Chapter 14
Kael
Three days later, I woke to the sound of Sarah moving through the cabin, and the reality of what today meant hit me like a blade to the heart.
We were leaving. The drive back to Franklin would take a couple of hours, and we needed to leave before noon to make it to our court date. Sarah wanted to leave even earlier to finish her prep work.
The thought sat in my chest like a stone, heavy and cold and impossible to ignore.
I lay in the bed we'd shared these past few days, the sheets still carrying her scent—vanilla and steel and the musky mix of the two of us that had seeped into the fabric, into the cabin walls, into every cell of my body.
Into my soul.
I heard her in the main room, the soft rustle of fabric as she packed, the quiet clink of dishes being washed and put away. Each sound felt like a countdown, marking the minutes until we walked out that door and back into the real world.
Back to a life where she was my lawyer and I was her client and whatever this thing between us had been would end.
Rule three: It's over when we leave the mountain.
I'd agreed to those rules. Had thought I could handle them. Had convinced myself that a few stolen days with Sarah would be enough—that I could take what she offered and walk away clean when the time came, grateful for the memories and nothing more.
I'd been a fucking idiot.
Because lying here in the pre-dawn darkness, listening to her prepare to leave, I knew the truth with devastating clarity. Not only was she my mate. I was in love with her. Completely, irrevocably, catastrophically in love with her. And walking away was going to destroy me.
But I'd do it anyway. Because I'd promised.
The mate bond—or whatever this thing was that had wrapped itself around my heart and refused to let go—pulsed beneath my ribs like a second heartbeat.
Every Orc instinct screamed at me to claim her, to mark her, to make her mine in a way that transcended human understanding.
To bind us together so completely that separation would be impossible.
But she wasn't Orc. She didn't feel what I felt. And even if she did, she'd made her choice clear.
Rule two: This is just sex. No feelings.
I'd broken that rule so thoroughly it might as well have never existed.
I pushed myself out of bed, my body protesting.
We'd made love tall day yesterday—slow and tender in the morning light, desperate and urgent in the afternoon when our deadline pressed down on us, achingly sweet last night before we'd finally fallen asleep tangled together.
My muscles ached in the best way, a physical reminder of every moment buried inside her, every gasp I'd drawn from her lips, every time she'd shattered in my arms.
Every time I'd poured my love into worshipping her body because I couldn't say the words.
I pulled on my jeans but left my chest bare, needing the cool morning air against my overheated skin. Needing something to ground me before I faced her, before I had to pretend my heart wasn't breaking.
When I emerged from the bedroom, she was standing at the small table, folding clothes.
She'd already dressed in her lawyer clothes—dark slacks that hugged her hips, a crisp white blouse buttoned to her throat and dark blazer.
Her hair was pulled back in that severe bun that made her look untouchable.
Like armor.
Like she was already rebuilding the walls I'd spent days dismantling.
The sight made my chest ache so badly I had to stop and breathe through it.
"Morning," I said, my voice rough and aching.
She looked up, and for just a moment—one precious, fleeting moment—I saw it in her eyes.
The same thing I was feeling. The same desperate awareness that this was ending, that in a few hours we'd walk out of this cabin and back into our separate lives and everything we'd built here would crumble to dust.
Then she shuttered it away, her expression smoothing into something professional and controlled.
"Morning," she said, her voice carefully neutral. "I made coffee. There's some left in the pot."
Like goodbye.
I moved to the kitchenette, pouring myself a cup I didn't want, just to have something to do with my hands. The coffee was strong and bitter, and I could smell the faint trace of vanilla and that sharp, clean scent that was pure Sarah.
I wanted to memorize it. Wanted to bottle it and carry it with me forever.
The silence between us felt heavy, weighted with all the things we weren't saying. I took a sip of coffee, barely tasting it, and watched her pack with that same methodical efficiency. Every movement was controlled, deliberate, like she was following a script she'd written for herself.
"Do you think it'll work?" I asked finally, needing to break the silence before it suffocated me. "Your strategy with the federal jurisdiction?"
Sarah paused, her hands stilling on a folded sweater. When she looked at me, I saw the lawyer in her eyes—sharp, analytical, already three steps ahead. Already compartmentalizing what we'd shared so she could focus on the battle ahead.
