Page 33

Part II

K azrek’s mouth was warm and unhurried, his hands braced on either side of my hips like he didn’t plan to let me go for a while.

I curled my fingers into his shirt, tugged him closer until the press of him was something I felt in every line of my body. He tasted like rosemary and smoke, like roasted meat and late spring air. Like home.

“You're tired,” I murmured against his lips.

“I’ll sleep later.”

He bent to kiss the hinge of my jaw, the slope of my neck, slow and reverent. One of his hands slid down, dragging the hem of my apron with it. I let it fall, untying the back with fingers that trembled more from want than hesitation.

I was already thinking about our room upstairs—about the bed with the too-soft mattress, about the shutter we’d never bothered to fix that let in just enough light. About the quiet.

But Kazrek didn’t move to lead me anywhere.

He stayed pressed against the workbench, one hand cradling my jaw as if I might disappear if he stopped touching me. His thumb brushed just beneath my lower lip, and when I met his gaze, I saw something in it that rooted me in place.

Not hunger. Not urgency.

Devotion.

The kind that didn't ask. The kind that simply stayed.

“I still wake up sometimes,” he said, voice barely a breath, “thinking I lost you. Both of you.”

I leaned into his hand, kissed the pad of his thumb. “We’re right here,” I said.

Kazrek hummed, unconvinced. His other hand brushed the hair from the nape of my neck, calloused fingers trailing along my skin. No magic tingled there anymore, but his touch still sparked something in me. Something that had nothing to do with healing and everything to do with him.

"It's been so long," he groaned, pressing his lips to that sensitive spot below my ear.

"Three days," I corrected. "Hardly an eternity."

"Felt like one."

I laughed softly. "You've grown dramatic in your old age."

He made a low sound of disagreement, then lifted me easily from the stool, setting me on the edge of the workbench. Pots of ink rattled, and I should have cared—should have worried about spills and stains and the waste of precious materials.

Instead, I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

"I missed you," I admitted against his mouth. It was easier to say now, these small vulnerabilities. Easier to let them exist between us.

His hands framed my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. After everything, after all the passion and hunger between us, it was this gentleness that undid me the most.

"I know," he said simply.

I laughed again and tugged at his tunic. "Arrogant."

His smile was slow, private. A thing I'd earned the right to see. "Honest."

And then his mouth was on mine, warm and familiar and still somehow thrilling. I melted into him, my hands finding their way beneath his shirt to spread across the broad expanse of his back. He made a sound of approval deep in his throat, his own hands moving to the laces of my bodice.

"Not here," I breathed against his lips. "Upstairs."

He pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes dark with desire. "You sure you want to wait that long?"

I pressed my forehead to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my touch. "I want a bed," I said. "And time."

Kazrek nodded once, then lifted me again, this time carrying me toward the stairs. I wound my arms around his neck, pressed my face to his throat, breathed in the scent of him—herbs and clean sweat and something distinctly his.

"I can walk, you know," I murmured.

"I know," he said, taking the stairs two at a time. "I like this better."

Our room was bathed in midday light, dust motes dancing in the beams that streamed through the half-drawn curtains. Kazrek set me down gently on the edge of the bed, but I didn't let go of his shirt. Instead, I pulled him down with me, reveling in the solid weight of him as he braced himself above me.

"You're wearing too many clothes," he observed, his voice rougher now.

I reached up to pull the tie from his hair, watching as it fell forward around his face. "So are you."

We undressed each other slowly, savoring the familiar terrain of skin and scars. His fingers worked the laces of my bodice with practiced ease, then slipped beneath the fabric to caress my breasts. I arched into his touch, eyes falling closed as pleasure spiraled through me.

"Better than ink-making?" he asked, lips brushing my collarbone.

"Don't make me choose," I said, smiling as I ran my hands down his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. "I'm quite fond of both."

Kazrek laughed, the sound vibrating against my skin. He shifted lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down my stomach, his tusks leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. When he reached the waistband of my skirt, he looked up, eyes gleaming with something wicked and reverent all at once.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, voice low and warm as he worked my skirts off.

I grinned, breath catching as his hands gripped my hips again, steady and sure. “You know exactly what I want.”

His brow arched, amused. “Say it anyway.”

“Cocky,” I muttered.

He nosed against my thigh, breath hot against my skin. “Honest.”

I laughed—and it wasn’t a nervous sound. It was real, open, delighted. “I want your mouth.”

Kazrek groaned like I’d just granted him a blessing. “As you wish.”

He lowered himself with reverence, but his tongue was sinful, his mouth sure. He licked me like he’d missed the taste of me, like this was what he’d been thinking about every night he’d been too tired to touch me—like he was making up for every time we’d rushed, every time we hadn’t had the luxury of slow.

I gasped, hips arching, fingers digging into the sheets. He didn’t stop. Didn’t tease. Just gave.

“Stars, Kaz—”

He hummed, low and pleased, and the vibration of it made my toes curl.

I was loud. I didn’t care. There was no fear left in me, no part of me trying to shrink or hide. I let him see it all—let him hear how good he made me feel, how much I wanted this, wanted him. I opened my thighs wider for him, shameless now, my heels digging into the sheets as I rocked against his mouth. His tongue moved in slow, confident strokes, parting me with deliberate care, circling the spot that made my vision blur.

“Right there,” I gasped, one hand flying to his hair. I curled my fingers in it, not to guide—he didn’t need guiding—but just to hold on.

He groaned again, the sound sending another pulse of heat through me, and pressed two fingers inside me, curling them just so.

