Rakk
Six months has done wonders for my ribs.
Kaelen's wooden practice sword cracks against my blocking arm with enough force to rattle my teeth, but I grin through it, spinning away and sweeping low to catch him behind the knee.
He jumps the strike easily—bastard's always been too quick for someone his size—and comes at me again with a series of rapid blows that force me back across the training yard.
"Getting slow in your old age," he taunts, golden-amber eyes bright with challenge. "Domestic life making you soft?"
I bark out a laugh and feint left before driving my shoulder into his midsection.
He grunts as we go down in a tangle of limbs and wooden weapons, hitting the packed dirt hard enough to raise dust. We grapple for dominance—him trying to pin my shoulders, me attempting to flip him over—until we're both breathing hard and covered in sweat and dirt.
"You were saying?" I manage between gasps.
He shoves me off with a disgusted sound that doesn't hide his amusement. "One day your luck is going to run out."
"Today is not that day." I roll to my feet, offering him a hand up that he accepts grudgingly. My ribs protest the movement—not with pain exactly, but with the memory of pain. The soul-binding means I heal faster than I should, but old injuries still make themselves known during exertion.
Worth it. Every single time.
Kaelen retrieves our practice weapons while I grab water from the barrel near the edge of the yard.
The morning sun beats down on the canyon, turning the red stone walls into shades of copper and gold.
Training warriors fill the other practice rings—the sounds of combat and instruction creating a familiar backdrop that settles something restless in my chest.
I refused to give up morning sparring after the accident.
Dad suggested I take it easy for a few months, let my body fully recover, but the idea of sitting idle while everyone else trained made my skin crawl.
Serah understood. She always understands now that we actually talk to each other instead of dancing around assumptions and fear.
"Ready to face Mother's interrogation?" Kaelen asks, splashing water over his face and neck. His black hair is plastered to his skull with sweat, warrior's topknot barely holding together.
I grimace. "Is she still asking about—"
"Constantly." He cuts me off with a knowing look. "She's convinced Serah is hiding something. Same way she knew about Lola before Zurkar confirmed it."
Warmth spreads through my chest at the thought. At what Serah and I have been keeping close for the past week since Zurkar pulled me aside after examining her for a persistent cough. Not a cough at all, as it turned out. Just her body adjusting to the changes happening inside.
"Your father going to be there?" I ask, trying to sound casual.
Kaelen snorts. "When isn't he if our girls will be there? They've got him wrapped around their fingers these days. Ever since he realized how much Lola means to me, he's been..." He trails off, searching for words. "Softer, maybe? Or at least making an effort with the human women."
"Gorrak making an effort." I shake my head in mock disbelief. "Never thought I'd see the day."
"You and me both." Kaelen tosses the practice weapons into the storage rack.
"But Serah won him over somehow. I think it was when she helped him with that infection in his shoulder last month.
Refused to let him wave her off, just marched right up and started treating it like his opinion didn't matter. "
Pride surges through me. That's my mate—too stubborn to let ancient prejudices dictate who deserves care.
She's been working with Zurkar and Lola in the healing chambers regularly now, her knowledge of human anatomy proving invaluable when treating other rescued humans who've joined the clan over the past months.
Somehow, she's also started to win my dad over. He's been more relaxed, more patient since I've mated. I think he's happy that I'm happy, too. I can tell he likes Serah, though, and I'm hoping their relationship will only strengthen.
It’s helped ours, too. After we handled the aftermath of everyone learning of my power—and pledging their loyalty to an objectively powerful future Chieftain—we agreed that I wouldn’t step into the role yet.
I still want time with my mate and to have children.
My father isn’t ready to step aside, and it’s not uncommon for that role to only be passed down through death.
Which means I get plenty of time with Serah.
We head toward Kaelen’s parents' dwelling at an easy pace, letting the canyon breeze cool our overheated skin.
Other orcs call out greetings as we pass—some respectful, others teasing about whatever gossip is currently circulating.
The clan has settled into comfortable normalcy over the past half year.
No more whispers about the Chieftain's son and his human mate.
No more speculation about whether I can control her properly.
They figured out pretty quickly that Serah doesn't need controlling. She just needs respect and space and the freedom to make her own choices. Revolutionary concepts, apparently.
