Page 14 of The Orc's Captive Bride
To what? Ask for help from her kidnapper? Admit she was cold and scared and completely out of her depth?
Pride’s going to kill you faster than hypothermia,her practical side noted.And you’re no good to anyone dead.
She looked at his silhouette again. He was maybe three feet away, sleeping—or pretending to sleep—against his pack with his back to her. And radiating heat like a furnace.
This is a terrible idea, she told herself as she slowly inched closer. But her alternatives were freezing or swallowing her pride, and pride wouldn’t keep her warm.
The furs dragged with her, rustling softly against the ground but he didn’t stir.
Maybe he actually is asleep.
She moved another few inches. Close enough now that she could smell him—the same oddly comforting scent from before. Leather and woodsmoke and something else, something wild and earthy.
Another inch. The heat radiating from his body was palpable now, a tangible warmth that her cold-numbed skin craved.
Just a little closer…
She stopped when she was near enough to feel his heat but not quite touching. She was close enough that if he moved in his sleep, he’d brush against her, but she was also close enough that her primitive hindbrain finally stopped screaming about freezing to death.
This is probably the stupidest thing you’ve ever done,she told herself.And you once tried to translate Linear A using nothing but cognates from Minoan pottery shards.
But she was warm, and with warmth came the exhaustion she’d been pushing away through sheer stubbornness.
Her eyelids grew heavy, and the tension in her shoulders eased.
She should stay alert. She should be planning her escape, analyzing the situation, and preparing for whatever came next. Instead, she found herself drifting. The steady rise and fall of Khorrek’s breathing became a rhythm her own breath matched. The warmth seeped into her bones, banishing the cold that had woken her.
Her last coherent thought was that he smelled like safety—which was absurd, because he was her captor, not her savior. But her hindbrain didn’t care about logic. It cared that she was warm and protected and, for this moment at least, safe.
She slept.
Morning arrivedwith the smell of smoke and the sound of voices speaking that strange guttural language. Her eyes cracked open. Daylight filtered through the tent opening—not bright, not direct sunlight, but the grey pre-dawn light that spoke of a sun not yet risen.
She was warm, warmer than she’d been since arriving in this world, and she was pressed against Khorrek’s side like a barnacle on a ship’s hull.
Oh no.
She must have moved closer in her sleep, or he had. Either way, she was now tucked against his ribs, her head resting on his arm, one of her hands fisted over his heart.
He was awake. She could tell by the tension in his body, the controlled quality of his breathing, but he hadn’t moved away.
This is mortifying.
She tried to ease back without making it obvious she was awake, hoping to extract herself with some dignity intact, and a large hand settled on her shoulder. Not pushing. Not pulling. Just… there.
Then his hand slid away from her shoulder, and cold air rushed in to fill the space where his warmth had been. He rose to his feet in a fluid motion that shouldn’t have been possible for someone his size.
“Vorak,” he told her, his voice stern but not harsh.
She sat up, pushing her hair out of her face, then did a quick search for her glasses. She found them where he must have placed them, within easy reach but out of danger, and slid them on.
The world snapped into focus.
He stood at the tent entrance, massive and imposing in the grey morning light. He gestured toward the outside, then made a motion she interpreted as eating, before repeating, “Vorak.”
Breakfast. He’s saying it’s time for breakfast.
Her stomach growled in response, but as she rose to her feet she became aware of a more pressing need.Damn.How the hell was she going to tell him she needed to relieve herself.
