26. Laina
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
LAINA
Iwoke wrapped around Brovish, my cheek pressed to his chest, listening to his heartbeat. The carved snugglethorn sat on the nightstand where I’d placed it last night beside his. My kavresh. The word still felt strange on my tongue, like trying on a new name.
Sofia peeped from the foot of the bed, her round eyes fixed on me.
“We need to get up, right?” I whispered.
She stretched and peeped again.
Brovish’s arm tightened around my waist. “Five more minutes.”
“We have a meeting.”
“I’m the one who called it. I can postpone.”
I smiled against his skin. “You cannot.”
He grumbled something in Orcish that made Sofia spark, which made me laugh, and which made him finally open his eyes.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice still rough with sleep.
“Good morning, kavresh.”
His ears darkened. Even after claiming me in front of everyone yesterday, the word still affected him.
“Say it again,” he said.
“Kavresh.”
He rolled me onto my back and kissed me while Sofia fled to the living room.
Thirty minutes later, we walked to the facility together. Inside the break room, I claimed my usual spot at the table with my tablet open to adoption paperwork that needed reviewing and my favorite mug with steaming tea near my hand. Brovish settled beside me, stretching out his legs.
The others gathered as well.
Traig entered the break room, his own tablet glowing with whatever schedule or supply list consumed his attention today.
“I’ve hired a human for the front desk position,” Brovish announced. “She starts in two weeks. Her name is Willa Enford.”
My stomach dropped. A new person. Someone who’d walk through these spaces I’d just started thinking of as mine, who’d learn the rhythms we’d established, who’d—
Brovish’s hand found my knee under the table, his thumb tracing a slow circle that said, breathe.
I pulled in air and focused on what he was actually saying instead of the unease surging up my throat.
“She has experience with animal rescue operations,” Brovish said. “Though not with our specific creatures. Traig, you’ll handle her orientation.”
Traig’s head snapped up fast enough I worried about whiplash. “I don’t do people management.”
“You manage all of us,” Brovish pointed out.
“That’s different. You understand the system. Humans require…explanation.”
“Then you’ll explain.”
Traig’s jaw worked. His grip on his tablet went white. “Alright. But if she reorganizes my filing system, I’ll—” He stopped, clearly searching for a threat that wouldn’t sound unreasonable. “I’ll be very displeased.”
“You’ll weep?” Drogar asked, his grin widening.
“I’ll consider weeping.” Traig’s voice hardened. “Briefly. In private.”
Laughter rang out in the room.
Krem made a note on his clipboard, probably documenting this for whatever archive he was building. Even Greth’s mouth twitched.
Brovish hooked his foot around my chair leg.
The scrape of wood on tile made everyone look up.
He dragged me closer without pausing mid-sentence, still explaining Willa’s qualifications. His arm pressed against my shoulder, and his scent wrapped around me.
My face went hot.
Krem’s eyebrows rose but he said nothing, just made another note on his clipboard that I knew would end up in whatever documentation he was building about orc-human courtship.
Drogar’s grin rose.
Greth grunted.
Traig didn’t look up from his tablet, but his mouth twitched.
Brovish didn’t look at me, just kept talking while our arms pressed together.
Heat crawled up my neck. We were supposed to be professional during business hours.
His hand found my knee under the table.
My breath caught.
So much for professional.
His thumb traced a deliberate circle. Again.
Every nerve in my leg lit up.
I reached for my tablet, needing something to do with my hands that wasn’t grabbing his wrist or climbing into his lap in front of everyone.
“—creature safety training,” Krem was saying.
I’d missed at least thirty seconds of conversation.
Brovish’s thumb kept moving, creating slow, steady circles that made it impossible to focus on anything except the heat of his palm through my pants and the fact that his expression remained completely neutral while he was destroying my ability to think.
“She’ll need creature safety training,” Krem said. “If you’d like, Traig, I can prepare a comprehensive orientation schedule with appropriate learning modules and assessment standards.”
“Make it two pages or less,” Traig said.
“Two pages is insufficient for—”
“Two pages, Krem.”
