Page 5 of One Stolen Night with Her Orc

Inside the brewery, the fire blazes, but the bar is empty. Sniff just in case, no human scent. I spy a napkin written note on the bar, a small pile of cash under it. I have the best customers.

Two at a time, I take Poppy to the upstairs apartment I sometimes rent out. Strip off her frozen clothes and towel dry her hair, I barely register the beauty of her. I have to get her warm. Tuck her into bed, then pull out all the extra blankets from the closet to make sure she’s plenty warm. I can’t hear the thoughts in my head for the pounding in my heart. Her skin is so cold, so blue; it’s otherworldly. I get the fire in the fireplace going, adding lots of fuel. By the time I finish with that and check on her in bed, there’s slightly more color to her lips and cheeks. I sigh in relief.

Though icy, her body calls to me. Satiny, soft skin with all the curves and dimples I could possibly want. I love that her skin against mine invokes images of trees. My green against her warm honey oak skin. It takes an incredible amount of self-control not to pet the skin of her arms while she warms, not to wrap my body around her to give her my warmth.

Downstairs, I make sure the doors are locked, put the kettle on the stove, and warm two mugs while I wait for the kettle. The first time I’ve stopped moving since making tea for her hours ago. Why did she leave? Why does my heart hurt so much? Now that I’ve stepped far enough away from her scent, I can see the ridiculousness in thinking we are fated mates.

The kettle whistles and I pour the hot water into the mugs with tea bags. On a tray with the mugs, I add toast with butter and jam; hopefully she’ll eat something. A quick wipe of my cheek on my shirtsleeve, and I catch a whiff of her scent—lilac and honey—persistent even after the river. Enough that I know again—she’s my mate. And with that resolution in my gut, I carry the tray up to the bedroom.

I set the tray down on the dresser and stir the fire. Her breathing is shallow, and she shivers with every breath. This isn’t good. Her forehead is feverish to the touch. I could call Bjorn, but that would mean admitting I can’t care for my mate myself.

Sitting gingerly on the bed, I lift her upright to sitting, my arm supporting her, so she can take a sip of tea. Her skin is ice against my hands.

“Here you go, just a sip,” I say, coaxing her. Dark lashes flutter but don’t open. She takes a sip, her teeth chattering against the rim of the tea mug. After a couple of sips, she grunts and tries to roll away from me. Gently, I lay her back down, put the tea back on the tray.

She needs more warmth. My warmth. Flannel shirt off, I leave my pants on and climb into the bed. This bed is small, together we barely fit. She smells like forest air, with a hint of lilac and honey. My lungs swell with her scent, and all my nerve endings accept that this is now my new favorite scent.I will find her anywhere, I promise, as I bury my nose into her slightly damp hair and wrap my body around hers.

Her back is so cold it stings my chest. No matter, she’ll warm soon enough. Wrapping my arms and legs around her soft body makes me purr in delight. She fits in my arms perfectly. A moan from her, but this time it sounds less like death. She pushes into me ever so slightly, bringing a smile to my face. My flower.

I must have fallen asleep, for I wake with a start at the sound of banging and deep voices downstairs. Poppy stirs, surprising me. When I look at my arms, she is snuggled into them, her nose breathing gently against my chest, our legs scissored together, intertwined. My heart beats faster at the sight of her here, safe.

I’m rock hard. While I long to rub against her and wake her with waves of pleasure, she hasn’t consented. Not to mention she’s fragile and possibly still in danger. I slide my hips away from her. My desire grows stronger; I have to tame it. I have to keep her safe.

The minx has other ideas. Her body follows me, like a magnet seeking its match. “Alright, Poppy. Someone’s here. I need to check.” I keep my voice at a whisper, not wanting my voice to carry. The bedroom door is closed to keep the heat of the fireplace in, but there’s no lock on the door. There’s no protection from whoever is downstairs.

She harrumphs at that declaration, her mouth a pink, kissable pout. More relief at the color of her lips, along with amusement that she’s pouting, makes me feel lighter, hopeful. When her dark eyes finally open and gaze up at me, it’s with longing. That she wants me just as much as I want her twists something in my gut—no one has ever looked at me like that. I want nothing more than to give her everything she wants.

“Shh,” I brush her hair away and bring my lips close to hers—the breath of a kiss. I can’t kiss her right now; can’t start something when she isn’t safe. I’m almost out of bed when her hands claw at me, pulling at me to come back to the warm cocoon we’ve created. Obliging, because it’s impossible to say no to this, to her, I savor the moment she wraps her arms and legs around me, molding us into one being. Her pink lips press against mine, gentle but powerful—certain.

There’s the clunk of something downstairs. Groaning softly, still conscious of not letting my sound travel, I pull myself away and slip out of bed before she can protest. With one finger to her lips, she nods in understanding to me. I don’t bother to hide my throbbing cock tenting my pants. She settles into the hole I’ve made, cozy and beautiful.

Damn, she’s irresistible. Careful not to creak the floor, I pad out of the bedroom, closing the door behind me.

Shadows shift below the stairs; low voices still growl at each other. How dare they enter my place? I can’t decipher what they’re saying, but as the shadow comes back close to me at the top of the landing, I leap over the banister, using the creature below as a cushion.

Curses erupt. Then, laughter from behind me. Under me is Bjorn, nose bleeding, a dark scowl on his face. “Get off you fucker.” He shoves me hard. I oblige.

“Haven’t you ever heard the phrase, ‘look before you leap’?” Grev says in between bites of stew that he’s shoveling into his mouth.

“Just help yourself to my food.”

“Gordon called Bjorn, concerned. So, we came to check on you.”

“Aww, you were worried. I’m touched. Don’t drip your bloody nose on my floor or furniture.”

“So, what’s the deal? Big brother playing hooky from work to get some nookie?” He giggles, his hand covering his mouth like he’s a schoolgirl.

I glare at him as Grev gasps in mock shock.

“Never utter those words again,” I growl at Bjorn. My brothers are the worst. It’s a wonder I even let them grace my doorstep.

“She’s running from someone. I don’t know. But she fell in Burnt Owl Creek.” Both brothers curse and grumble at that statement.

“So, you were...warming her up? Why not call a trained rescue responder?” Bjorn’s eyes are calculating. “A littleBeauty and the Beastaction, huh? Nice work, big brother.”

“Leave before I put your head through the wall.”

“Grev, you should have seen the way he reacted when she fainted and he caught her. It’s textbook fated mates.” Bjorn sounds earnest as he describes his lie to Grev. I snort in protest.

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