Chapter 15
Maeve
The final school bell rings, sending a wave of relief through my tired body. I check the clock on the wall. It’s well past five o’clock. I've stayed later than usual, catching up on paperwork and checking in with the last few teachers about their students' responses to the tonic.
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and close the last file with a satisfied sigh. Twenty-seven confirmed cases of Pixie-Pox and not a single new infection reported today. The tonic is working. Our plan is working.
Our. The word brings a smile to my face. Lorian and I make a good team, professionally and in other ways, too.
My cheeks warm at the memory of last night. Lorian's hands exploring every inch of my body, his usual control abandoned as he whispered my name in the crook of my neck. The way he looked at me afterward, those ice-blue eyes soft.
Things are moving fast, but I’m still not afraid.
In fact, I’m strangely at peace. I gather my things, sliding folders into my worn leather bag.
My fingers brush against something small and sparkly, a piece of pink glitter that must have transferred from Lorian's hair to my bag.
The sight of it makes me grin like a lovesick teenager.
The halls are quiet as I make my final rounds, checking that the medicine cabinet is locked and the emergency supplies are in order.
My sensible flats make little sound against the polished floors.
Most of the classrooms are dark now, their occupants long gone.
Only a few lights remain on in the administrative wing.
I pause at the doorway to the nurse's office. The afternoon sun slants through the windows, highlighting the crayon drawings children have given me over the years. A stick figure with wild red hair holding the hands of smaller figures.
This is why I do what I do. Why I chose school nursing over the higher-paying hospital positions Harriet is always telling me to apply for. Here, I make a difference every day, one scraped knee and upset tummy at a time.
And now, with the Pixie-Pox outbreak under control, I feel a surge of professional pride. The children trust me. The parents trust me. And somehow, amazingly, I found love.
Love? Is that what this is? It’s crazy, but it is.
I flip off the light switch and lock the door behind me, my thoughts already racing ahead to tonight. Lorian texted earlier to ask if I wanted to come over. "I'll cook," he wrote, and the simple domestic offer made my heart flutter in a way that should be embarrassing for a grown woman.
The main hallway stretches before me, afternoon sunlight streaming through the high windows and turning dust motes into floating gold. I pass the spot where Lorian kissed my palm yesterday, the memory sending a tingle up my arm. No man has ever made such a simple gesture feel so intimate.
"You're being ridiculous," I mutter to myself, but I can't stop smiling.
The parking lot is nearly empty when I push through the heavy doors.
Most teachers left an hour ago, eager to start their weekends.
Only a few cars remain scattered across the asphalt—mine, an ancient blue compact that's seen better days; Mrs. Finch's red minivan; and Principal Braggstone's oversized black SUV in its reserved spot near the entrance.
The air has that particular golden quality of late afternoon, still cool but with the promise of warm temperatures to come. As I cross to my car, I dig through my bag for my keys, pushing aside tissues, pens, and the emergency chocolate bar I keep for particularly stressful days.
The lot is quiet except for the distant sounds of children playing in the park across the street. I hum softly to myself, a habit I developed years ago to fill silences.
"Maeve, wait up!"
The deep voice behind me sends an immediate chill down my spine. I turn to find Principal Braggstone's massive form approaching, his heavy footsteps crunching on the gravel. He moves with surprising speed for someone his size, closing the distance between us before I can unlock my car door.
"Principal Braggstone," I acknowledge, keeping my voice neutral. Something about his expression sets my nerves on edge. His usual forced smile is missing, replaced by something more intent, more focused. More angry.
"Please, Maeve. After hours, it's just Orlin," he says, stopping uncomfortably close. His bulk effectively blocks my path to my car door, and I find myself taking an instinctive step backward.
"Right," I say, clutching my keys tighter. "Was there something you needed? I was just heading out."
"No rush," he says, waving one massive hand dismissively. "I wanted to congratulate you on yesterday's tonic distribution. Very clever. The parents can't stop talking about it."
"Thank you. It was a team effort," I reply, trying to step around him to reach my car door. He shifts his weight, subtly but effectively blocking my path again. My heart rate ticks up a notch.
"Indeed," he says, his voice dropping lower. "You and Dr. Reizenhart make quite the team."
There's something in the way he says Lorian's name that makes my skin crawl. I force a polite smile.
"We work well together, yes," I say carefully. "The children's health is our priority. We’re professionals."
"Professionals," he repeats, his lips curling into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. “Is that what you call it?”
My cheeks heat at the barely veiled insinuation. I tighten my grip on my bag and keys, realizing just how alone we are in the deserted parking lot.
“I saw you yesterday, in the hallway with him.” Braggstone takes a step toward me, his tone belligerent. “Quite cozy for a professional relationship.”
"This is none of your business," I say, my voice firmer now, despite the alarm bells ringing in my brain. "If there's nothing specific you needed, I’ll be going home now."
"But this is my business, Maeve." Braggstone takes another step closer. I back up until I feel the cool metal of my car against my legs. "You've been playing hard to get since I arrived in Saltford Bay. It's getting old."
The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. Playing hard to get? Is that how he's interpreted our strictly professional interactions?
"I think there's been a misunderstanding," I say, keeping my voice steady despite the disgust and anger roiling in my stomach. "I've never—"
"The way you dress," he interrupts, as if I hadn't spoken, his eyes roving over my body in a way that makes me want to scrub my skin raw. "Those skirts, those sweaters. Pretending you’re all innocent. You know exactly what you're doing."
My breath catches in my throat, disbelief warring with growing fear. I glance around the parking lot, hoping to see another teacher or staff member, but we're alone in the fading light.
"Let me pass," I say firmly, trying once more to step around him.
