Page 6 of One Night with Her Mountain Orc

Chapter 4

August

Idon’t know what Iexpected from an orc’s home. I know they’ve been part of this island for over one hundred years. They work as police officers, search and rescue, gardeners, and brewers. Gorgeous yet disturbing monsters aside, they’re part of society’s fabric.

So why did I think Bjorn was going to carry me off to a cave? I’m not sure. Ashamed, but undaunted, I inspect around while he fiddles at the stove, making tea for us. Boxes everywhere. No furniture. Just stacks of cardboard boxes that look like they’ve been rolled across the country and floated to the island.

“Are you moving?” I ask, inching closer to the tiny kitchen, made tinier by Bjorn’s giant frame taking up all the breathing room. His back muscles ripple under his flannel shirt with each movement he makes. His neck flexes as he turns to look at me. I’ve heard a lot of women talk about how strong and angry orcs are, but I’ve never heard anyone talk about how soft their gaze can be. Bjorn’s eyes have the same calm in them that they had on the mountain earlier—like the banked coals of a fire.

“Just moved in. Yesterday.” Bjorn hands me a blue mug, then sips his own. We stand awkwardly in the kitchen. I try not to touch him, but gods, it’s difficult.

“You act like you know your way around for just moving here,” I say, bobbing the tea bag up and down in my mug. He nods and huffs out an almost laugh.

“I grew up here. This is my first time back in five years. Needed a change of pace and scenery. What about you?”

I sigh. I was enjoying hearing his deep voice vibrate through me. “My cousin, May, grew up here. My mom and I used to visit, so I have fond memories. Mom passed away a few months ago, and I’ve been a bit... nomadic since then. Lost. Moved in with my cousin May two weeks ago. But now, after today, I can’t go back.” Shrugging, like it’s not a big deal that I lost my mom, and now I’m essentially homeless, I yawn loudly. My mom always said I could wake the dead with my yawn. I sip my tea, floral yet spicy. I like it.

With a grunt, Bjorn sets his empty mug on the counter and walks away. His arm brushes against mine—there’s no way around it. Fire sears my arm where we touched. Why am I torturing myself this way? He clearly does not want to have anything to do with my idiotic ass, who tried to climb a mountain on a dare.

After hearing a couple of thumps that are not my heart pounding, I follow the sound. Bjorn is on his knees, creating a nest of pillows and blankets. He looks up when my toes reach the edge of the nest, rests his meaty hands on his thick thighs. “I should have put you straight to bed. You will sleep here. I’ll be down the hall if you need anything.” Something rumbles inside me at him on his knees before me. Something dangerous.

“You don’t have a bed?”

“No, I only moved what fit in my truck. I’ve been sleeping in a chair I borrowed from my brother.”

“Well, thank you?” My voice goes up at the end, because I don’t know what to do with any of this information. I don’t know what to do with his kindness.

Exhaustion hits me like a semi-truck. Yawning again, I stretch, then pull off my sweater. I’m finally starting to warm up. There’s nowhere to put it, so after holding it awkwardly while I spin in a circle looking for a chair, I finally drop it to the floor. Whatever.

My eyes catch his, and there’s clearly more than warm coals in his eyes now. His nostrils flare as he stares at me. Looking down, I forgot what I was wearing. A long-sleeved, skintight red thermal. And beneath that, perky nipples. They’ve been like that all day because of the cold. Of course, I’m not cold now. Bjorn clears his throat and stands.

“You will thank me in the morning. The bathroom is down the hall,” he says begrudgingly. And with that, he walks down the hall to what I guess is the bedroom and closes the door. But not before my eyes see the bulge in his pants. The enormous bulge that makes my mouth water.

“Well, goodnight, I guess,” I whisper into the silent room. Once he is out of sight, I take off my pants and thermal shirt. It’s a camisole, panties, and socks kind of night. Snuggled into the nest, under the mountain of blankets, I think for a moment how funny it is that he has so many blankets and no bed. But that’s as far as I get; sleep overtakes me.

When I wake, it’s still dark out. My phone, with ten percent battery, tells me it’s two in the morning. I should be asleep. Rolling over, I try to match my breath to the gentle snores I hear coming down the hall. But I can’t, too deep, too long. He must have the lung capacity of a whale. When I focus on his breath, I remember the way his arm brushed against mine. The way he held me when he carried me here from the brewery. The way he helped me down the mountain without judgment. His eyes in the light—teasing and also ablaze with intensity that doesn’t scare me, but maybe it should.

Eventually, I limp out of bed, forgetting for a minute that my ankle is injured. Fire shoots up my ankle and leg. Catching myself, I bite my lip before I yell and wake Bjorn. I find mouthwash in the bathroom, then attempt to tiptoe toward the snores. There’s enough moonlight streaming in through the window to see that Bjorn is asleep in the only chair in the entire apartment. I don’t understand it. Why didn’t he make himself a nest?

His skin is a silvery green in the moonlight, and his fangs have a slight gleam in them. The sight of him makes me shiver, which has nothing to do with the cold and howling wind outside.

“You going to say something or just stand there staring?” His rumble awakens me further, his raspy voice resonates somewhere between my thighs. I swallow hard.

---