks of hair. But what we share runs deeper than metal or silk."