His hand shoots out, grasping my upper arm with enough pressure to make me wince. His fingers dig into my flesh through my thin blouse.
"A girl like you needs a man who can keep her under control," he says, his voice dropping to a near-growl. "Not some fancy doctor."
He reaches his other hand toward my face, his thick fingers aiming for a strand of my hair. I jerk my head back to avoid the contact.
"Don't touch me," I snap, abandoning any pretense of politeness. "Let go of my arm, now."
His grip tightens instead. "Let me show you what a real man is, Maeve."
Panic flares hot and sharp in my chest. I twist against his grip, using my free hand to dig frantically in my purse for my phone or anything I might use to defend myself. My fingers close around my heavy metal water bottle, and I start to pull it out.
“I wouldn’t date you if you were the last man in town,” I shout at him, loud enough that anyone in the vicinity can hear. I’m done tiptoeing around him. He crossed a line, and he’s going to regret it.
"You think Lorian Reizenhart is going to satisfy you?" Braggstone scoffs, his face now inches from mine.
"Step away from her."
The voice cuts through the air like a blade of ice. Lorian's voice. My head snaps up to see his tall figure silhouetted against the sunset at the edge of the parking lot. Relief floods through me, so intense it makes my knees weak.
Braggstone's grip on my arm loosens slightly in surprise, but he doesn't release me. "This is a private conversation, Reizenhart," he calls out. "I suggest you keep walking."
Lorian doesn't respond. Instead, he strides toward us, his movements fluid and predatory. I've never seen him move like this, all controlled power and cold purpose. His usually composed face is transformed by fury, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes blazing.
He covers the distance between us at what seems like impossible speed.
Before Braggstone can react, Lorian's hand shoots out, grabbing the troll by his shirt collar.
With a strength I wouldn't have believed if I weren't seeing it, Lorian yanks Braggstone backward and slams him against the side of my car with enough force to make the entire vehicle rock.
"I said," Lorian repeats, his voice deadly quiet, "step away from her."
I gasp at the display of raw power. Lorian's hair has come loose from its usual perfect ponytail, falling around his face in blond strands.
His eyes glow with an inner light that reminds me that elves were warriors before becoming scientists and doctors.
He looks dangerous and graceful, like some ancient idol.
Braggstone struggles against Lorian's grip, his face flushed with humiliation and rage. Despite the troll's greater bulk, he can't seem to break free from Lorian's hold.
"If you ever touch her again," Lorian continues, his voice low and controlled despite his obvious anger, "I will personally ensure you regret it for the rest of your considerably shortened life."
The threat hangs in the air between them, and I can see Braggstone's face change as he realizes Lorian isn't making an idle threat.
There's something in Lorian's eyes that speaks of centuries of elven battles and blood feuds, of a capacity for violence that his perfectly pressed shirts and polite manners usually conceal.
A sound draws my attention to the school building. The front doors have opened, and several teachers emerge, stopping abruptly at the scene before them. Mrs. Finch's hand flies to her mouth in shock. Mr. Peterson takes an uncertain step forward, then stops.
Seeing the witnesses, Braggstone jerks against Lorian's grip with renewed force. This time, Lorian allows him to break free. The troll straightens his rumpled shirt with shaking hands, his face mottled with anger and embarrassment.
"You'll regret that, Reizenhart," he spits, just loud enough for the gathering audience to hear. His eyes dart between Lorian and me. "Both of you will."
The threat in his voice is unmistakable, but I find I'm not afraid anymore. Not with Lorian standing between me and Braggstone, his shoulders squared and his head held high.
The troll turns and stalks toward the school building, brushing roughly past the stunned teachers still frozen on the steps. The heavy door slams behind him with a finality that echoes across the parking lot.
I turn to Lorian, expecting him to step back now that the immediate danger has passed. Instead, he moves closer, his hands coming to rest on my waist with gentle pressure that contrasts sharply with the force he just used against Braggstone.
"Are you hurt?" he asks, his eyes searching my face with an intensity that steals my breath.
"No," I manage to say, though my voice sounds strange to my own ears. "I'm okay."
His hands tighten slightly on my waist, and I can feel him trembling with restrained emotion. One hand moves to my upper arm where Braggstone grabbed me, his touch featherlight as he examines the skin for marks.
I'm acutely aware of the teachers still watching us from the school steps, their expressions a mixture of shock and curiosity. In a town as small as Saltford Bay, this scene will be repeated in every living room and coffee shop by tomorrow morning.
Lorian seems to notice my awareness of our audience. Something shifts in his expression, a decision being made, a resolution forming. Before I can guess his intentions, he pulls me closer, one hand sliding to the small of my back.
"Lorian," I whisper, conscious of the watching eyes. "Everyone's staring."
"Let them," he replies, and then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is different from any we've shared before. It's slow and deep and fiercely possessive, a public declaration that leaves no room for misinterpretation. His hand cradles the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair as he claims my mouth with unhurried thoroughness.
I hear gasps from the direction of the school steps, but they seem distant and unimportant. Nothing exists but Lorian's mouth on mine, his hands holding me steady, the solid warmth of his body against me.
When he finally pulls back, his eyes are clear and determined, the earlier fury replaced by something warmer and more certain. His voice carries clearly in the quiet parking lot as he says the words that stop my heart.
"You're my True Mate, Maeve. And I want the entire world to know it."
I stare up at him, speechless. In my peripheral vision, I see Braggstone's massive form appear at a window in the school building, watching us with impotent rage.
But for once, I don't care about the consequences. I don't care about gossip or professional boundaries or small-town politics. All that matters is the man before me, the impossible, stubborn, remarkable man who just claimed me as his in front of the entire school.
His True Mate. Mine.