Page 27 of Savage Devotion (Orc Warrior Romances #2)

"If I don't make it, you need to know?—"

"I said stop." I press harder against the wound, using physical pressure to interrupt words I'm not ready to hear. "You're going to make it out. We both are."

"The explosion. The fire. You came back for me."

"Tactical necessity. Couldn't complete the mission alone."

"Bullshit."

The word carries absolute certainty, and something in his voice makes me look up from the wound to meet his eyes. Rust-red and completely focused despite the head injury, seeing through my deflections with uncomfortable clarity.

"You came back because you care," he continues. "Because somewhere between the suspicion and the partnership, something real developed."

"Kaelgor—"

"I know you're scared. I know trusting someone means risking another betrayal, another loss." His thumb traces across my knuckles. "But what happened between us, what's still happening. It's not weakness."

The ember-stone flares brighter around us, responding to emotional intensity with increasing warmth. Or maybe I'm imagining it, seeing meaning in random phenomena because I want to believe in something larger than tactical convenience and shared survival.

"I betrayed your trust," I whisper. "My House sent spies, used information I might have provided?—"

"Your House. Not you."

"The distinction doesn't always matter."

"It matters to me."

Such simple words, but they carry weight that threatens to shatter every defense I've built around my heart. He's offering forgiveness for sins I'm not sure I deserve absolution for, trust despite evidence that trusting me is dangerous.

It matters to me.

I lean closer, ostensibly to check his pupils for signs of concussion but really because I need the proximity, need to see the truth written in his features.

The ember-stone's glow turns his skin warm bronze, highlights the firm line of his jaw and the unexpected gentleness in eyes that can be hard as winter stone.

"Your head injury—" I say, but he cuts me off by pulling me down into a kiss.

It's different from our first kiss by the campfire. That was a passion born of relief and proximity, two people seeking comfort in shared warmth. This is a deliberate choice, a conscious decision to bridge the gap between suspicion and trust.

His lips are warm and soft and taste like copper from the blood, but underneath is something uniquely him, something that makes my heart race and my carefully maintained emotional distance crumble like sandcastles at high tide.

When we break apart, his forehead rests against mine, breath warm against my face.

"Forgive me," he whispers. "For doubting you. For letting fear override judgment."

"There's nothing to forgive."

"Ressa—"

"Nothing." I cup his face in my hands, thumbs tracing the sharp line of his cheekbones. "We both made choices based on incomplete information. Both tried to protect what mattered most."

"And what matters most to you?"

The question hangs in the ember-stone's glow, weighted with implications that extend far beyond immediate survival. What matters most? Mission completion? House loyalty? Personal safety?

Or something else entirely.

"Right now?" I kiss him again, soft and sure and full of promises I'm not ready to voice. "Getting you out of here alive."

"And after that?"

"After that, we figure out what comes next."

He nods, and I see acceptance in his expression. Not just of my words but of the uncertainty they represent. We don’t know what waits beyond immediate survival, but we're willing to find out together.

The ember-stone pulses around us, and for a moment I swear I can feel the mountain's heartbeat, ancient and steady and completely indifferent to human concerns.

But the warmth that wraps around us feels like a blessing, like the mountain itself approving of whatever bond is forming between a disgraced noble and a clan warrior.

"Can you travel?" I ask, returning to practical concerns.

"With help."

"Good. Because the air currents suggest multiple passages, and I'd rather not test which ones lead to freedom versus deeper underground."

I help him to his feet, noting the way he favors his left side and the careful control he maintains over his movements. Injured, yes, but functional. Between his strength and my navigation skills, we can make it to the surface.

We explore the chamber systematically, mapping air currents and passage options with the methodical thoroughness of soldiers who understand that missed details kill. Three potential exits, two that feel like they lead deeper underground and one that carries the unmistakable scent of surface air.

"That one." Kaelgor points toward a passage that slopes upward, carved from natural stone but widened and reinforced with the same ember-stone that lights the chamber.

"Agreed." I shoulder my pack, checking weapon positions and supply levels. "But carefully. If this place is as significant as the legends suggest, it might have guardians."

"Guardians?"

"Protections. Wards. Things that don't want unauthorized visitors disturbing ancient sites."

