Bound to the Orc Guardian (Brides of the Moon Blade Clan #4)

CHAPTER NINE

Magic tingles across my skin as I slide the white cloth down my thigh. I finish my leg and straighten, the cool evening breeze raising goosebumps as it flows over damp skin. I shiver, but it’s a pleasant feeling after the unrelenting heat of Miami, which stays hot for at least ten months a year. Next, I duck my hand into my panties and give everything a good scrub. Ay! It’s heavenly to feel clean.

I pour another splash of water across the cloth, marveling as it turns white again. Curious, I take a hesitant sniff, smelling nothing at all. It’s like a reusable baby wipe—I think I’m in love .

If only I could wash my scrubs, things would be perfect. I pick up the turquoise pants, and a noise behind me makes me whirl, clutching the fabric to my chest.

Sturrm stands a few feet away, his eyes so heated I can feel his gaze caressing my skin in little licks of fire.

Tension vibrates in the air. Is he going to do something? Do I want him to? My nipples harden, telling me my body sure wants him to. I never dawdle over decisions, and now’s not the time to change that.

Mind made up, I let go of my pants, and they slide down my chest and thighs. The matching bra and thong aren’t that different from a bikini, if bikinis were made of aqua lace, that is.

Sturrm’s eyes track them as they fall, scouring over my bare skin, eating me up in big gulps.

I pull my shoulders back, unashamed. Like all of the women in my family, I developed early and have needed to wear a bra since hitting puberty at thirteen. Ever since then, it feels like everyone has an opinion about my body, either good or bad. But it’s my body. I love it, and anyone who doesn’t like my curves can piss off.

But that’s not going to be an issue with Sturrm, not if the massive bulge tenting his pants is anything to go by.

Seconds tick by, each feeling like a year. As much as he clearly wants me, he’s not doing anything about it. He remains frozen in place, his muscles locked rigid, the tendons of his neck standing out in stark relief. The only motion is the clenching and unclenching of one of his hands.

Ay! I hate waiting. I take a step forward, reaching for that moving hand .

Before I can touch him, he snaps out of his daze, frowning so hard a deep furrow forms between his eyes. He snaps something in his deep voice and whirls around. In a blink, he’s gone.

“Okay.” My hands go to my hips. “That did not go as planned.”

So much for finally letting go and living a little. Every guy I know would have jumped all over the possibility of easy sex without a second thought. But not Sturrm. No, he’s too mature for that. Probably wants to get to know me or be able to talk before we do anything.

Instead of being a turnoff, it only makes me want him more.

I stare at the place where he disappeared for a few more moments, then pull on my clothes and head back to the meadow.

The unicorn’s still eating, and there’s a fire burning, but Sturrm’s not there.

Mierda. My advance didn’t upset him that much, did it?

I sit on a large log he left in front of the fire, feeding the flames a few sticks from the stack sitting nearby. The crackle makes a happy sound, and the light pushes back the oncoming night. It’s comforting, but not as comforting as having Sturrm near.

Before I can work myself up into a proper worry session about when he’ll be back, he emerges from the trees, carrying the now-bare rabbits threaded onto sticks.

I grin with relief. That’s where he was, preparing them for cooking .

He wraps small carrots in a packet of leaves and buries it at the edge of the fire. Then he rubs salt and herbs into the rabbits and holds the first over the fire, turning it continuously, his dark eyes watching what he’s doing with complete focus.

It’s fascinating. I’ve never been camping, but I can still tell he’s got a lot of experience at all of this. His big hands move competently, the firelight playing over the muscles of his forearms as they flex.

He pulls the first rabbit from the fire and carves off a thigh for me.

The meat is hot and salty on my tongue and made all the more delicious by hunger. It’s so perfectly cooked the tender bites barely need to be chewed. He devours the rest of the first rabbit, clearly quite hungry. How much do you need to eat if your body’s as large as his?

