Page 11

Chapter 10

F or the briefest moment, Kazrek froze.

His lips were warm against mine, but unmoving—a wall of stunned stillness that made my stomach drop. I'd misread everything. The small touches, the lingering looks, the way his voice softened when he spoke to me. All of it meant nothing, and I'd just made a complete fool of myself.

I started to pull back, heat flooding my face—

Then his grip tightened, and the world tilted.

One large hand slid up my back to cradle the nape of my neck, fingers threading through my hair as he bent to meet me. The hesitation vanished. In its place was hunger—raw and undeniable. His mouth claimed mine with a quiet intensity that stole my breath.

This wasn't a polite kiss. Wasn't gentle or careful.

This was want, pure and simple.

His tusks pressed lightly against my cheeks, an unfamiliar sensation that sent a shiver down my spine. I'd never kissed an orc before. Had never felt the way their mouths worked differently, the way they had to angle to avoid catching you with the sharp edges. But Kazrek seemed to know exactly how to move, how to position himself to deepen the kiss without hurting me.

My hands clutched at his shirt, twisting in the fabric. He made a low sound in his chest—something between a growl and a groan—and walked me backward until my shoulders met rough bark. I barely registered the tree at my back, too consumed by the way his massive frame surrounded me, blocked out the world beyond us.

"Rowena," he breathed against my mouth, my name half question, half demand.

I answered by rising on my toes again, seeking more of him. My fingers slid up to tangle in his dark hair, tugging, feeling the soft strands between my knuckles.

His response was immediate. He bracketed me against the tree, one forearm pressed to the bark beside my head, the other sliding down to grip my hip. His touch was firm but not bruising, possessive in a way that made heat pool low in my belly. The air between us felt charged, electric.

I arched into him without thinking, chasing his warmth. The movement made my dress pull tight across my chest, fabric clinging in a way I suddenly felt acutely aware of.

Kazrek noticed too. His gaze dropped, lingering on the curve of my breasts beneath the green fabric, and the hunger in his eyes deepened. His thumb brushed the underside of one breast, a whisper of contact that made me gasp.

He searched my face, looking for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, his mouth returned to mine with renewed purpose. This kiss was deeper, his tongue slipping past my lips to taste me properly. I met him eagerly, a quiet moan escaping me when his hand finally cupped my breast through my dress.

The heat of his palm seemed to burn through the thin fabric. My nipple hardened against his touch, and he groaned at the feel of it, circling the sensitive peak with his thumb. Every brush sent sparks through me. It had been so long since I'd been touched like this—so long I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be wanted.

But Kazrek wanted me. I could feel it in the barely restrained power of his movements, in the tension that coiled through his massive frame. He was holding back. Allowing me to set the pace.

I didn't want him to hold back.

I bit his lower lip gently, tugging, and felt him shudder. His hand tightened on my hip, fingers digging into the curve of my waist. He broke the kiss to trail his mouth along my jaw, down the column of my throat. The brush of his tusks against my sensitive skin made me shiver.

"You have no idea," he murmured against my neck, his breath hot, "how long I've wanted to do this."

The words sent a thrill through me. "How long?" I managed, my voice embarrassingly breathless.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against my skin. "Since the moment you glared at me in the clinic." His teeth grazed my pulse point. "So fierce. So stubborn."

I would have rolled my eyes if I could focus on anything beyond the sensation of his mouth working its way down my throat. "That hardly seems—ah—like motivation."

"It was." He pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his amber eyes nearly black with desire. "You’re a firestorm wrapped in human skin. Magnificent."

Heat flooded my cheeks at the raw sincerity in his voice. There was nothing practiced about the way he looked at me, nothing calculated. Just open, honest want.

I couldn't handle it.

I buried my face against his chest, inhaling the scent of cedar and musk that clung to his clothes. His arms wrapped around me, solid and secure. For a moment, we just breathed together, his heart thundering beneath my ear.

Then, without warning, he lifted me.

My startled gasp turned into a soft laugh as he hoisted me easily, his large hands gripping my thighs. I wrapped my legs around his waist instinctively, and the movement pressed the core of me against his stomach. Even through layers of clothing, the pressure was exquisite. I bit my lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Kazrek had no such reservations. He groaned openly, his eyes heavy-lidded as he looked at me. The position put us eye-to-eye, my weight nothing to him. I felt light. Weightless. Safe.

"Is this alright?" he asked, his voice rough with restraint.

I nodded, not trusting mine. My hands settled on his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt. His back hit the tree trunk—he'd spun us, putting himself against it rather than me. The ground was soft beneath his boots as he adjusted his stance, bracing us both.

