Page 34 of Claimed By the Wild Orc
And now?
Now he was bleeding for it.
Forme.
MIRA
Iled him inside, my hand firm on his arm, though it felt like trying to move a mountain. He didn’t resist, but his body was heavy, his breath measured, controlled—always controlled. Even now, with blood soaking through the torn leather at his shoulder, Gorran moved like he was untouchable.
But he wasn’t.
I sat him down near the fire and tore open what was left of his armor, my fingers grazing the hard planes of his chest.Gods.His presence was in my face, constantly, gloriously reminding me that he was enormous, built like something carved from stone—shoulders wide, chest like a shield, every muscle cut deep and defined. But what always caught my breath were the scars. So many of them, old and new, crisscrossing his skin like stories I couldn’t yet read.
What secrets did he hold?
Perhaps one day, he would tell me, but for now,thiswas enough.
He watched me as I worked, silent and still.
I dipped a cloth into the warm water I’d set near the fire and pressed it to his wound, wiping the blood away with careful strokes. There was somuchof it.
“Are you… all right?” I should be used to his seeming invincibility by now, but I hated seeing him hurt, even if he acted like it was no big deal.”
“You’ve seen me hurt before. I heal quickly. I’ll be all right, Mira. There was no way I was going to let any of them lay a hand on you. My Mira.”
His possessive tone sent a bolt of heat down between my thighs.
I swallowed, focusing on the gash across his shoulder. My fingers trembled as I ran them over the taut curve of muscle, checking for deeper damage. He was so big, so warm under my hands, and for all his strength, he stayed still for me.
Gentle. Always gentle with me.
He could be fierce, terrifying even, but never with me. Never.
And that realization settled somewhere deep in my chest. I trusted him. Completely. More than I’d ever trusted anyone.
Maybe this wasn’t pure freedom—because the world beyond the trees was still dangerous, still cruel—but it was something better. Safety. Companionship. And yes… love. I saw it in his eyes when he looked at me.
“Hold still,” I said softly, tying the bandage around his shoulder, smoothing it down with my palm. “There. Done.”
He grunted in approval, but his eyes softened as I leaned back.
“Don’t get used to this,” I teased lightly. “I don’t patch up everyone who bleeds all over my floor.”
He gave me a look that made my stomach flip. “You wouldn’t dare. Only me.”
I smiled, shaking my head. “No. I wouldn’t. And yes, only you.”
I moved to the fire, throwing in another log, letting the warmth fill the cave. I made him tea from dried herbs, ladling more of the rabbit stew into a bowl. He ate without complaint, quiet and steady, while I sat across from him, my knees pulled to my chest.
It felt… comfortable. Domestic, almost. As if this was where I belonged.
Later, when the fire burned low and shadows curled like smoke around us, I felt it.
His gaze.
The weight of it sliding over me, heated and unflinching.
And then the low, deep rumble in his chest—a sound I’d come to recognize.
