23. Laina
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
LAINA
The distance between my mother and me hadn’t closed completely, but it had narrowed. Small steps. That was all either of us could manage right now.
I found Brovish in his office, sitting at his desk, writing in his notebook. He looked up when I knocked on the doorframe.
“How did it go?” he asked.
“Better than expected.” I leaned against the wall just inside. “She’s leaving. Flying home in a few days.”
“And you’re alright with that?”
“I think so. We talked for the first time in years. She told me why she left. It doesn’t fix everything, but it helps.”
He rose and crossed the small space between us, pulling me into his arms. I pressed my face against his chest and breathed in his scent.
“You were right about the small steps. We need to walk the distance together instead of alone.”
“I’m pleased to be correct about something.”
I laughed, the sound muffled by fabric. “You’re correct about most things.”
“Tell Drogar that. He believes I’m wrong about the fizzling discharge procedure.”
“Are you?”
“I’m not.”
We stood in his office, holding each other while the facility moved around us. Eventually, I’d need to do afternoon rounds. Examine the vellicharm. Make notes about Cooper’s release. All the normal things that made up my days here.
But for now, this was enough.
The rest of the afternoon passed. I checked vitals on the mirrormoose, who’d finally stopped reflecting nervous energy every time someone approached.
Krem cornered me with questions about proper snugglethorn nutrition during nursing.
Drogar demonstrated his revised fizzling grounding technique, which was essentially Brovish’s original protocol.
By the time evening arrived, I was ready to collapse.
Not finding Brovish in his office, I left, walking to the cottage, sunbeams slanting through the trees. Sofia rode on my shoulder.
Lights glowed inside Brovish’s cottage. I opened the door to the smell of something cooking.
He stood at the stove, his hair tied back, wearing an apron that was too small for him. The absurdity of it made me stop in the doorway.
“You’re cooking again,” I said.
“I am.”
“And you’re wearing an apron.”
“It seemed appropriate for the cooking task.” He looked down at himself. “Krem provided it. He said humans appreciate when cooking is done with proper cooking clothing covers.”
The apron had a cartoon cat on it that said, “Meow’s the time to cook.”
“It’s perfect,” I said.
“It’s quite small.”
“Still perfect.”
I dropped my bag by the door and strode into the kitchen, drawn by whatever he was making. Pasta, from the looks of it, with a sauce that smelled like garlic and herbs.
“I’m attempting a human dish, for you,” he said. “Traig found a recipe on the spider’s web. It’s called…carbonara? I may have done it incorrectly.”
“It smells amazing.”
“That’s encouraging.”
I leaned against the counter and watched him work. His shoulders shifted when he stirred. He tasted the sauce before adding more of something from a small bowl.
He was making human food for me. Learning recipes and wearing silly aprons and trying.
“Laina?”
“Yes?”
“You’re looking at me with an unusual expression.”
“I’m appreciating you.”
His ears darkened. “Ah.”
We ate at the table, pasta served in bowls that were too large for me but perfect for him. The dish tasted amazing. It wasn’t quite authentic, but it was made with care, and that mattered more.
“This is really good,” I said.
“You sound surprised.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Those feel similar.”
“They’re completely different.” I wound more pasta around my fork. “One is about expectations. The other is about recognition of skill.”
“I’ll accept the recognition.”
After dinner, we washed dishes together as if we’d been doing this for years instead of days. When the last dish was put away, I dried my hands on the towel and turned to find him watching me.
“What are you thinking?” I asked, stepping closer.
“I’m considering whether I should tell you what I’m thinking or whether I should keep it to myself until the moment is more appropriate.”
“Tell me.”
He backed me against the counter, his hands coming up to bracket me on either side, caging me in.
“I’ve been thinking about this morning,” he said. “About waking with you in my arms. Watching you release Cooper. How you look when you’re excited to learn something new.”
My pulse kicked up. “And what have you concluded?”
“That I would like more mornings like that one. More evenings like this. All of you, in whatever way you’re willing to give.”
I lifted my chin. “I don’t want to wait anymore. I want this. Us. Whatever we’re building. I’m done being afraid. I don’t want to hold back because of what might go wrong. I want to move forward with you.”
“Are you certain?”
“Completely.”
He searched my face for whatever he needed to see there. Whatever he found must have satisfied him because he leaned down and kissed me.
This wasn’t like the kisses we’d shared before. Those had been questions, explorations, careful tests of how far we could go. This was an answer, a declaration that we’d both arrived at the same conclusion.
“In the kingdom,” I said, “when an orc wants someone, they claim them.”
He nodded. “With witnesses and gifts and formal declarations.”
“We don’t have witnesses.”
“No.”
“Or gifts.”
“Also no.”
I slid my hands up his chest. “But you want to claim me anyway.”
“I’ve wanted that since you walked through the door to treat Cooper.”
“Then do it.” I held his gaze. “Claim me the way an orc does. Please.”
He bent and swept me up in his arms.
“What are you doing?”
He carried me through the doorway and laid me carefully on his bed.
Our bed if I had any say in it.
He stood at the edge, looking down at me.
“Tell me what happens next,” I said.
“When an orc claims someone,” he said, his voice dropping lower, “they ensure that person understands exactly who they belong to.”
My pulse jumped. “And do I belong to you?”
His thumb traced my lower lip. “You will.”
His eyes held mine, and I realized this was it. The moment where I chose to stay instead of run. Where I let him see the woman who was still learning what it meant to be claimed.
“Show me,” I said.
He climbed onto the bed, caging me beneath him.