Before cooking the next rabbit, he removes the leaf packet from the hot coals and slits it open. More salt gets sprinkled on top before he offers it to me. The carrots are crunchy and more strongly flavored than any I’ve ever had, with a touch of bite to them, almost like radish.

Through it all, Sturrm watches me closely, making sure I like everything. Then he cooks the second rabbit, again offering me a thigh.

He eats the other one, not touching anything else on the rabbit.

I finish my second helping and point to the rest of the rabbit, then to him. “It’s delicious, but I’m full.” I rub my stomach and make happy noises. I might have a good appetite, but even I can’t eat a whole rabbit. Then I repeat my gestures that he should finish the rest.

He picks up the skewer, his tusks ripping into the meat and confirming what I suspected—that big body of his needs a lot more calories than mine. What we had for lunch must have been a paltry snack for him, but he still made sure to give me half of what he had. And even with as hungry as he is right now, he made sure I was full before taking care of himself.

Dios mio, it could go to a girl’s head, being treated so sweetly.

His care continues when he takes a couple of furs from his pack and spreads them across a soft bed of pine needles just inside the trees. He waves me onto the makeshift pallet.

I settle onto it with a pleased groan. I’m not sore after riding for the first time in my life—which has got to be due to my healing magic—but I’m exhausted.

He settles down near me, his back propped up by a tree.

“Hey, no.” I reach toward him and beckon. “You can’t sleep sitting up like that.”

Instead of joining me, he takes his sword belt off and lays the sheath across his thighs, the hilt positioned to be easy to grab.

I drift off with his dark eyes watching me, and I somehow know Sturrm’s not going to sleep.

He’s going to protect me all night.

As tired as I am, the strange quiet still wakes me a few times. I’m used to a city, with all its traffic and noise. Even the couple of times we took family trips to visit Peru were the same. If anything, Lima’s even louder than Miami, since everyone drives while constantly using their horns.

Here, the only background noise is wind occasionally broken by the flutter of wings or the call of something that sounds like an owl.

Every time I stir, Sturrm shifts too, his bulk a comforting presence that soon lets me settle enough to go back to sleep.

Until it happens—the thing I dread. The dream.

I’m a small child, my eyeline barely cresting the unfamiliar bed. I can just make out the shape of Papi’s feet, two pointed peaks under a thin hospital blanket. I walk, my gaze sliding up his covered legs. It’s always like this, everything in slow motion. As much as I try to fight what’s about to happen, nothing ever stops this slow creep. Finally, I reach his hand, but it’s a stranger’s hand, all thin, with bruised veins and a big plastic thing strapped to the top. I don’t like the plastic thing—it shouldn’t be there.

The air smells funny, kind of sour with a layer of bleach overtop. Beeps and whooshes get louder, making me realize I’ve been hearing them for a while. They pull my gaze up, up, up…

Papi lies completely still, his face as thin as his hand. The rich bronze of his skin is bleached to a sickly gray. All around him are machines, with tubes that run to various places on his arms.

“Papi?” I’m afraid to touch him. There’s nowhere clear of the tubes, nowhere that feels safe .

He doesn’t wake up. Why won’t he wake up? I—

Strong hands shake me awake, a deep voice speaking to me. Sturrm.

I bolt upright into his arms, pressing my face to the warm strength of his chest. Co?o, I hate that dream, that nightmare. I wasn’t even that little when that hospital visit happened in real life—I was a teenager—but somehow I’m always tiny and helpless in the dream. A shiver runs through me.

Sturrm strokes a soothing hand down my back and does the last thing I ever expect.

He starts to sing.

His rich baritone washes over me, the melody soft and bittersweet. His voice is so lovely I don’t need to know the words to appreciate his song and the gift he offers me by singing it.

Tears prickle my eyes. I’ve never had anyone help like this before. The couple of times I had the nightmare when around a guy, they got uncomfortable and hadn’t wanted to talk about it. Or worse, they tried to initiate sex, like their dick was magic or something.

In wonderful contrast, Sturrm holds me and sings until the last of the tension leaves my body and I drift off again.