Chapter 4
Jordan
The turnoff was easy to miss—I'd already driven past it twice before I spotted the gap in the trees.
What passed for a road was little more than a deer trail, two faint ruts carved into the earth and overgrown with weeds that scraped the undercarriage of my truck with a persistent scritch-scritch-scritch.
The vehicle lurched and bounced over rocks and exposed roots, branches clawing along both sides with an awful screech that made me wince.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles bone-white as I navigated around a particularly deep washout that looked like it could swallow my front tire whole.
The GPS on my phone had lost signal miles ago, leaving me with nothing but instinct and Sarah's directions.
After twenty minutes of crawling forward at barely ten miles per hour, I was beginning to think I'd taken a wrong turn somewhere.
The road—and I was using that term generously—seemed to be getting narrower by the yard, the forest pressing in on all sides like it was trying to reclaim what humans had stolen.
Twice I had to stop and haul fallen branches out of the way, bark scraping my palms. My jeans were already covered in dirt and tree sap, and I was pretty sure something had torn a hole in my favorite sweatshirt.
I was just about to admit defeat and try to figure out how the hell to turn around in this impossible space when the road simply... ended. A wall of dense undergrowth and towering pines blocked any further progress, like nature had thrown up a "No Trespassing" sign.
I killed the engine and sat there for a moment, doubt creeping in like cold water. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should have minded my own business.
But the image of that little boy's face wouldn't leave my mind.
I took a deep breath and climbed out of the truck.
The silence of the forest pressed in around me, broken only by the metallic ticking of my cooling engine and the distant, lonely call of a bird. I stood there, staring at the wall of vegetation, feeling foolish. What had I expected? A welcome sign? Orcs this way, visitors welcome?
"Hello?" I called out, my voice sounding small and uncertain in the vastness. "Is anyone there?"
Nothing. Just the whisper of wind through the pines and the rustle of leaves.
I tried again, louder this time, cupping my hands around my mouth. "Hello! I'm a doctor—I need to speak to Ruka!"
Still nothing. The forest seemed to swallow my words whole, leaving no echo, no response.
This was ridiculous. I was standing in the middle of nowhere, yelling at trees like some kind of lunatic.
I should just go back before I became lost or worse.
Maybe I could get the local police to help me locate Ardin, though they didn't exactly have the best relationship with the Orcs.
Maybe I could convince Sarah to come back with me?
I turned toward my truck, already mentally rehearsing the embarrassing story I'd have to tell.
That's when I saw it.
To the left of where I'd stopped, partially hidden by a massive Douglas fir with a trunk wider than my truck, another track branched off.
Not a road, exactly—more like two faint ruts cutting through the underbrush, heading upward at a steep angle that made my calves ache just looking at it.
I walked over, studying the ground. Fresh tire tracks, wide-set and deep.
The kind a large vehicle—maybe a truck even bigger than mine—would make.
My heart picked up its pace. The branches on either side had been broken back recently, and I could see where someone had cleared the larger obstacles, dragging them to the side. This path was being used, and used regularly.
I looked up the slope, trying to gauge how far it went. The track disappeared around a bend about fifty yards up, winding higher into the mountain. No way was I getting my truck up there—the angle was too steep, the path too narrow and treacherous.
But I could walk.
I snagged the bag of prescriptions from the truck, grabbed a water bottle for good measure, and started hiking.
The incline hit me immediately—steeper than it had any right to be—and my calves were screaming protests within minutes.
The forest closed in like a living thing, dense and watchful, broken only by the occasional bird call and my own increasingly ragged breathing.
"Hello?" I shouted, my voice bouncing off the trees. "I'm looking for Ruka! I'm a doctor—I treated a boy a couple nights ago. Ardin?"
The forest swallowed my words whole.
I pushed on, stopping every few minutes to call out again.
The path twisted upward in dizzying switchbacks, and time became meaningless as I climbed.
Twenty minutes. Maybe thirty. My sweatshirt clung to my back like a second skin despite the mountain chill, and I was just starting to question every life choice that had led me here when I heard the sharp crack of a branch. Not ahead of me. To the side.
I went still, turning with deliberate slowness.
