10. Serah
SERAH
Iwake tangled in Rakk's arms, the cave floor warmed by dying embers. His chest rises and falls beneath my cheek, steady and solid. Real.
I can't quite believe this is real.
My body aches in unfamiliar ways—pleasant soreness that reminds me of everything we did last night. Everything I chose to do. The distinction matters more than I can articulate. For the first time in my life, I wanted someone and acted on that want without fear of punishment or consequences.
Rakk's hand is splayed across my back, possessive even in sleep. I trace idle patterns on his chest, following the ridges of muscle, memorizing the feel of him. He's so warm, so much larger than me that I should feel trapped. Instead I feel safe.
That terrifies me almost as much as it comforts.
"You're thinking too loud," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
I tilt my head to look at him. His amber eyes are half-open, watching me with an expression that makes my chest tight. "How do you know I'm thinking?"
"Your whole body tenses when you overthink things." His hand slides up my spine in a slow caress. "What's wrong?"
Everything. Nothing. I don't know how to explain that I'm waiting for this to shatter, for the price of last night's pleasure to come due. That's how it always works—moments of peace followed by violence, kindness revealed as manipulation.
But Rakk isn't like that. I know he isn't. He's proven it over and over.
"Just processing," I say instead.
He studies my face for a long moment. Then his hand cups my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek. "Last night was incredible. You were incredible."
Heat crawls up my neck. "I didn't really do anything."
"You trusted me." His voice drops lower, more serious. "That's everything, Serah. Everything."
My throat tightens. I don't know how to respond to that kind of reverence, that weight of meaning. So I kiss him instead—soft and tentative, morning breath be damned.
He groans against my mouth, rolling us so I'm beneath him. The shift reminds me of muscles I've never used, of being filled and stretched and claimed in ways I never imagined wanting.
When he pulls back, his expression is conflicted. "We should head back before people notice we're both missing."
Reality crashes in. The settlement. Other people. The fact that whatever this is between us exists in a careful bubble that daylight will complicate.
I nod, swallowing disappointment. "Right. Of course."
He kisses my forehead before standing, offering me a hand up. We dress in silence—our clothes still damp from rain but wearable. The intimacy of pulling on our tunics while watching each other feels different than undressing did. More vulnerable somehow.
Outside, dawn paints the canyon in shades of pink and gold. Beautiful and indifferent to the way my world shifted on its axis last night.
Rakk catches my hand as we start down the path. "Serah."
I turn.
"This wasn't just—" He pauses, seeming to search for words. "I don't want this to be one night. I want more. Want you more."
My heart does something painful and hopeful in my chest. "I want that too."
His smile could light the entire canyon. "Good. Then we figure this out together."
Three weeks pass in a blur of stolen moments and careful secrecy.
We meet by the river every night, sometimes talking for hours, sometimes barely speaking before his mouth is on mine and we're tearing at each other's clothes with desperate hands.
He tells me stories that make me laugh until my sides ache—tales of Kaelen's serious demeanor cracking around Lola, of Zurkar's dry sarcasm, of growing up as the Chieftain's son under constant scrutiny.
"Dad wants me to be more serious about being a Chieftain," he admits one night, lying beside me on the riverbank with my head pillowed on his chest. "He thinks it's time."
My stomach clenches at the idea of anything changing. "And?"
"And I'm not ready." His hand traces lazy circles on my shoulder. "He's not thrilled."
I want to ask what that means for us. If he sees me as a something worth altering his future for or just someone to pass time with until he makes a real choice. But the question feels too heavy, too dangerous. So I stay quiet and let myself pretend this is enough.
"I miss Kaelen sometimes," he continues. "Since he mated Lola, he's different. Happy, which is good. But we don't spend as much time together. It's like—I'm losing my best friend to something I should be celebrating."
"That's normal," I say softly. "People change when they find their person."
"Yeah." He's quiet for a moment. "I've just felt trapped lately. Like everyone's deciding my future except me. Dad wants alliances, the clan expects certain things, and I'm just—" He exhales hard. "I'm tired of being what everyone else needs."
I tilt my head to look at him. "What do you need?"
