Chapter 13
Riley
Three days into living with Dungar, and I’d discovered something surprising about myself.
I thrived on structure. His meticulously organized home, with its labeled containers and color-coded systems, was the most relaxing space I’d inhabited in years.
Where I’d once seen my ability to adapt to chaos as a strength, now I found comfort in knowing exactly where everything belonged.
“Two eggs or three?” Dungar asked, standing at the stovetop in a pair of dark sleep pants and a soft-looking gray t-shirt that stretched magnificently across his broad shoulders. Morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, highlighting his green skin.
He cracked the eggs, no shells falling into the pan, no drips on the stovetop. It was a small thing, but watching him cook was like observing a carefully choreographed dance.
“Toast?” I asked, already moving toward the refrigerator for a loaf from Holly and Sel’s bakery.
“Please.”
We moved around each other in the kitchen with the ease of people who’d been sharing a house for years instead of days.
I knew to hand him the spatula before he asked, and he set the blue coffee mug, the one with the sheriff’s badge that had become “mine,” next to the coffee maker as it finished brewing.
“Plate,” he said, and I slid one next to him right as he turned with the perfectly cooked eggs.
“Butter for the toast?”
“Yes. Jam too please.”
He liked it with exactly two tablespoons spread across the surface, though not touching the crust.
There was something reassuring about the predictability.
We ate at the kitchen table. Dungar’s methodical way of eating—cutting each bite to the same size, alternating between eggs and toast—felt endearing rather than odd. These rituals were part of who he was, and I found myself adopting some of them, finding comfort in their rhythm.
“More coffee?” he asked, noticing my nearly empty mug.
“Only if we can take it outside. It’s too beautiful to stay indoors.”
His smile transformed his face, softening the sharp angles and making his dark eyes crinkle at the corners. “I was hoping you’d suggest that.”
We cleaned up together, rinsing the dishes and placing them in the dishwasher. While he washed the frying pan, I wiped down the counters with the specific cleaner he preferred, making sure to get the spots I might’ve missed three days ago but now knew to look for.
The back deck offered a great view of the mountains rising in the distance. I settled into one of the oversized chairs, my feet dangling above the deck boards, and cradled my refilled coffee mug between my palms.
“I could get used to this view,” I said, not just meaning the mountains. Dungar in the morning light, relaxed and unguarded, was a sight worth savoring.
“It never gets old.” He leaned against the railing, his own mug orc-sized and custom made by his brother at the Pottery Barn. “Sometimes I still can’t believe I get to live here, above ground, with sunlight and open sky.”
“Do you miss the orc kingdom?” I’d been curious about his homeland since arriving, but we’d been dancing around personal topics, both of us careful not to push too far or too fast.
“Sometimes.” He turned to look out at the mountains. “The crystal caverns where I grew up had their own kind of beauty. But down there, everything felt confined. Up here, there’s room to breathe.”
I understood that feeling intimately, the suffocating weight of confinement, the desperate need for space to simply exist. Before I could respond, the sound of approaching hoofbeats drew our attention.
Ruugar rode up on his sorhox, a ginormous beast with a deep green hide and a friendly look in its eyes. He waved as he approached, a cloth-covered basket hanging from one arm.
“Morning,” he called out, dismounting with the easy grace all the Bronish brothers seemed to share. “Holly sent these over. Said something about our new neighbor deserving welcome treats.”
My cheeks warmed. I wasn’t exactly a new neighbor, just temporarily displaced. But the thought of being considered Dungar’s… What was I? His roommate? Partner? The undefined nature of our relationship made uncertainty flutter in my belly.
“That was thoughtful of her.” Dungar took the basket. “Join us for coffee?”
Ruugar accepted, though he took tea, and soon we were all seated on the deck, fresh-baked cinnamon spirulina and chocolate chip cookies on a plate between us. Conversation flowed easily, with Ruugar sharing stories about the latest tourist mishaps.
“How are the luminooks doing?” Dungar asked, reaching for another cookie, taking a big bite.
Ruugar’s expression clouded. “That’s actually why I wanted to stop by. Something’s off with them. The entire colony is behaving strangely. They’re more agitated, less willing to approach the feeding stations. They seem nervous for some reason.”