My dress had ridden up my thighs, bunched around my hips, but I couldn't bring myself to care. Not when his hands were so warm against my skin, not when the cool air kissed places that had been hidden moments before.

He kissed me again, slower this time, deeper. One broad palm slid up my thigh, over my hip, gathering the fabric as it went. I shuddered at the contact, a small sound escaping me. The kiss grew hungrier, his tongue sliding against mine as his hand slipped higher, tracing the curve of my bare hip.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured against my mouth, the words barely audible over the blood rushing in my ears.

What I wanted was his hands on me. Everywhere. What I wanted was to stop thinking, to lose myself in the feel of him, to let this moment stretch on until the rest of the world fell away.

What I wanted was dangerous.

That realization hit like a slap to the face.

I was leaning into him, wrapping around him, letting go in a way that terrified me. My fingers still gripped the fabric at his shoulders, my pulse still thudded beneath my skin, but panic was creeping in now, sharper than desire.

This wasn’t safe.

This wasn’t smart .

Wanting was dangerous. It made people reckless. It made them leave things behind without thinking, like Finn had left Maeve. It made people need something outside of themselves.

I didn't need Kazrek.

I couldn’t .

The panic won. Hard and fast.

I jerked back so suddenly that Kazrek’s grip loosened on instinct, and I was scrambling away before I even knew what I was doing. My boots hit uneven ground, and I almost stumbled, but I caught myself, one hand bracing against the rough bark of the tree. My breath came in short, sharp bursts.

Kazrek remained where he was, his broad chest rising and falling steadily, dark eyes locked on mine.

I knew that look.

Calculated stillness. Not anger, not even frustration—just the taut, quiet patience of a man waiting to see where the damage had landed.

“I—” My mouth felt thick, words tangling before they could fully form. My hands clenched at my sides, fingers curling into the fabric of my dress as if I could hold myself together through sheer force of will. I shook my head once, quick and jerky. “I shouldn’t have…”

Kazrek shifted slightly but didn’t move toward me. His expression didn’t change, but I saw the way something flickered in his gaze, something slow and assessing. He exhaled, rough, but his voice was steady when he spoke. “Rowena.”

It was just my name, but the way he said it—low, deliberate—sent a shiver through me. I hated that. Hated that after all these years of keeping myself guarded, of refusing to yield to things beyond my control, he could unravel me so easily.

I took another step back. He let me.

“I—” I tried again, but the words stuck. What was I supposed to say? That I hadn’t meant to? That would be a lie. That it was a mistake? That would be worse. Because the truth was, I wanted it. Desperately. And that was the problem.

Before he could say anything else or look at me with those steady, knowing eyes and see how my hands trembled, I turned and fled.

The damp earth carried my steps soundlessly as I stumbled away from him, my breath coming fast, too fast, heart slamming against my ribs like it wanted out. The canopy of alder trees closed over me, filtering the late afternoon light into fractured gold and shadow, but I barely saw it.

No footsteps followed.

No voice called me back.

Just the river behind me. Just the wind in the trees. Just my own ragged breathing.

I kept moving, half-blind with panic, my fingers aching from how tightly I curled them into my skirts. The warmth of Kazrek's hands still ghosted against my skin, the weight of him still pressed into my memory, branded there, inescapable.

What had just happened?

By the alders, what had I done?

"Girl, what did you do?"

The small balcony outside my apartment was barely big enough for the two of us, its wooden planks worn smooth by years of rain and sun. It jutted out over the street below, supported by iron brackets, more practical than decorative—a sturdy little perch above the ink shop, meant for airing out parchment and drying herbs, not lingering over late-night drinks.

But tonight, that was exactly what Iris and I were doing.

I stared into my cup, the scent of spiced cider curling into the cool night air, but I hadn't taken more than a sip. Across from me, perched on the edge of the worn wooden bench, Iris watched me over the rim of her own drink, sharp-eyed and expectant.

"I—" My fingers tightened around the ceramic mug. "I kissed him."

There. It was out.

Iris let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh and shook her head. "I knew it," she muttered. "A man like that? The way you’ve been looking at him? It was only a matter of time."

I glared at her, but there was no real bite behind it. "That’s not helpful."

She arched one graying brow at me. "Do you want helpful, or do you want honest?"

I exhaled sharply, frustrated with myself more than her. "I don’t know what I want."

"That," she said, leaning back with a knowing smile, "is a lie."

Everwood had gone quiet beneath us, the last market-goers long gone, the hum of voices and bartering replaced by the occasional clatter of a cart or the murmur of someone making their way home. The air carried the faint scent of distant hearthfires, the crisp bite of approaching winter threading through the warmth of my cider.

