Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
She glances up and catches me staring. “I love you.” Those words will never get old.
"I love you, too, little warrior." I pull her close, my rough green palms engulfing her soft curves, the scent of her lemony shampoo filling my lungs as I breathe her in. "I won't ever let anyone hurt you." The mark on my chest throbs with protective heat. If her mother wants to make waves, I'll turn the tsunami back on her with the full force of Arch resources behind me. That evil bitch with her blood-red talons and viper's tongue has no idea the ancient Orc fury she's awakened.
Keeping my mate safe and happy is now my only purpose, written into my very bones. I'll do whatever it takes—call in every favor, wield every weapon, exhaust every resource. Even if I have to stand guard at our borders every night for the rest of my life, it's a battle I'll never lose.
Epilogue
ELLA
Three years later
I am so pregnant I look like I swallowed a watermelon. Even my own reflection seems to look away, like she can’t quite meet my eyes, and I can’t blame her. It’s a wonder I fit through the kitchen doorway anymore with this enormous belly pressing out in front of me and turning my stride into a full-on waddle. My ankles have all but vanished. Sleep is nothing but a fever dream now, broken up into wild, two-hour sprints, punctuated by me chugging antacids like I’m in some kind of midnight contest. The baby’s been practicing her ninja moves since two a.m., kicking and twisting like she’s already gearing up for a tournament or maybe just trying to tunnel out sideways. I haven’t decided what her plan is, but she’s definitely got one.
Welcome to Monday morning in the Arch household. I waddle into the kitchen and find cereal strewn everywhere by my adorable, hyperactive toddler. Olen, my two-year-old, sits atop his booster throne with a bowl of cereal the size of his head.
Not shocking, he inherited his father’s green skin tone and tusks with my hair. The small green Orc with a shock of copper strands that sticks up in every direction and seems immune to gravity is absolutely adorable. He catches sight of me as I enter and grins, cereal leaking out the side of his mouth, dimples on full blast.
“Mama!” he yells, wielding his spoon like a weapon.
“Hi, little man,” I say, detouring around the slippery landmines of his previous breakfast “experiments” on the floor. I reach the counter and grip the edge, using it as leverage to lift my personal blimp a few precious centimeters off the ground. The coffee carafe is tantalizingly close. My back cracks in protest as I pour a cup, steadying it with both hands.
Olen drums the spoon against the bowl in a rhythm only he understands. “Mama, look! I stir it up!” He demonstrates, spinning so fast that a mini cyclone of crispy bits launches over the rim and rains down on the table, chair, and, somehow, my left foot. Milk splashes my sweatpants.
I take a breath, set my coffee down, and smile at him. “Great job, Olen, but remember you have to keep the cereal in the bowl.”
I mop my pants with a kitchen towel, wondering where my overprotective husband is.
I’m just about to waddle myself into a chair when Oren appears in the doorway. His eyes scan the perimeter, every window and corner, like the kitchen is the last stand before the enemy breaks through. He has a way of standing with his shoulders perfectly aligned to block both the toddler and me from the door, as if his body alone could absorb all chaos and keep us safe. Olen spots him and roars in approval.
“Daddy! I mixing!”
“Good job, little man.” Oren crosses to the table in two steps, tousles Olen’s hair, and then turns his focus on me. He does the usual visual scan: eyes to my face, then to my belly, then to my face again. His nostrils flare with a quick, almost imperceptible breath.
Oren leans in and kisses my forehead. His lips linger an extra second, and our daughter does a little flip. “How did you sleep?” His voice is the perfect mix of gravel and silk.
“I managed to get a few hours,” I tell him as he steps close and pulls me into his arms. I melt all over, right there by the fridge. His mouth brushes mine, slow at first, but then he tilts my chin up and claims me with a kiss that knocks the air right out of my lungs. All the tiredness, all the cereal shrapnel coating the floor, and the giant belly wedged between us disappear from my mind. The only thing that matters is the way his lips move on mine, hot and hungry and careful, like I’m both fragile and the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. I grip the front of his t-shirt for balance, heart hammering, and our daughter gives a thump like she’s rooting for her parents to get a room.