Page 4 of Saved By the Mountain Man Orc (The Men of Orc Mountain #1)

Drak

I shouldn't have touched her.

Even just that strand of hair. Even for just a moment.

Because now I can't stop thinking about how soft her skin felt beneath my fingertips. How close her mouth was to mine. How she looked up at me like she was deciding between running away and stepping closer.

I have to get out of here.

I go outside to clear my head. The night air is sharp with the promise of frost, biting through my shirt and raising goosebumps along my arms. Usually, the cold helps ground me, reminds me of who I am and what I can't have.

But tonight, it just makes me think about how warm she felt in my arms when I carried her home.

I grab the axe from its post beside the woodshed and attack the pile of logs I've been meaning to split. The repetitive motion helps. Thunk , lift, thunk , breathe. The bite of the axe blade through seasoned oak, the satisfying crack as each piece falls away from the whole.

I tell myself I can control this. I've done it before when the scent of human settlements drifted up the mountain on certain winds. I know how to ignore instincts, how to bury needs so deep they can't claw their way back to the surface.

But I've never brought a human to my home before.

Never let one see my scars, my tusks, the careful way I've built a life in the spaces between worlds.

Never wanted one to stay.

Until Jasmine.

Even her name makes something tighten in my chest. The way it sounds when I say it aloud, the way it fits in my mouth like it belongs there.

She's already affecting me in ways that have nothing to do with scent or instinct. I can feel it. Beneath my skin, behind my ribs, in the space where my heart used to beat for no one but myself.

This is what the elders spoke of around winter fires when I was barely old enough to understand. The bond that comes without warning, that changes everything in a single moment.

The orc word is Thurok'hai —literally "fire-waker." The one who wakes the fire that's been sleeping in your blood.

She woke mine.

And now I'm fighting every second not to go back inside and claim what my body insists is already mine.

The moon climbs higher, casting silver light across the clearing I carved from wilderness.

I split wood until my shoulders burn and sweat dampens my shirt.

I yank it over my head and toss it to the ground, enjoying the feeling of the cool air on my skin.

The physical exhaustion helps quiet the roar in my head, but it can't touch the deeper ache.

The sound of the cabin door opening makes me freeze mid-swing.

She's come outside.

I turn slowly, axe still gripped in my hands. She's wrapped in the fur blanket I gave her, standing near the doorway with one hand braced against the frame. In the moonlight, she looks ethereal, like something from the old stories the elders used to tell.

Too beautiful for a creature like me to touch.

Too perfect to keep.

"You're not supposed to be walking," I say, voice rougher than I intended.

She lifts her chin in that stubborn gesture I'm already learning to recognize. "I do what I want."

Despite everything, I find myself huffing out something that might be laughter. "I see that."

She doesn't smile, but her face softens. She takes a careful step closer, favoring her good ankle.

"Why did you help me, Drak?"

The truth sits heavy on my tongue, too dangerous to speak aloud.

Because you're mine.

Because the mountain gave you to me.

Because I couldn't let anyone else find you—not my brothers, not the humans who would come looking, not anyone.

"I don't know," I lie.

Her hazel eyes narrow. She's too smart to believe me, and we both know it.

"I don't belong here," she says, voice soft but firm. "Do I?"

No.

Yes.

With me, you do.

Instead of speaking, I step closer. She doesn't flinch, doesn't retreat. Her scent wraps around me—sunshine and wildflowers tinged with something else now. Desire. Lust.

It’s enough to drive an orc wild.

Her gaze drops to my chest. I'd forgotten I was shirtless. It doesn’t matter now. She's seen all of me anyway.

Scars that map decades of survival. Muscle earned through necessity. Skin the color of deep forest shadows.

"You're not what I expected," she says quietly.

"We’re not what anyone expects," I reply. "That's always been the problem."

We're close enough now that I could reach out and touch her. Close enough that if I wanted to, I could wrap my arms around her waist and pull her against me. Close enough to bury my face in her hair and breathe in that scent that's driving me slowly insane.

She looks up at me, moonlight catching the gold flecks in her eyes.

And then she does something that stops my heart entirely.

She licks her lips. Like she's thinking about what it would feel like if I kissed her.

Something inside me snaps.

I move before I can stop myself, one hand slamming against the cabin wall beside her head. Not touching her, but close enough to cage her in. Close enough that she has to tilt her head back to meet my eyes.

"You shouldn't look at me like that," I rasp.

Her breath hitches. "Like what?"

"Like you're not afraid."

"Should I be?"

The question hangs between us, loaded with everything we're not saying.

Instead of answering, I pull back before I do something we'll both regret. Holding my breath, I walk past her into the cabin.

She follows me inside.

"I'll take you to the ridge tomorrow morning," I say without turning around. "It's as far as I can go safely."

Silence stretches behind me.

Then, so softly I almost miss it, she says, "And then what?"

I don't answer because I can't. Because if I do, I'll tell her the truth.

That once I let her go, I'll spend every night listening for her footsteps on the mountain path.

That I'll wake every morning hoping to catch her scent on the wind.

That the mountain gave me one chance to know what it's like to have someone who belongs to me… and I have to let it slip away.

Unless she chooses to stay.

But asking her that would mean admitting what she is to me. And once I do that...

I won't be able to let her leave.