I hadn’t seen Kazrek since I ran.

After getting back to the shop, I had thrown myself into work, as if drowning in ledgers and ink-making would erase the memory of his hands on me, the way he had steadied me against the tree, the way he had kissed me.

And the way I had let him, only to tear myself away and flee like a coward.

I tightened my grip on my mug, staring into the dark streets below.

"Nothing since?" Iris asked, too casually, as if she could read my thoughts.

I shook my head. “No sign of him.”

And that shouldn’t have bothered me. It was what I wanted, wasn’t it?

Iris hummed, tapping her fingers against the mug in her lap. “What’s the plan, then?”

I frowned. “Plan?”

“For what happens next.” She gave me a look. “Or are you just hoping to ignore it until it goes away?”

I scoffed, but it came out weaker than I wanted.

“That’s exactly what you’re doing,” Iris said, clearly delighted.

Before I could snap back, the balcony door creaked open behind us.

Auntie Brindle stepped out, her small form swathed in layers of skirts and a thick woolen shawl, her sharp eyes glinting in the lantern light. She took one look at the two of us, then let out a little hum, the kind that made it very clear she already knew more than she should.

It hadn’t even been a full day since she arrived, but somehow, she fit like she’d always been here. Like I had simply forgotten a space existed for her until she filled it.

“Maeve’s out cold,” she announced, adjusting the shawl around her shoulders. “And I’m off to my own rest—unless you need me to knock some sense into you before I go.” She directed that last part at me, arching a knowing brow.

I pressed my lips into a thin line. “I’m fine.”

The brownie gave a slow nod, entirely unconvinced. “Of course you are.”

Iris grinned. “She did kiss that orc of hers tonight.”

Brindle’s expression didn’t so much as flicker with surprise. Instead, she clicked her tongue, amused. “About time.”

I groaned, pressing a hand to my forehead. “I hate both of you.”

Brindle just chuckled. “And yet, here we are.”

Iris lifted her mug in mock toast. “To terrible life choices.”

Brindle laughed, shaking her head as she turned back toward the door. “Don’t stay up brooding too long, girl. You might start getting ideas.” She winked, then disappeared inside, leaving me to exactly that problem.

I sighed, tipping my head back against the railing.

Iris took another sip of her cider before setting the mug beside her. “So. Are you going to tell me why you ran?”

I stiffened. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie.” Her voice was too soft for teasing now, too knowing. “You ran, Ro.”

I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. The air smelled like autumn, like the last of the alder leaves clinging to the trees, like cider and woodsmoke and everything that should have made me feel safe. But I didn’t feel safe. Not with the way my chest still ached.

When I finally spoke, my voice was quieter. “Because it felt like something.”

Iris didn’t say anything, just waited.

I swallowed. “Because it felt like something I shouldn’t want.”

A breeze stirred my hair, lifting the loose strands at my temples.

Iris exhaled through her nose, leaning back against the railing. She rubbed her thumb over the rim of her cup, thoughtful. “You ever wonder why I never married?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “I—what?”

“I had a man once. Good man, mostly. Had a knack for carving, hands like they were made for shaping the world into something softer.” She shook her head, glancing out over the street below. “But he wanted more than what I could give. Wanted roots. A house with a gate. I was too restless. Too stubborn. Thought needing someone would make me small.”

Iris turned back to me then, her expression unreadable. “And by the time I figured out I’d been wrong, he was gone.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy but not uncomfortable.

“I’m not saying your story is mine,” she said, tilting her head at me. “But don’t go thinking you’re the first fool to run from something good just because you don’t know what to do with it.”

I swallowed, shifting my grip on the mug. I had never thought of Iris as someone who could have settled down. She was too steady, too comfortable in her own skin. But maybe she hadn’t always been. Maybe she’d once been unsure, too.

My stomach twisted. “Iris—”

She raised a hand, cutting me off. “I’m not asking for a heart-to-heart. Just… maybe don’t be so certain that running is the safer choice.”

I curled my fingers around my mug, staring down at the swirling cider. “I don’t—” My voice wavered. “People leave, Iris.”

Iris studied me for a long moment. Then she said, very simply, “Not everyone leaves.”

The wind shifted, cooler now. My hands curled around my mug.

Iris let the silence settle before she spoke again, her voice quiet. “Rowena, what if you’re the one who’s been running all along?”

The thought struck me somewhere deep, somewhere I didn’t want to look too closely.

So I didn’t answer.

I let the silence stretch. Iris didn’t push. The night carried on below. And somewhere in the distance, I imagined the sound of the river still moving—slow, steady, unbothered by what it had carried away.