Chapter 15 #2
His tusks press gently against my cheeks as our kiss intensifies, an alien sensation that now feels perfectly right.
The rumble starts before the kiss deepens—low and involuntary, building in his chest against my palms. I’ve felt it before.
The first time it caught me off guard, made me feel like I’d unlocked something I didn’t have the key for.
Now I recognize it. Reach for it, even, the way you reach for a sound that tells you where you stand.
When we finally part, both slightly breathless, he doesn’t fully release me. Instead, his arms remain around my waist, keeping me close.
“My training never prepared me for this,” he murmurs, his tone wry.
“Says the orc who’s courting a human,” I counter with a grin.
Something in his expression settles—not more serious exactly, but deeper. Like the word fits, and he’s glad I’ve said it out loud.
“The protocols were never going to be adequate for this,” he says quietly.
“No,” I agree. “They weren’t.”
“In StoneWatch tradition, courtship has specific stages,” he explains, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheek. “Protection offerings, clan introductions, skill demonstrations, shared meals in private territories.”
“Well, we’ve done the protection offerings, even if I didn’t know what they meant at the time,” I point out. “The clan gathering, though I went into it blind, happened. And now we’re sharing a meal in your space.”
Something in his expression stills at my use of clan terminology—his attention narrowing, focus locking onto me.
“You’ve been paying attention.”
“I’m a teacher. It’s what I do.” I lean into his touch, savoring the warmth of his palm against my skin. “What’s next in this traditional sequence?”
“Meeting respected elders who can speak to character and compatibility,” he says. “Which is part of why I suggested the community center visit.”
As understanding dawns, my heart thumps wildly in my chest. “So, meeting these elders is a formal step in orc courtship? Not just cultural education?”
He has the grace to look slightly abashed. “Both purposes are valid. I should have explained the dual significance.”
Far from being upset, I’m oddly touched. “You’re introducing me to the orc equivalent of your family.”
“Those who maintain our traditions now serve that function, yes.” His expression grows uncertain. “Is that acceptable? Too soon?”
I reach up and touch his face briefly, then kiss him. “It’s perfectly acceptable. I’m honored, actually.”
His whole face relaxes with relief. “Many humans would find our courtship traditions too structured, too formal.”
“Well, I’m not many humans,” I remind him. “And structure has its advantages. At least we both know what this is now, even if we’re negotiating the details across cultures.”
His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer. “What is this, Riona Walker? In your words, not clan traditions.”
The question deserves a thoughtful answer. I place my palm against his chest, feeling the strong, slightly faster-than-human heartbeat beneath my fingers.
“This is me recognizing something extraordinary in you,” I say carefully.
“Something that makes me feel both safer and more alive when I’m with you.
This is me wanting to understand your world while creating something new between us—something that honors both our traditions without being limited by either. ”
His breath catches audibly. “StoneWatch has words for this. Right now… they’re not enough.”
I look at him for a moment, at the steadiness of him, at the way he’s watching me with that particular quality of attention that has never once felt like surveillance.
“There’s something I want you to know,” I say.
“About why this has been complicated for me. Not you specifically—you’ve been the opposite of complicated. But the thing you represent.”
He goes very still, the way he does when something matters. “Tell me.”
"My father was a protector," I say. "My mother called it love.
I spent a long time learning the difference between being cared for and being consulted.
Between protection that keeps you safe and protection that makes you smaller.
" I pause. "When you gave me your coat, I almost gave it back. Not because I didn’t need it.
Because I recognized what it felt like, and I'd spent years training myself not to find it comfortable.
" I meet his eyes. "And then I found it comfortable anyway. "
"That was harder to admit than the cold."
He’s quiet for a long moment. When he speaks, his voice is careful and certain at once.
“I understand why you kept the distance,” he says.
“And I want you to keep it—the capability, the self-sufficiency, all of it. I don’t want to be the reason you become smaller.
” He spears me with an affectionate glance.
“I want to be the reason you don’t have to be afraid of being warm. ”
I exhale slowly. Something that has been held at a slight tension for months releases quietly, like a door opening rather than a lock turning.
“I know,” I say. “That’s why I’m telling you.”
He’s silent for a moment. Then his hand rises and his thumb traces the cord at my throat—the token, still there—as if confirming something he already knew.
“Then I’ll try to be worthy of it,” he says.
The evening continues with conversation that flows easily between serious cultural exchange and lighter personal sharing.
Vraag shows me more of his artwork, explaining the significance of various locations in the mountain territories.
I tell him about my family in Colorado, my journey to becoming a teacher, and my love for the outdoors that first brought me to this region.
When I finally prepare to leave, much later than I’d intended, something feels solidified between us—a foundation being carefully built, piece by piece, across the bridge of our differences.
At the door, he helps me with my coat, his movements surprisingly gentle for someone so large. Before I can step outside, he catches my hand, turning me back to face him.
“Sunday,” he confirms. “I’ll collect you at noon?”
“Perfect,” I agree, loving how formal he becomes when discussing plans, as if setting our next meeting requires ceremonial precision.
He bends down for one last kiss, and I rise eagerly to meet him. This one is gentle, almost reverent, his hands cradling my face as if I’m something precious.
“Until tomorrow,” he murmurs against my lips.
“When we’ll pretend we’re just colleagues with appropriate professional boundaries,” I remind him with a wry smile.
“I’ve improved my performance skills,” he assures me, though the heat in his eyes belies his composed tone. “Principal Winters will observe nothing inappropriate.”
“She’ll just have to suffer through her suspicions without confirmation,” I agree.
As I drive home through the quiet evening streets, I’m smiling so widely my cheeks hurt. Whatever challenges we face—security threats, administrative warnings, cultural differences—seem manageable when balanced against the growing certainty that what we’re building together is worth the risk.
Sunday can’t come soon enough.