Page 13 of Marked by the Scarred Orc (Heat & Ink #6)

Corrine

T wo years later...

I awake to the sound of Sterling’s demanding meow echoing from downstairs, which means Harken is already up with baby Gareth and forgot to feed His Royal Fuzziness on schedule.

Rolling over, I stretch in our enormous bed and smile at how different this place feels now. The house smells like coffee and that distinctive baby scent that somehow manages to be both sweet and slightly sour at the same time.

Gone downstairs are the pristine white walls and showroom furniture. In their place are family photos, Gareth’s colorful toys scattered on every surface, and Sterling’s cat trees strategically positioned throughout the house so he can survey his kingdom from multiple vantage points.

This mansion finally feels like home.

Eventually I pad barefoot down the hallway, passing the nursery where I hear Harken’s deep voice singing some traditional orc lullaby to our son. Precious. I should stop and say hello, but I think it’s best for everyone involved if I get a sip of coffee first before I converse with anyone.

Next to the nursery is Sterling’s dedicated room, because yes, my cat has his own bedroom complete with heated bed, climbing structures, and a window seat overlooking the front gardens.

And across the hall is my yoga studio, the one room in this house that’s entirely mine, with mirrors and mats and the peace I need to start each morning centered.

“Good morning, handsome,” I greet my gorgeous cat as I enter the kitchen. He’s sitting by his empty food bowl, giving me a look that clearly says the service in this establishment has gone downhill.

“I know, I know. Dad’s distracted by your baby brother.”

Sterling flicks his tail dismissively. Even after two years, he’s still not entirely convinced that Gareth is a permanent addition to our household.

I get the coffee pot going and scoop his expensive grain-free food into his bowl and scratch behind his ears. At eight years old, Sterling has fully embraced his role as the elder statesman of our family, though he makes it clear that everyone else is here at his sufferance.

Finally, I get a deep, satisfying sip of my favorite coffee.

“Good morning, my bride,” Harken’s voice rumbles behind me, and I turn to find him holding our eighteen-month-old son.

Gareth is absolutely beautiful, a perfect miniature version of his father with green skin, tiny bumps where his horns are starting to develop, and Harken’s dark eyes. His little tusks are just starting to show, and he has that same serious expression Harken gets when he’s concentrating.

“How did he sleep?” I ask as I set down my mug and reach for our son.

“Better than last week. Only woke up once.” Harken passes Gareth to me, and I breathe in that perfect baby smell while our son babbles happily.

“Da-da-da-da,” Gareth chants, reaching back toward Harken.

“Mama,” I correct gently. “Ma-ma.”

“Da-da-da,” he responds with a grin that shows off those tiny tusks.

I laugh and shake my head. “He’s definitely your son.”

Harken’s face practically glows with pride every time someone points out the resemblance. After growing up feeling like an outcast because of his scar, having a son who looks exactly like him seems to heal something deep inside of my husband.

“I have to head to Heat & Ink for a few hours this afternoon,” Harken says, pouring more coffee into my favorite mug, the one that says “World’s Okayest Cat Mom” that Sterling somehow picked out.

“Talon has a client specifically requesting traditional orc markings from our Maine clan, the type that I was trained to give.”

“That’s great. How many hours?”

“Three, maybe four at most. Is that alright?”

I love that he still asks, even though we both know I’m perfectly capable of handling Gareth on my own.

Harken has embraced being a stay-at-home dad with the same intensity he brought to everything else.

He works maybe ten hours a week at the tattoo shop now, just enough to keep his skills sharp and help Talon with specialized work.

“Of course. Actually, it’s perfect timing. I have a video call with a potential client this morning so this afternoon is open for me.”

His eyes light up. “Another one?”

For the past six months, I’ve been seriously considering starting my own digital marketing firm. Working for other people is fine, but I have ideas, vision, and thanks to Harken’s financial security, I have the freedom to take risks.

“An orc brewery in Seattle that still specializes in orc ale but has also created a specific ale that is more palatable for humans. They want someone who understands both human and orc markets.”

“That’s perfect for you.”

“I think so too. The owner is actually an orc who mated with a human, and they’re trying to bridge both communities with their business.”

Harken nods approvingly. “You should do it. Start your own company.”

“You really think so?”

“Corrine, you’re brilliant at what you do. You understand both cultures, you care about your clients’ success, and you have more integrity than any of the big marketing firms. Why wouldn’t you succeed?”

This is what I love about Harken. He believes in me completely, supports my dreams without question, and makes it possible for me to take chances because I know our family is secure.

Gareth starts fussing, and I automatically set him down so he can walk. Our baby is big enough to walk and he loves showing us his skills. At eighteen months, he’s already bigger than most human two-year-olds and eats like he’s storing up for hibernation.

I settle into the comfortable chair in our living room—one of the few pieces the decorator got right—and Gareth immediately climbs onto my lap. Sterling appears from nowhere and settles on the arm of the chair, supervising as always.

“This is nice,” I say, watching Harken move around the kitchen, cleaning up.

“What is?”

“This. All of it. Our life.”

He pauses and looks at me, that soft expression crossing his scarred features. “Even when I’m covered in baby food and you haven’t had a shower yet today?”

I wink at him. “Especially then.”

Two years ago, I never could have imagined this scene.

Me in a mansion that actually feels like home, with an orc husband who’s devoted to our family, holding our green-skinned son while my judgmental cat supervises everything.

The house that once felt cold and empty now feels warm and lived-in.

The formal dining room has become Gareth’s playroom.

The library is where Harken reads to him every night.

The kitchen island where I once demanded he claim me is now covered in baby bottles and Sterling’s various food bowls.

“I should start getting ready for work,” I say reluctantly.

“I’ve got him,” Harken assures me. “Take your time.”

I kiss our son’s forehead and hand him back to his devoted father. As I head upstairs, I hear Harken starting up another orc lullaby, this one about brave warriors and ancient battles.

In my yoga studio, I take a few minutes for myself, stretching and breathing and centering my thoughts.

I do a shortened routine because I woke up a little late.

Through the window, I can see the grounds that once seemed impossibly pristine.

Now there’s a sandbox in the formal garden and a play structure on the perfectly manicured lawn.

Sterling appears in the doorway, giving me his “you’re taking too long” look.

“I know. Time to get ready for work.”

He follows me to the bedroom, settling on his favorite spot on the bed while I shower and get dressed. From downstairs, I can hear Harken talking to Gareth in that gentle voice he reserves for our son.

My phone buzzes with a text from my pregnant sister, Mia: Sunday dinner at our place? Kavin wants to grill.

We’ll be there, I text back. Fair warning: Gareth is in his throwing food phase.

Rhys will love that. Birds of a feather.

I grin and head downstairs, where I find my boys in the living room. Harken is sitting on the floor with Gareth, who’s happily trying to stack blocks. Sterling follows behind me and rushes up to claim his favorite chair in the room.

“Perfect family meeting,” I announce. “Who wants to go to Aunt Mia’s for dinner on Sunday and watch Uncle Kavin burn hamburgers?”

Gareth claps his hands.

“I think that’s a yes,” Harken says with a laugh.

I grab my purse and keys, kiss my husband and ruffle our son’s dark hair.

“Have a good day at work,” Harken says. “Think about that business idea.”

“I will.”

As I drive away from our home I can’t stop smiling. Stumbling, drunk, into Heat & Ink at 2 am and asking for a tattoo on my ass, has turned into the best mistake I ever made.