"I think so," she said. "If Stephen's body was found on federal land, Dawson has no authority over the investigation.
The FBI would have to be involved, and they won't pursue murder charges when Dr. Atkins's report shows accidental death.
" She resumed folding, her movements brisk.
"I've already drafted the motion to dismiss.
The precedents are solid. Judge Farinholt is fair—he'll see the jurisdictional issue immediately. "
"But?" I prompted, because I heard the hesitation.
She looked at me again, and this time I saw the worry beneath the professional mask. "But Dawson doesn't care about the law. He cares about hurting Orcs. Even if we win, he'll find another way to come after you and your village. He won't stop, Kael. Men like him never do."
"So we fight him," I said, setting down my cup. "Again and again, if we have to."
"We'll push for Orc lands to be declared sovereign territories, like tribal lands.
That should completely remove any dealings Dawson has with your people.
" Her jaw tightened, and I saw the fierce protectiveness in her eyes.
"We document everything. Build a harassment case if needed.
Maybe even involve the FBI if he crosses enough lines.
I won't let him hurt you or your people. I promise you that."
Something in my chest tightened—pride and gratitude and something far more dangerous all tangled together. She was magnificent like this, fierce and protective and absolutely unwavering.
"You're not going to stop fighting for us, are you?" I asked quietly.
"No." The word was fierce, absolute. "I'm not."
I crossed the room in three strides, unable to stay away. The need to touch her, to feel her warmth one more time, was overwhelming. "Sarah—"
"We should finish packing," she interrupted, not meeting my eyes. "We need to leave soon if we're going to make it to the courthouse in time. I want to review my notes before—"
"Sarah." I caught her wrist gently, my thumb finding her pulse point. It was racing, matching mine. "Look at me."
She did, reluctantly, and I saw it all there—the same desperate awareness that this was ending.
"I know," she said softly, reading my expression. "I know what we agreed to."
"Do you want to leave?" The question came out before I could stop it, raw and desperate.
Her eyes searched mine, and for a moment I thought she might say no. Might tell me she wanted to stay here forever, consequences be damned. Might admit that she felt what I felt.
But then she looked away, her throat working. "It doesn't matter what I want. We have to go back. You know that."
I did know. Knew we couldn't hide here forever. Knew running wouldn't solve anything, wouldn't stop Dawson from coming after my village, wouldn't make the warrants disappear.
But God, I wanted to.
I wanted to keep her here, in this cabin where the rest of the world couldn't touch us. Where she was just Sarah and I was just Kael and nothing else mattered. Where I could wake up to her scent and fall asleep with her in my arms.
Where I could love her without rules or boundaries or expiration dates.
"One more time," I said, my voice low and rough. "I need you one more time before we go."
Her breath caught, her pulse jumping beneath my fingers. I caught the shift in her scent—arousal blooming beneath the grief, desire warring with reason. "Kael—"
"Please." I pulled her closer, my free hand cupping her face. My thumb traced her cheekbone. "I need to touch you. One last time."
I saw the conflict in her eyes, the war between what she wanted and what she thought she should do. Between the rules she'd set to protect herself and the feelings that had grown despite them—feelings I scented on her skin, saw in how she looked at me when she thought I wasn't watching.
"It's still early," I said, my thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. "We have time."
She closed her eyes, and I watched the decision play across her face. Watched her armor crack, just enough.
When she opened her eyes again, they were dark with want and something deeper. Longing and heartbreak tangled together.
"Yes," she whispered. "One more time."
I kissed her then, slow and deep, pouring everything I couldn't say into the press of my lips against hers. All the love I'd been holding back, all the desperate need to make her understand what she meant to me, all the grief of knowing this was ending.
She melted into me with a soft sound, her hands fisting in my hair, and I lifted her easily, carrying her toward the bedroom. She wrapped her legs around my waist, her mouth never leaving mine, and I felt her trembling.
The morning light filtered through the thin curtains, painting everything in soft gold. I laid her on the bed gently, reverently, and she looked up at me with eyes that held too much—too much trust, too much affection.
"Kael," she whispered, and my name on her lips sounded like a prayer.