His eyes meet mine, intense and vulnerable. "This. You. Nights where I can just be Rakk instead of the Chieftain's son or a potential alliance or whatever role I'm supposed to play."
Something warm and terrifying unfurls in my chest. "I like just-Rakk."
"Good." He kisses me, slow and deep. "Because he's obsessed with you."
We make love under the stars, his body covering mine, his hands worshiping every inch of skin like I'm something precious.
I learn the sounds he makes when I touch him certain ways, learn how to drive him as wild as he drives me.
Learn that pleasure can be mutual, can be given freely without coercion or payment.
I'm starting to believe I could have this. Could have him. Could build something resembling a future instead of just surviving day to day.
It's dangerous, this hope. But I can't seem to stop feeding it.
During the day, we maintain careful distance.
He'll stop by the healing chambers with Kaelen, and we'll exchange these brief glances that feel weighted with everything we can't say out loud.
His eyes track me across the compound when he thinks no one's watching.
My pulse quickens every time I see him in the training yards, all lethal grace and controlled power.
Lola notices. Of course she notices.
"You're glowing," she comments one afternoon while we're grinding herbs. "I haven't seen you this relaxed since you arrived."
I focus intently on the mortar and pestle. "Just settling in better."
"Mmmhmm." Her tone is knowing. "Does this settling in have anything to do with a certain large orc who keeps finding excuses to walk past the healing chambers?"
Heat crawls up my neck. "I don't know what you mean."
"Serah." She touches my arm gently. "I'm happy for you. Rakk's a good male. One of the best."
I want to deny it, to protect this fragile thing between us from scrutiny. But lying to Lola feels wrong. She's been nothing but kind since I arrived.
"We're keeping it quiet," I admit finally. "It's new. I don't want—" I don't want people interfering. Don't want reality intruding on this perfect bubble we've created. Don't want to examine too closely what happens when he realizes I'm not mate material, just a human he's passing time with.
"Your secret's safe with me." She squeezes my arm. "But Serah? Don't hide yourself away because you're scared. You deserve happiness. You deserve to be claimed by someone who sees your worth."
Claimed. The word sits heavy in my stomach. Because that's what this is building toward, isn't it? Either Rakk claims me as his mate or—what? Someone else does? I remain eternally unmated and vulnerable?
I push the thought away. Not today. Today I have this carefully constructed happiness, and I'll hold onto it as long as I can.
The attention starts subtly.
Warriors who previously ignored me now track my movements across the compound.
Conversations pause when I walk past, resume in whispers after I'm gone.
I catch fragments that make my skin crawl—speculation about breeding potential, discussions of unmated females, assessments of my hips and health like I'm livestock being evaluated.
Old fear resurfaces. The constant awareness of being watched, being judged, being seen as property instead of person.
I'm helping Lola organize medicinal supplies when three older females enter the healing chambers. They're orc women, rare enough that I recognize their elevated status immediately. One of them—broad-shouldered with graying hair—looks me up and down with open appraisal.
"The human," she says. "You're looking healthier."
I force myself to meet her gaze. "Thank you."
"Mira's been telling me you've been here for months now. Unmated." Her tone makes it sound like an accusation. "That's unusual. Most human females are claimed within weeks."
My throat tightens. "I'm still adjusting."
"Adjusting." She exchanges glances with her companions. "You'll need to understand your position here, girl. Unmated females—especially fertile human ones—are valuable. The clan needs children. We've lost too many females in childbirth."
The words feel like walls closing in. "I understand."
"Do you?" The gray-haired female steps closer. "Because there's already talk among the warriors. Several have expressed interest. It would be better for everyone if you accepted a mate sooner rather than later. Avoids complications."
Complications. Like me having a choice in the matter.
Lola moves to stand beside me, her presence solid and supportive. "Serah is under Zurkar's protection as his apprentice. Any mating arrangements would need to go through proper channels."
"Of course." But the female's expression says she's not convinced that'll matter. "Still. The girl should start considering her options. We'll be preparing fertility tonics for the next moon cycle. You'll want to take them regularly to ensure successful conception when the time comes."
They leave, their conversation continuing in low tones I can't quite hear. The silence they leave behind feels suffocating.