Two figures materialized from between the trees, moving with an eerie silence that defied their sheer size.
Orcs. Male, both of them, and absolutely massive—easily seven feet of solid muscle and intimidation.
They wore practical gear, leather pants and dark t-shirts, but the swords strapped across their backs weren't exactly subtle accessories.
My throat went bone-dry, but I locked my knees and forced myself to meet their eyes. The one on the left had dark green skin decorated with intricate tattoos that snaked up his arms like living vines. The one on the right stood taller, his tusks more pronounced, his expression carved from granite.
"I—" The sound that came out was barely human. I cleared my throat hard and tried again. "I'm Dr. Jordan Bennett. I'm looking for a boy named Ardin. I treated him at the hospital in town. I brought the medicine he needs."
The two Orcs exchanged a look that spoke volumes I couldn't read. The tattooed one moved closer, his eyes—a striking, almost luminous amber—raking over me from head to toe. I could feel the weight of his suspicion like a physical thing.
"You're human," he rumbled, his voice like distant thunder. Not a question. An accusation.
"Yes. I'm a doctor. I work at Franklin Memorial. Ardin came in two nights ago with a gunshot wound. I removed the bullet." I thrust the prescription bag forward like a peace offering. "I have antibiotics. He needs them or he'll risk an infection."
The taller Orc's eyes narrowed to slits. "How did you find this place?"
"I followed the tire tracks." I swallowed against the sandpaper in my throat, not wanting to rat Sarah out for the directions. "Look, I'm not here to cause trouble. I just want to make sure the boy is okay. That's all."
They stared at me, and I could read the distrust etched into every line of their faces. How many times had humans brought them nothing but pain? How many reasons had they been given to turn someone like me away?
"Wait here," the tattooed one finally said. He jerked his chin at his companion. "Watch her."
The taller Orc gave a curt nod, planting himself between me and the path like a living barricade. The other melted back into the trees with impossible silence.
I stood there, acutely aware of the Orc's eyes boring into me, of how utterly alone I was in these woods. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs, but I kept my expression carefully neutral. This is fine. This is going to be fine. You're here to help a patient. That's all.
Sarah's words drifted through my mind like a lifeline—the Orcs in this village were peaceful, kept to themselves, didn't cause trouble. She'd had no hesitation about giving me directions. Surely she wouldn't have sent me here if I was walking into genuine danger.
Still, standing under the unwavering scrutiny of an Orc who looked like he could bench-press my truck, it was hard not to let my imagination spiral into increasingly creative worst-case scenarios.
I drew a slow breath through my nose, willing my shoulders to drop even as my pulse continued its anxious drumbeat.
The minutes stretched like taffy. Five. Ten. I shifted my weight, adjusted my grip on the prescription bag. The guard remained motionless, silent. Just those unreadable eyes tracking my every breath.
Then—footsteps. Heavy, rapid footsteps thundering down the path. A heartbeat later, Ruka appeared around the bend.
Relief crashed over me like a wave, so sudden and overwhelming I nearly swayed on my feet. The coiled tension in my chest finally released, and I had to lock my knees to keep from melting into the forest floor.
He stopped dead when he saw me, eyes going wide. "Jordan?"
For a second, my brain short-circuited completely.
In the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy, Ruka looked like he'd stepped out of some dream I'd been too sensible to indulge—or maybe a very specific fantasy I hadn't let myself acknowledge until now.
His skin was a rich, dark sage green that seemed to catch the golden light and hold it, and those amber eyes practically glowed as they locked onto mine.
He wore dark brown leather pants that fit him like a second skin and well-worn boots, but it was the stark white t-shirt that made my mouth go dry.
The fabric clung to every sculpted plane of his chest and shoulders, stretched taut across muscles that looked like they'd been carved from stone.
Heat flooded my cheeks. This was so not the time. Here I was, supposedly on a professional medical visit, and I couldn't stop cataloging how the white cotton contrasted against his green skin, how his presence seemed to expand and fill the entire clearing, how my fingers itched to—
Get it together, Jordan. You're here for Ardin. FOCUS.
"Hi," I managed, attempting a smile that probably looked more like a grimace.