My back arched. “Kaz—don’t stop—”

He didn’t. He never did. He knew me now. Knew every sound I made, every way my body came apart for him. Pleasure built fast and hot, coiling low in my belly, tightening until it was all I could feel. And still, he licked, slow and steady, fucking me with his fingers until I broke with a cry that echoed off the beams.

I came hard, legs trembling, hips stuttering against his mouth. He held me through it, tongue gentle now, soft and reverent as I shook. When I opened my eyes, he was watching me. His lips slick, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

“You always look so proud after,” I said, voice wrecked but amused.

“Shouldn’t I be?” His voice was rough with want.

I pulled him up and kissed him, tasting myself on his mouth and not caring at all. His cock pressed hot and hard between us, and I reached for him, wrapping my hand around him with practiced ease. Kazrek sucked in a breath and buried his face against my neck.

“Lie back,” I whispered. “Let me ride you.”

His groan was full-bodied. He obeyed. I straddled him slowly, savoring the drag of him as I sank down. He filled me just right—deep and perfect and home.

He was watching me again, hands firm on my hips, but not controlling. Just steady. Just there.

I rocked against him, finding my rhythm, riding him with a confidence I didn’t used to have. I wanted to be seen. Wanted him to feel everything I gave.

“Look at you,” he said roughly. “So fucking beautiful. So strong.”

I rolled my hips harder. “Then don’t look away.”

He didn’t.

And I didn’t slow down. Not when his hands slid up my back, not when he sat up and kissed me through another climax, not when I felt him grow even harder inside me, on the edge of breaking.

“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.

She shrugged, rolling her neck until it cracked. “Miren likes a calm house. I haven’t been one lately. Thought maybe you’d lend me a bit of yours.”

Then, a beat slower, eyes softer: “I thought maybe I needed help.”

Something in me shifted at that. Not sympathy exactly—recognition. I knew what it felt like to reach the edge of yourself and need someone steady to hold the line.

“You’re not the first,” I said. “You won’t be the last.”

Larka looked relieved in the way only a woman held together by grit and sheer will could look relieved. “Thank the Seven,” she muttered, sagging into the bench like her bones had finally remembered they were tired.

Kazrek looked at me over the baby’s downy head.

I looked back.

“Well,” I said, voice dry, “at least we didn’t make the new sign yet.”

He huffed a sound that might’ve been a laugh. “Better change it to ‘ Closed until the family drama sorts itself out .’”

“Don’t you dare,” Larka called from the bench. “I want sticky buns and peace and at least one full night of sleep before anyone sorts anything.”

Kazrek shifted Miren in his arms with a quiet ease that still made something tighten in my chest. Not longing. Just… fullness. A feeling too big for the space it occupied.

“She’s heavier than she looks,” he murmured.

“She’s got orc bones,” Larka said without opening her eyes. “And a temper to match. Wait until she starts teething.”

“Please don’t curse us this early,” I said, but the words were fond, already tugging a blanket from the basket by the stove. I spread it across Larka’s legs, nudging her gently when she tried to protest.

She slumped further into the bench with a satisfied grunt.

“Maeve’ll be thrilled,” I added, glancing toward the front windows. “She’s been campaigning for another baby to practice lullabies on.”

“She can practice on mine,” Larka said. “Just let me nap while she does it.”

The door creaked open again—no knock this time, just the soft slam of familiarity—and Maeve burst in, cheeks pink from the cold, red curls tangled and wild.

“Sticky buns secured!” she declared, holding the greasy paper bag over her head like a trophy. Then she spotted the bundle in Kazrek’s arms. “Is that a baby?”

“It is,” I said.

Her eyes lit up. “Can I hold her?”

“Wash your hands first,” Kazrek said, already lowering himself into the chair by the hearth, shifting Miren into the crook of his elbow.

Maeve bolted toward the back room, shouting something about finding her “magic-free hand towel.”

I leaned against the counter, arms crossed loosely, watching them.

Kazrek and the baby. Larka dozing with one hand still tucked into the crook of her traveling pack. Maeve’s voice singing through the hall in off-key rhymes. The smell of ink and herbs and warm sugar clinging to every surface.

There had been so much fear. So much loss and almost-loss. So many nights I’d braced myself for what might come next.

But right now, there was only this.

Light on the floorboards.

A fire in the hearth.

A home that had become wide enough to hold more than I ever thought I’d have.

Kazrek looked up, caught me watching him. The expression on his face was quiet, unreadable—and then not unreadable at all. Just content. Settled. Present.

He tilted his head. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” I said, meaning it.

I crossed the room, leaned over to press a kiss to his brow, then one to Miren’s downy head. She smelled like milk and laundry and a little bit like road dust. Like something new.

“Where’s the map?” Kazrek asked quietly, as Maeve clattered back into the room behind us.

“Still hanging in the shop,” I said. “But we can move it.”

He nodded. “Might be time to pick a dot.”

A thrill ran through me—soft and quiet, but real. Not urgency. Not escape. Just possibility.

“Soon,” I said. “Maybe next spring.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. He reached for my hand without looking, threading our fingers together.

Behind us, Maeve sang her lullaby in a warble of made-up notes. Larka muttered something about murder if anyone touched her bun. Kazrek hummed under his breath as Miren stirred and settled again.

The fire crackled. The window fogged. And in the stillness between one heartbeat and the next, I realized we weren’t just surviving anymore.

We were living.

We were home.

If you loved Rowena and Kazrek, you won't want to miss what's coming next. The next story is quieter, fiercer, and just as full of heart. Her Orc Protector is available for pre-order now.