I'm shaking. Actually shaking like I'm back in chains, like my fate is being decided by people who see me as a resource to be allocated rather than a person with agency.
"Serah—"
"Is that true?" I cut Lola off. "What she said about unmated human women?"
Lola's expression turns pained. "It's complicated."
"Uncomplicate it."
She sighs, setting down the herbs she was sorting.
"Human women are rare in northern clans.
Orc females are even rarer—their bodies aren't built for easy childbirth.
We lose mothers regularly. So yes, unmated human women are seen as valuable for breeding purposes.
Most do end up taking mates, willingly or through arrangement. "
The room tilts. "Arrangement. You mean forced."
"Not always. Sometimes it's practical—accepting a mate offers protection, status, security. But—" She meets my eyes. "Yes. Sometimes females don't have much choice in the matter. Especially if they're seen as clan resources."
My hands clench into fists. Of course. Of course I can't just exist here peacefully. Of course my body is still currency to be traded, still seen as something to be used for others' purposes. Different cage, same fundamental reality.
"But you and Kaelen—"
"We chose each other. I was given the option to choose one mate because of my years of service to the clan." She touches my hand. "Zurkar's protection means something. So does working as an apprentice. You have more agency than most human women would."
More agency. Not actual agency. Just slightly better than the alternative.
"What about Rakk?" The question escapes before I can stop it. "If he—if we—"
Understanding dawns in Lola's expression. "If Rakk claimed you as his mate, you'd be untouchable. The Chieftain's son mating a human would be unusual but not unheard of. No one would dare challenge it."
Hope flares bright and desperate. Then crashes against reality. Because Rakk hasn't mentioned mating. Hasn't talked about claiming me or making this official. We're just—what? Having fun by the river? Enjoying each other's company?
Maybe that's all this is to him. A pleasant diversion before he accepts one of those political alliances his father keeps pushing.
"Don't spiral," Lola says softly. "Talk to him. Be honest about what you want and what you're afraid of."
I nod, but the words stick in my throat. Because what if I ask and he confirms my worst fears? What if this fragile happiness shatters the moment I demand definition?
Better to hold onto what I have. Enjoy these stolen moments. Pretend that love and choice and safety are possible for someone like me.
That night, Rakk meets me by the river like always. He grins when he sees me, that beautiful unguarded smile that makes my chest ache. "Miss me?"
"Always." I try to match his lightness, but the conversation with the older females sits heavy on my shoulders.
He notices immediately, expression shifting. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just tired." The lie tastes bitter.
He studies me for a long moment. Then he pulls me into his arms, tucking my head under his chin. "You're a terrible liar."
I want to tell him. Want to demand answers about what this is between us, where it's going, if he sees me as anything more than temporary pleasure. But the words won't come. Because asking means risking the answer, and I'm not brave enough for that particular truth.
So instead I kiss him. Pour all my fear and desperation and need into it until we're tearing at each other's clothes and he's pressing me into the grass, and I can forget about fertility tonics and speculating warriors and the fundamental vulnerability of my position.
He makes love to me slowly, thoroughly, like he's trying to memorize every inch. Like this matters beyond just physical release. When I come apart beneath him, crying out his name, he follows with a groan that sounds like prayer.
Afterwards, we lie tangled together under the stars. His fingers trace idle patterns on my skin. I want to freeze this moment, live in it forever, never face the morning that will bring reality crashing back.
"Serah," he murmurs against my hair.
"Hmm?"
"I—" He pauses. "This is more than just sex for me. You know that, right?"
My heart clenches. "Yeah. Me too."
He tilts my face up to look at him. "I mean it. You're not—you're important. This is important."
I want to ask how important. Want to demand if I'm important enough to claim, to mate, to protect from the wolves circling. But fear strangles the questions before they form.
"I know," I whisper instead. "I know."
He kisses my forehead and pulls me closer, and I let myself pretend that's enough. That love unspoken is the same as love declared. That wanting someone is the same as keeping them.
I fall asleep in his arms, refusing to acknowledge the growing dread that whispers this can't last. That happiness like this isn't meant for someone like me.
That sooner or later, the price will come due.