Krem sighed but made another note.
“Will she object to the mossnibble thievery?” Drogar asked. “Some humans become attached to their possessions and express distress when others redistribute them.”
“We’ll establish boundaries,” Brovish said. His thumb traced a circle on my knee.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
“That’s not how mossnibbles function,” Drogar said.
“Then we’ll explain that theft is the way they express love.”
Drogar considered this. “That’s quite accurate.”
We spent another twenty minutes working through the logistics while Brovish continued to tease.
After we’d finished, Drogar caught my arm as I stood. “You’re glowing.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.” His grin was knowing. “It’s the claiming shine. Very traditional.”
Krem appeared at my other elbow. “I’ve documented seventeen post-claiming behavioral changes in my research. Would you be willing to—”
“No,” Brovish said from behind me, his hand settling on my back. “She would not.”
Krem sighed but didn’t argue.
Late afternoon, everyone left for their homes or final rounds, and I drifted toward the garden.
The bench where my mother had sat during the claiming ceremony drew me near.
Sitting, I pulled the carved snugglethorn from my pocket, tracing the delicate wool Brovish had spent hours perfecting while I slept. My throat felt too tight. I wasn’t sad, but I wasn’t happy either.
Relief fit best.
My mother had left this morning. We’d hugged goodbye in my driveway, both of us careful with the embrace like we were afraid too much pressure might break the fragile connection we’d built. She’d promised to call next week. I’d promised to answer.
Small steps, Brovish had said. The space that must be walked.
We were walking it. That had to be enough for now.
Footsteps approached from behind. I didn’t need to turn around to know it was him.
“I keep thinking about what you said,” I told Brovish when he stopped beside the bench. “About the driftwhisps recognizing I was loved before I knew it.”
“It’s true.”
“When did you know you loved me?”
Sofia dozed on his shoulder, having relocated from mine at some point.
“The night you delivered Abagail’s twins.
” His voice dropped lower, intimate despite the open air around us.
“When you looked at me in the cave and told me you weren’t leaving.
You were covered in mud and rain, and you’d just helped bring two lives into the world, and you looked at me like—” He stopped, his jaw working.
“Like you’d found something you’d been searching for. That’s when I knew with certainty.”
My vision blurred. I blinked hard, clearing it.
“And before that?” The question came out barely above a whisper.
“Suspicions. Small observations.” He reached out, brushing the carved snugglethorn. “The way you spoke to Cooper during his examination. How Sofia chose you within minutes of meeting you. The driftwhisps. Everything felt more complete when you were near.”
My throat closed off.
I set the carving on the bench and got up, wrapping my arms around him, pressing my face against his chest.
He held me while the sky darkened and stars began to appear. Sofia shifted on his shoulder.
“I’m sad my mother left, but also relieved,” I said. “Is that terrible?”
“It’s honest.”
I tilted my head back to look at him. “We made progress.”
“Significant progress.”
“Small steps.”
“These will last.”
I smiled, and for the first time in days, the expression felt natural instead of forced. The weight I’d been carrying since my mother arrived had lifted.
“Take me home,” I said.
“Our cottage or yours?”
“Ours.” The word felt right. “Always ours.”
He kissed me once, thoroughly, then took my hand.
We walked back through the facility together. Sofia dozed on his shoulder, occasionally peeping when we passed something that required her commentary.
When we reached the cottage door, Brovish stopped, his hand still holding mine.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m memorizing this. You, here, choosing to stay.”
My chest warmed, the feeling spreading until it reached my fingertips and toes.
“I’ll be here tomorrow too,” I said. “And the day after. And every day after that.”
“Promise?”
“I promise, kavresh.”
He kissed me in the doorway while Sofia sparked on his shoulder and the facility settled into night behind us.
When we went inside, I thought about my father. How he’d taught me that healing meant learning to fly differently, not trying to fly the same way you did before you fell.
I was flying now.
I wasn’t afraid of falling anymore, because Brovish would catch me.
We’d catch each other.
That was what kavresh meant.