Page 34 of Till Orc Do Us Part

A beat of silence. Two.

Then she pulls back, rising swiftly to her feet. “Rest.”

I catch her wrist before she can retreat.

Her pulse races beneath my fingers.

“Thank you,” I say softly.

Her eyes soften—just for a moment.

Then the mask slips back into place.

“Sleep, Drokhaz.”

I let her go.

But long after the door clicks shut, her warmth lingers in my palm.

And the storm outside is nothing compared to the one she leaves behind in me.

CHAPTER 11

ROWAN

I’ve made a lot of questionable choices in my life.

Letting an orc billionaire bleed all over the spare bed above my shop is rapidly climbing the list.

The storm is still hammering the windows in pulses when I guide Drokhaz up the narrow staircase, one arm wrapped around his ribs because stubborn bastard or not, he’s barely staying upright.

“Careful,” I mutter as he stumbles against the wall.

“I am fine,” he grits out.

“Uh-huh.” I shoulder the door open and steer him into the small attic room. “You’re leaking like a busted faucet. You’re not fine.”

He doesn’t argue this time. Maybe because he’s too exhausted, maybe because he knows I’m right.

I get him to the bed—an old iron frame I keep for visiting relatives and occasional bookish out-of-towners. The quilt is faded patchwork, stitched by my grandmother’s hands. I wince at the thought of blood soaking into it but shove that aside.

“Sit,” I order.

He does. Slowly.

I grab the first aid kit from the corner shelf and kneel beside him again.

My hands aren’t shaking now.

But my pulse sure as hell is.

There’s too much of him in this tiny room—heat and presence and that damn scent of rain and steel. Every time I get close to the torn skin on his arm, it’s like my breath forgets how to behave.

“Hold still,” I say, voice rougher than I intend.

He watches me. Quiet. Unmoving. Like I’m some puzzle he can’t quite figure out.

I can feel those eyes on me as I peel back the bandage, check the wound. Still bleeding a little, but clean. No sign of deeper damage.