Page 30 of The Orc's Protection
I hadn’t realized how deeply attractive competence could be until this moment. Power worn without arrogance. Duty shouldered without complaint.
My pulse quickens as the truth settles into me: this is who he is when no one is asking him to soften himself.
A ripple of approval moves through the gathered orcs. More than one gaze flicks back toward me—curious now, measuring not him, but my place beside him.
When the brief ceremony concludes, Vraag returns to my side, relief evident in his expression.
“Thank you for honoring this,” he says quietly.
“It’s an honor to be here, Vraag.”
The elder continues calling other clans, the ritual unfolding with ancient precision. One by one, representatives step forward: StoneWatch, HammerFall, WarmHearth, and others whose names I don’t yet know, each receiving the sacred blessing.
After all the clan leaders have come forward, the ceremonial drums shift into a livelier rhythm. The gathered orcs begin to disperse—some drawn toward the food tables, others forming conversational clusters, a few brave souls already beginning to dance near the fire.
Vraag leans close, his breath warm against my ear. “Would you like to step outside for a moment? The air can become… intense during celebrations.”
I hold his gaze. “Is this about the air?”
The corner of his mouth quirks. “No.”
He guides me through the crowd toward a side door that opens onto a wide stone terrace overlooking the rolling hills. The night air is crisp but not uncomfortable, especially with my wrap. Stars blanket the clear sky, sharper and more numerous here, far from the wash of town lights.
We stand in silence for a moment, both gazing at the surrounding trees silhouetted against the night sky.
“I didn’t bring you out here to explain,” Vraag says at last. His voice is quieter now, stripped of ceremony. “I brought you out here because I needed to know where you stand.”
I turn toward him, my heart giving a small, anticipatory lurch.
“You understood what tonight meant,” he continues. “How it was read. And you chose not to step away.”
“Right,” I say softly. “I didn’t.”
In the moonlight, his green skin takes on a silvery quality, his features more sharply defined. For a long moment he studies me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. My pulse kicks up, skin prickling with awareness.
He takes a step closer, towering over me yet somehow not intimidating. “I can’t pretend anymore.”
“Good,” I say softly. “Because neither can I.”
The last word is barely out of my mouth before he moves.
Not the careful, measured movement I’ve come to associate with him, the physical economy of a male who has spent eight years calculating how much space he takes up. This is something older than that. Something that has been waiting behind all that careful control and has finally, finally been given permission to exist.
His hands find my face first. Both of them. Cupping my jaw with a thoroughness that makes me understand, for the first time, what it means to have someone’s complete attention. His thumbs trace my cheekbones as if he’s been wanting to do this for a long time and intends to do it properly now that he’s allowed. In the moonlight, his eyes are very dark and very certain, and there is nothing careful in them.
“I have thought about this,” he says, his voice dropped to something I’ve never heard from him before—stripped of every professional layer, every integration protocol, every controlled modulation. Just him. Just his voice in the dark saying true things. “Every time you wore my coat and didn’t know what it meant, and I told myself it was just weather. Every time you laughed—the real one, not the professional one—and I was across the room cataloguing the difference like it was mission-critical intelligence. Every time I watched you from the doorway when you thought I was just doing my job.” His thumb traces the line of my lower lip, and I stop breathing. “Every time I told myself I wasn’t watching at all.”
Words fail me. I’m not sure words exist anymore.
“I told myself it was professional concern,” he continues, and there’s something almost rueful in it, a male finally laughing at himself after a very long joke. “I documented it. Filed itunder appropriate workplace awareness. Told Grulk he was speculating.” A pause. Something wry crosses his face. “He was not speculating.”
“No,” I agree, barely a sound.
“I amdonebeing careful,” he says simply. And then he kisses me.
Our lips meet and I understand immediately why he was being careful. Because this—even restrained, even gentle—is enormous. Not physically, though that too, but in the way it lands. Like something that has been true for a long time is finally being said out loud. His mouth is warm and deliberate, and when I press closer, he makes a sound low in his chest that vibrates through every point where our bodies touch.
I was not prepared for that sound.