“What kind of nervous?” I asked, leaning forward.
“Restless. Their humming patterns have changed, and they’re not glowing as brightly at night. It could be nothing. Maybe they’re adjusting to the changing seasons. But I suspect something’s wrong.”
Dungar’s brow furrowed. “Predators?”
“I’ve checked for signs but have seen nothing unusual.” Ruugar ran a hand through his dark hair. “I thought maybe you two could take a look. You might see something I haven’t.”
“Of course,” Dungar and I said simultaneously.
We exchanged a quick smile.
“We’ll head over as soon as we finish here,” Dungar added.
After Ruugar left, I changed into jeans and a lightweight flannel shirt, practical for hiking around pens and potentially through underbrush.
When I emerged from the bedroom, Dungar waited by the door, his expression thoughtful.
“Something on your mind?” I asked.
“The luminooks are sensitive creatures,” he said as we walked to the pen holding Treelee, who snorted and trotted over to greet us. “They respond to changes in their environment before most animals would notice. If something’s bothering them…”
“You think there’s more to it than just adjustment to living on the surface.”
He nodded, easing Treelee from the pasture and boosting me up onto her spine.
I latched onto the horn jutting up between her shoulders and wiggled my butt into position.
“Ruugar knows those animals better than anyone.” He leaped up behind me, wrapping his arm around my waist like usual.
We’d fallen into this rhythm, and I liked it. Wished it would never change.
“If he’s concerned, we should be too,” Dungar said as he nudged Treelee toward town.
The ride to the luminook pens took us away from the main tourist areas, around the back side of the town where the working aspects of the ranch had been housed.
Few visitors ventured here unless they signed up for specific experiences.
The dirt road wound through stands of aspen trees, their leaves shimmering silver-green in the morning breeze.
The outdoor pens were situated in a clearing that backed up to the main barns.
Rather than cages, they were large, open-air enclosures with natural features, including rock formations, fallen logs, and native plants, all providing a comforting environment for the creatures that were supposed to mimic the world they’d live in around us when we set them free.
A high fence surrounded the area, more to keep predators out than to keep the luminooks in.
Ruugar met us at the gate, his expression tight with worry. “They’re worse today. Listen.”
In the quiet morning air, I could hear it, a discordant humming that raised the hair on the back of my neck. Instead of the melodic trills I’d heard when we’d found Marcy, this sounded erratic, almost desperate.
“How long have they been like this?” Dungar asked.
“For about three days, but it’s been getting progressively worse.” Ruugar unlocked the gate and let us in. “I’ve checked their food, the water supply, even tested the soil for contaminants. Nothing.”
I followed them to the largest enclosure where several adult luminooks huddled together near a cluster of rocks, their spines pulsing with agitated bursts of light. They moved restlessly, constantly shifting positions as if unable to settle.
“They’re afraid.” I recognized the behavior from my own experience. “This isn’t only discomfort. I bet they’re genuinely frightened of something.”
Dungar glanced at me. “How can you tell?”
“Body language. They’re protecting their vulnerable spots, staying close to escape routes.
See how they keep their backs to the rock pile?
That’s defensive positioning.” It was exactly how I’d learned to sit in restaurants, on buses, in safe houses, always with a clear view of exits, always with my back protected.
He nodded. “You have experience with this.”
It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway. “Some.”
Ruugar backed toward the gate. “I’ll leave you two to look around. Maybe you’ll spot something I missed. I need to check on the wild colony. Lock up when you leave?”
We both nodded.
After he left, Dungar and I began a methodical inspection of the enclosures.
He started at the gate and worked clockwise while I began at the opposite side, moving counterclockwise so we’d meet in the middle.
It was the kind of coordinated effort that didn’t need discussion.
We’d fallen into a natural working rhythm over the past few days.
“What exactly are we looking for?” I asked, carefully examining the ground for any unusual marks.
“Anything out of place. Footprints that don’t belong, disturbed vegetation, unfamiliar scents.” He crouched near the fence line, running his fingers along the wire mesh. “Luminooks are extremely sensitive to certain chemicals. Even trace amounts can upset the entire colony.”
I watched him work, appreciating the way he examined each section of fence with the same thoroughness. No skipping ahead, no rushing through less interesting areas.