Page 65 of Halfling
He could deny her nothing, especially not when what she wanted was to be near him.
His memories of the hours before succumbing to the wound were a bit murky, full of churning water and coppery blood, but what burned brighter and hotter than a bonfire was the memory of how desperately he’d missed her. A few hours apart and his heart had hurt more than the stab in his side.
And he remembered, too, his just as desperate wish not to be separated from her again.
She was doing a fine job of fulfilling his wish by rarely straying out of sight. Even better, her ministrations often required her to come close. Totouch him.Every stroke of her fingers, every puff of breath that sifted through his hair, every time her scent saturated the air around them so thickly, he could taste it—Orek took and memorized and hoarded them for himself. A trove of memories collected in his mind, all of them better than the last.
So no, he didn’t truly mind her fussing.
What hedidmind was how she was clearly running herself ragged. Between bursts of worrying over him, Sorcha seemed to fly rather than walk, hurrying to this task or that chore. He barely saw her stand still when she wasn’t tending to him, and as the first day of his recovery passed into the second, he began feigning reasons to keep her at his side.
His side hurt—it did but not as much as she seemed to think; he’d had just as bad of wounds and no one to fuss over him.
He asked for more water—he was always thirsty, but mostly for the sight of her.
He requested she eat with him even though he’d insisted he could feed himself—because even though she was always near, he missed her when she was out of sight.
Ostensibly, it was all to make her sit still enough to catch her breath and rest; if it also meant more soft touches and even softer smiles, Orek wouldn’t argue.
He was a stupid male for her, but he wasn’t a fool.
They sat together in their little den of hay and blankets, eating dinner the third night in companionable silence. Orek didn’t miss the way her eyes strayed over him when she thought he wasn’t looking. No doubt she checked the puckering wounds on his side and face, but the besotted part of him hoped she looked at him just to look at him.
Another small part of him was still ashamed for nearly failing her, but he’d bear the scars of his fight with pride. He defended her and lived to tell about it.
Just as a good mate should.
He nearly choked on his mouthful of meat pie.
The sound had Sorcha jumping to his side, and though he didn’t need the pats to his back that turned into soothing circles, he took them for his hoard nevertheless.
He had to stop thinking like that.
Yes, he lived for when she turned that easy smile of hers his way. Yes, she haunted his every waking thought and all of his dreams. Yes, he’d do more than take a knife to the gut for her. Yes, he’d return her home and ask nothing in return, even if his soul cried out not to be parted from her.
But that doesn’t mean she’s mine or ever will be.
He swallowed that truth down with his dinner.
“Do all orcs heal as quickly as you?” Sorcha asked when she’d finally settled back with her own dinner.
He grunted in affirmation. “Probably even quicker, since I’m…”Only half.
“It’s incredible. I’ve never seen…a human would be laid up for at least another week. You look almost ready to walk around.” A blush suddenly bloomed across her cheeks. “Not that you should walk around tomorrow! You shouldn’t push yourself.”
“I’d like to sit up tomorrow.” He might go mad if he had to stay within the confines of this stall another day.
His first day awake, he’d been weak, barely strong enough to lift his head or limbs without needing a long rest afterwards. But plied with good food and taking more rest, today he felt more like himself. Less like a useless lump that had to be cared for.
Much as he enjoyed the fussing and caring, it made him feel better to know it was more for her benefit than his after he’d regained a little of his strength. It rankled that orcish stubbornness, to be a burden to her. He’d vowed to himself to never be a burden—just like stupidity, it could get him killed. So he let her fuss, but tomorrow he wanted to assess their situation for himself.
The humans Sorcha had sought help from had come round several times to speak with him. He’d thanked the human man, Anghus, coherently this time, vaguely remembering him from that night. The woman, Cara, was talkative and brimming with questions for him. He bore them since the couple had taken him and Sorcha in, but he soon grew weary of her chatter. He much preferred Sorcha’s talk and laugh.
Still, he could be polite, and disprove a few of the stories about orc-kin. He was patient when two little heads popped in to spy on him throughout the day. He was patient when Cara wanted to check on his wounds. He was patient when Anghus not so subtly appraised him whenever they spoke.
Even if he positivelyitchedto get out from under the blankets and curious stares into some sunshine.
Sorcha’s mouth pulled into a moue of concern, and he knew what she’d say before she even said it. “I don’t know…you were asleep so long.”