"How's Lola doing?" I ask as we navigate the stone steps leading up to the family dwellings carved into the canyon wall.
Kaelen's entire expression transforms—softening into something so reverent it would be embarrassing if it wasn't so genuine. "Miserable. Zurkar says she's got maybe a month left, and she can barely sleep because the baby won't stop moving. Every time she settles down, it starts kicking."
"Active little thing."
"Takes after its mother." He grins, tusks gleaming. "Stubborn and restless and refusing to cooperate with reasonable expectations."
I laugh because it's true. Lola has been a force of nature during her pregnancy—refusing to stay in bed despite Mora's constant fussing, still helping in the healing chambers when Zurkar allows it, insisting she's perfectly capable of walking places despite Kaelen's obvious desire to carry her everywhere.
We reach Kaelen's parents' dwelling and find the door already open, voices drifting out into the corridor. Female laughter—Lola's bright and musical, Serah's lower and raspier but no less genuine. Then Mora's commanding tone cutting through both.
"You should be resting, Loleanne. Not running around the canyon like you're training for battle."
"I can't rest." Lola's voice carries exasperation. "If I lay down one more time, I'm going to lose my mind. I need fresh air and sunlight and to feel like I'm not just an incubator."
I exchange a glance with Kaelen that says here we go before we step inside.
The main living area is spacious and well-lit, carved from the canyon stone and decorated with furs and woven tapestries.
Mora stands in the center with her hands on her hips—all six-foot-eight of her radiating maternal authority.
Her vibrant green skin seems to glow in the afternoon light streaming through the windows, and her long black hair braided with silver strands falls past her waist.
Lola sits on the fur-covered bench looking mutinous despite being round with child.
Her silver-blonde hair is pulled back from her delicate face, bright blue eyes defiant.
One hand rests protectively on her swollen belly while the other grips the edge of the bench like she's ready to bolt at any moment.
Serah perches beside her, clearly trying not to laugh at the standoff.
My mate has filled out beautifully over the past six months—no longer the gaunt, terrified woman I first touched in Zurkar's healing chambers.
Her dark brown hair falls in thick waves past her shoulders, catching bronze undertones in the light.
Those striking amber-hazel eyes find mine immediately, and the smile that curves her lips makes my chest tight with something that still feels too big for words.
Gorrak lounges near the brazier looking amused by the entire situation.
My father-in-spirit has indeed softened over the months—his iron-grey hair and beard freshly trimmed, piercing red eyes less hostile when they land on the human women.
He's even started joining us for meals occasionally, engaging Serah in discussions about herbal remedies and battle injuries that leave me wondering if he actually likes her or just respects her medical knowledge.
Probably both, knowing him.
"Kaelen," Mora says without turning. "Tell your mate she needs to rest."
"I'm not telling her anything." Kaelen moves immediately to Lola's side, settling on the bench and pulling her against his chest with careful tenderness. "She's been cooped up all morning. Fresh air sounds reasonable."
Mora's eyes narrow. "You're supposed to support me."
"I support my mate." He presses a kiss to the top of Lola's head. "And she's right. She can't stay in bed forever."
"A month," Mora mutters. "One more month and you can run wild all you want. But right now—"
"A walk," Lola interrupts firmly. "Just a short walk to the river and back. Nothing strenuous."
Mora looks ready to argue, but Gorrak speaks up from his position near the brazier. "Let the girl breathe, Mora. You were the same way when you were carrying Kaelen. Drove me half mad with your insistence on maintaining normal activities."
"That was different." But Mora's tone has softened slightly. "I wasn't as far along."
"You were further along," Gorrak counters. "And you climbed the canyon walls to reach the upper gardens despite my protests."
Serah catches my eye and mouths help, clearly desperate to escape before Mora turns her maternal focus entirely onto us. I grin and step forward, injecting cheerful energy into my voice.
"A walk sounds perfect. Beautiful day for it. We'll all go—safety in numbers and all that."
Mora sighs in defeat. "Fine. But at the first sign of fatigue, we're turning back."
"Agreed." Lola is already struggling to her feet with Kaelen's assistance. "Thank you."