Page 28 of Claimed By the Wild Orc
It threw me off more than if he’d tried to stop me.
So I turned and walked into the woods.
The forest was thick and vibrant, alive with birdsong and the soft creak of branches above. I followed a narrow animal path, brushing ferns aside, stepping carefully over mossy roots. There was a strange, gentle beauty here: wildflowers blooming in sun-dappled pockets of light, butterflies flitting through the underbrush.
And strawberries.
I found them in a patch near a fallen tree: small, red, and glistening with dew. I crouched, gathering a few, the sweet scent rising as I crushed one between my fingers.
I ate slowly, letting the juice stain my fingertips.
The woods felt safe.
And not just because they were beautiful.
Because I knew he was there. Somewhere in the trees, silent as ever, watching. Protecting.
It didn’t feel like a cage.
It didn’t feel like control.
It felt like... presence. Steady. Quiet. Unshakable.
And I liked it.
By the time I returned to the cave, the sun was starting to dip, casting the rocks in long, soft shadows. I avoided his eyes as I stepped inside. He was sitting by the fire again, carving something in his lap.
I paced the far end of the space, restless, unsettled, until I finally turned to him.
“You hold back,” I said, crossing my arms. “How are you so patient?”
He looked up at me slowly. The firelight cast his face in gold and shadow, catching the quiet stillness of him, the weight behind his gaze.
“Because it’s you,” he said simply. “You are a good thing. And for good things… I wait.”
The words hit somewhere deep.
Nobody had ever spoken to me like that. No one had ever looked at me like he did, with that steady, restrained hunger, like I was something precious and wild, not something to be tamed or broken.
His eyes held mine, dark and molten, filled with heat and held-back power.
My breath caught.
And there it was again: that low, rising hum inside me. That wanting.
I turned back to the fire, pulse quickening, cheeks hot. But I could feel his gaze lingering.
And I thought,Tonight.
MIRA
Night had fallen, and a chill had crept across the forest. The air outside was sharp, filled with the damp scent of moss and the soft hiss of wind through pine needles. But inside the cave, it was warm, quiet, and safe.
The fire crackled low, casting long shadows that danced across the stone walls. The furs beneath me were soft and thick, holding the heat of the day, and the glow of the hearth made everything golden.
I sat at the edge of the furs, watching Gorran from across the fire. He was working in silence, sharpening one of his bone-handled knives, his massive frame hunched with quiet focus. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, the firelight playing over the ridges of muscle and the dark map of scars along his arms. Every so often, he would pause and inspect the blade with a critical eye, then return to the steady rasp of stone against steel.
And I watched him.
