Page 21 of Till Orc Do Us Part

ROWAN

T he first thing I notice is the weight.

Warm. Solid.

An arm draped across my waist, fingers curled loosely against my ribs. The slow, steady rise and fall of breath against the back of my neck.

I blink.

Sheets. Soft. Too soft to be mine.

I turn my head, the faintest ache in my neck as memory crashes in like a wave.

The beach. The stars. His arms around me. The kiss that undid me piece by careful piece.

The choice I made.

No promises. No plans.

Just this.

But this… is not the beach.

This is his bed.

I shift slowly beneath the blanket, heart pounding. The faintest creak of the frame draws a soft rumble from behind me.

His voice, thick with sleep. “You are safe.”

Gods.

Safe.

That’s the problem, isn’t it?

I don’t do safe. Not with men like him. Not with anyone anymore.

I slip free of the covers with as much grace as I can muster, bare feet hitting the floor. My jeans and sweater are folded neatly on a chair—his doing, I’m sure.

I pull them on in silence, every muscle taut.

The room smells like sea salt and cedar. Like him.

I glance once at the bed—broad frame, dark hair tousled against the pillow, his chest rising and falling in deep, steady rhythm.

Too steady.

Too real.

I make it downstairs before the walls close in.

The kitchen is all sharp lines and cool metal. I clutch a chipped mug beneath the tap, gulping cold water like it might drown the panic rising in my throat.

I slept here.

Jamie is with Liara. I sent that text last night with trembling fingers, knowing even then what I was choosing.

But now? Now the choices crowd too close.

I’m not built for this.

For letting someone in. For soft places I can’t control.

I grip the edge of the counter, head bowed.

“Running already?”

His voice curls low from the doorway.

I force a breath. Straighten. “Just getting water.”

He moves into the room, bare feet silent on the tile, a worn tee stretched across broad shoulders.

“You could have stayed,” he says.

I shrug, throat tight. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

He watches me a moment. “You woke yourself.”

I hate how easily he reads me.

Before I can fire back, he crosses to the counter, taps something on the tablet resting there.

“Lease finalized this morning,” he says. “Coastal lot. Long term.”

My pulse spikes.

Lease. Coastal lot.

I hear takeover. I hear control.

“You’re still buying us out,” I snap, the words too sharp, too fast. “Still making moves behind our backs.”

His brow furrows. “No.”

“You expect me to believe that?” I can’t stop. “You charm the crowd, kiss me under the stars, and now you think I’ll roll over while you buy up the town?”

His jaw tightens. “You know better.”

“Do I?” My voice cracks. “Because this looks exactly like what I was afraid of.”

He exhales slow, steady. “The lease is for preservation. For stability. Not profit.”

“Easy to say when you hold the deed.”

Silence hums sharp between us.

His voice drops lower. “You think I would use you.”

I flinch.

Because gods—I don’t know anymore.

Trust is a blade I haven’t let anyone near in years. Not since Jamie’s father left with nothing but a promise and a lie.

And Drokhaz—he is too big, too dangerous, too possible.

He steps closer, eyes steady. “Rowan. You are not a conquest.”

I swallow hard. “Then why does it feel like one?”

His gaze softens—only slightly. “Because you are afraid. And so am I.”

The words land like a stone in my chest.

I press a trembling hand to the counter, grounding myself.

“I can’t do this,” I whisper. “Not if it costs me my town. My son.”

“It will not.”

“You say that now.”

“Then let me prove it.”

I shake my head, throat burning. “I don’t know if I can trust you.”

“I do not ask for blind trust,” he says quietly. “Only the chance to earn it.”

Gods.

He means it.

I can hear it in every unpolished word.

But my heart is a fraying rope, and one more pull might snap it clean through.

“I need space,” I say, voice hoarse.

His shoulders tighten. But he nods. “Then take it.”

I blink hard.

“And know this,” he adds, voice low. “I fight for this place. Not to own it. But because you fight for it. And I will stand beside you—or not at all.”

The ache in my chest deepens.

I turn before he can see the tears threatening to rise.

“I’ll… I’ll be in touch.”

And with that, I step out into the morning sun—cold wind on my skin, the sand beneath my feet unsteady once more.

Not ready.

But not lost.

Not yet.

I shove the door open harder than I mean to.

Cool morning air slams against me, sharp with sea-salt tang. The boards beneath my boots creak with every step. I don’t slow. I don’t look back.

"It was just a fling."

The words loop in my head, tight and hot and useless.

"You knew better. You knew it couldn’t be more."

But gods—my chest aches like I carved a hollow straight through it.

The boardwalk is nearly empty. Early still. Just the gulls wheeling overhead, the hiss of the tide.

Good.

No one to see the way my hands shake.

I force myself to breathe, to move, to pretend.

I shouldn’t have stayed last night.

Shouldn’t have kissed him. Let him touch me like I mattered more than the battles I fight every damn day.

I told myself it was one night.

No strings.

No risk.

And now? My heart won’t listen. Won’t let go.

"Because you are afraid. And so am I."

His voice lingers beneath the roar of my thoughts.

Damn him.

I scrub at my cheeks, pace quickening.

By the time I reach The Gilded Page, my hands are clenched so tight my nails bite into my palms.

I fumble with the key, force the door open, shut it behind me harder than necessary.

The bell chimes—a bright, cheerful sound that makes my teeth clench.

I lean against the counter, head bowed, chest heaving.

"It was just a fling."

But the hollow ache says otherwise.

I don’t know if I’m strong enough to pretend it wasn’t.