We move through the passage together, his hand occasionally touching my shoulder for balance, my awareness extended for signs of danger or trap. The ember-stone provides steady light, growing brighter as we climb toward what I hope is freedom.

The passage opens onto a ledge carved into the mountainside, high enough that the valley spreads below us like a tactical map rendered in forest and shadow. Dawn light paints the peaks in shades of gold and crimson, and the air carries the clean bite of high altitude and new snow.

"We made it," I breathe.

But when I turn toward Kaelgor, expecting to share the relief of reaching safety, I find him staring back toward the passage we just emerged from. His expression carries wonder and something approaching reverence.

"What?"

"Look."

I follow his gaze and understand immediately. From outside, the passage entrance is invisible, hidden by natural rock formations and shadows that would fool casual observation. But from inside, the ember-stone creates a warm glow that turns the entrance into a beacon.

A beacon that would guide the lost to safety.

Heart of the Mountain. Not just a forge site or temple, but a refuge. A place where the desperate could find shelter and the lost could find direction.

"The legends," I murmur.

"More than legends."

He's right. Whatever power flows through that chamber, whatever ancient purpose shaped its creation, it's still active. Still offering protection to those who need it most.

Still bringing together souls that might otherwise never find common ground.

"We should report this," I say, but without conviction.

"To who? Your House? Mine?"

"Someone should know."

"Someone does." He turns toward me, rust-red eyes serious in the dawn light. "We know. And that's enough for now."

For now. The words acknowledge decisions made in crisis don't always survive the return to normal life. That whatever bond formed between us in desperate circumstances might not withstand the pressures of clan politics and House loyalties.

But they also acknowledge that what happened in the ember-stone chamber was real, significant, worth protecting even if we're not sure how to protect it.

I nod, understanding the unspoken agreement. The Heart of the Mountain remains our secret, at least until we understand what it means for both our peoples.

"The others," I realize. "My team, your warriors. They'll be looking for us."

"Probably assume we're dead." His expression grows grim. "Cave-in like that, chemical explosion, survivors would be unlikely."

"Which gives us options."

"Such as?"

"We can return as we are—alliance partners who survived disaster through cooperation. Or we can return as something else."

"What kind of something else?"

I take his hand, fingers interlacing with a natural ease that suggests this gesture will become comfortable, necessary.

"That's what we figure out together."

The descent from the mountainside takes most of the morning, following deer trails and watercourses that eventually connect to established paths.

We move carefully, not just because of Kaelgor's injuries but because we're both aware that returning to our respective forces means returning to pressures and expectations that don't account for what developed between us.

House Vaelmark will want tactical intelligence and strategic advantage. The Ironspine Clan will want assurance that its secrets remain protected. Neither will be particularly interested in the emotional complications of enemies becoming allies becoming something more personal.

But as we reach the edge of familiar territory, I realize the complications don't matter as much as I thought they would.

What matters is the steady warmth of Kaelgor's hand in mine, the way he automatically adjusts his pace to accommodate my shorter stride, the silent communication that's developed between us.

Trust, yes. But more than that.

Partnership. Mutual respect, shared survival, and emotional honesty build real partnerships.

Our forces find us before we reach the main camp, scouts from both sides converging on our position with the barely controlled urgency of people who've been searching for the missing.

Relief and suspicion war across their faces as they take in our condition as injured but mobile, together but not restrained.

"Commander Ressa!" Lieutenant Morris reaches us first, eyes quickly cataloging visible injuries. "We thought you were killed in the tunnel collapse."

"Reports of our death were greatly exaggerated." I don't release Kaelgor's hand, making the partnership visible and undeniable. "We found another way out."

"Through Ironspine territory," one of the orc warriors observes, rust-red eyes flicking between us with obvious calculation.

"Through neutral ground," Kaelgor corrects firmly. "Ancient paths that belong to no clan."

The explanation satisfies immediate questions while avoiding details that would complicate the larger situation. We're allies who survived disaster through cooperation, nothing more and nothing less.

At least as far as official reports are concerned.

But when we reach the main camp and face the inevitable debriefings and medical examinations, Kaelgor's hand finds mine again, hidden from observation but warm with promise.