Chapter 4 #2
He closed the distance between us in three powerful strides, and suddenly the clearing felt much smaller.
The concern radiating from him was almost palpable, etched into every line of his face, the tension in his broad shoulders.
"What are you doing here? How did you—" The question died on his lips as he shook his head, seeming to recalibrate.
"I was worried about Ardin." The confession spilled out before I could second-guess it. "Nadine kicked you out before I could finish treating him, and he needs antibiotics. I brought them." I lifted the bag between us like a peace offering, my knuckles white. "How is he? Your son?"
Something flickered across Ruka's face—pain, maybe, or regret—and the air seemed to thicken around us.
"Ardin is my nephew," he said, his voice dropping to something softer, more vulnerable. "He's not well."
Those two words hit me like a physical blow. Not well. The clinical part of my brain immediately spiraled through possibilities—persistent fever, spreading infection, septic shock—
"Take me to him." I was already stepping forward, my body moving before my mind caught up. "Now."
Ruka extended his hand, palm up, and I slipped mine into it without hesitation.
The contact sent electricity skittering across my skin—his palm warm and calloused, his fingers curling around mine with a gentleness that seemed impossible for someone so large.
The tingle that raced up my arm and bloomed in my chest had nothing to do with adrenaline, and I knew it.
But I couldn’t think about that now, Ardin needed me.
Ruka guided me up the trail at a steady clip, his grip protective without being possessive.
My shorter legs struggled to match his pace, but he adjusted seamlessly, slowing just enough that I could keep up without breaking into a jog.
The forest embraced us as we climbed deeper, the canopy overhead weaving together until sunlight could only penetrate in scattered golden threads.
With every step, civilization fell further behind us.
Some distant, rational corner of my mind suggested this was monumentally stupid—following an Orc into uncharted wilderness.
But when I looked at our joined hands, at the careful way Ruka navigated the uneven terrain to make the path easier for me, those warnings felt hollow.
The trail curved sharply, and suddenly the trees parted like a curtain being drawn back.
I stopped so abruptly that Ruka had to steady me with his other hand on my elbow. "Oh," I breathed, the word escaping me in a rush of wonder.
It wasn't what I'd expected. Not at all.
The village nestled in a natural clearing like a jewel cradled in the palm of the forest, surrounded by towering pines and ancient oaks whose branches seemed to stand guard over the settlement below.
Structures built from timber and stone blended so seamlessly with the landscape that they seemed to have grown there organically, as if the earth itself had shaped them.
Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, carrying the rich scent of wood fires mingled with something savory cooking—stew, maybe, or roasting meat.
Paths of packed earth wound between the buildings like veins, and everywhere I looked, there was life pulsing through the village.
It reminded me of the hobbit settlement from Lord of the Rings, just much, much bigger.
An Orc woman tended a garden plot near the edge of the clearing, her massive hands surprisingly gentle as she harvested vegetables, cradling each one as if it were precious.
Two young Orcs—teenagers, maybe—carried water buckets between them, their laughter bright and unguarded as they shared some joke I couldn't hear.
An elderly Orc sat on a weathered bench outside one of the larger structures, his gnarled fingers working a piece of wood with the practiced sureness of someone who'd been carving for decades.
It was rustic, yes. Primitive by modern standards, perhaps.
But there was something undeniably peaceful about it; something that settled into my bones and quieted the constant hum of anxiety I'd carried on the drive from Franklin.
The way everyone moved with purpose, the way they worked together without needing to speak, the way the village existed in harmony with the forest around it rather than in spite of it—it all spoke of a life lived deliberately, intentionally.
Ruka's voice pulled me from my reverie. "Jordan," he said gently, his fingers giving mine a soft tug. "We need to hurry."
Heat crept up my neck. "Right. Yes. Sorry.
" I dragged my attention back to the present and let him guide me forward, though my eyes kept wandering like a child in a museum.
An Orc man paused mid-swing with his axe, wood chips still floating in the air, and offered Ruka a respectful nod.
A cluster of children abandoned their game—something involving sticks and a leather ball—to gawk at me with eyes round as saucers.
What struck me most was the certainty in everyone's movements, the quiet confidence of people who knew their place in the world and were content with it.
Ruka led me toward a structure near the center of the village, its doorframe adorned with carvings so intricate they must have taken months to complete. When he finally released my hand at the entrance, the absence of his warmth left my palm feeling strangely empty.
"He's inside," Ruka said, tension threading through every syllable. "With his mother."
I ducked through the doorway—unnecessarily, since the frame easily accommodated Ruka's towering height. Stepping from bright sunlight into shadow left me momentarily blind, my pupils scrambling to adjust.
As the room came into focus, I found myself pleasantly surprised.
The cabin might have been small, but it radiated care.
Vibrant woven rugs splashed color across the wooden planks.
Clay pots marched in orderly rows along wall shelves, while bundles of dried herbs dangled from ceiling beams like fragrant chandeliers, perfuming the air with earth and green things.
Nothing was haphazard. Everything belonged.
My parents' house had felt like this—lived in, loved, a home in the truest sense.
"This way," Ruka murmured, his voice dropping to a reverent hush. He crossed the main room toward a back doorway veiled by a heavy curtain of tanned deer hide.
He swept it aside, and I slipped through into a smaller chamber.
Every instinct I possessed snapped to attention the moment I saw him.
Ardin lay motionless on a low bed, his small body nearly lost beneath a mountain of furs and blankets despite the oppressive warmth radiating from the room.
The sight punched the air from my lungs.
That vibrant green skin I'd admired before had faded to something sickly—gray and ashen, like old moss scraped from stone.
Sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat and plastered his dark hair to his temples.
Each breath came too quick, too shallow, his narrow chest rising and falling in a desperate rhythm.
Fever. Dangerously high.
"Shit," I whispered, already closing the distance to the bed.
Movement in my peripheral vision made me pause.
An Orc woman occupied a chair beside Ardin, so perfectly still I'd nearly overlooked her in my focus on the boy.
She was magnificent—powerfully built, with muscles that spoke of strength and endurance visible even beneath the simple blue dress that draped her frame.
Sturdy leather boots emerged from beneath the hem.
Her long dark hair had been woven into an elaborate cascade of braids that spilled over one shoulder, and her face—all strong angles and fierce beauty—might have stolen my breath under different circumstances.
But exhaustion carved deep lines around her eyes, and fear had settled into the set of her jaw like a permanent resident.
My hand reached out automatically toward Ardin, fingers already anticipating the heat of his forehead.
A sound stopped me dead—low, guttural, primal.
The woman's lips peeled back from her tusks in a snarl that raised every hair on my arms. Her amber eyes locked onto my outstretched hand with the focused intensity of a predator. The growl that rumbled from deep in her chest wasn't a warning—it was a promise. Touch him and find out what happens.
I froze, my hand hovering uselessly in the space between us.
"Ryhain." Ruka's voice cut through the tension like a blade, sharp but not cruel. He moved between us with deliberate calm. "This is Jordan. The human doctor."
The growling ceased, but Ryhain's gaze remained riveted on me, suspicion and wariness radiating from her like heat from a forge.
I held her stare, keeping my voice level and professional despite my racing pulse. "Ryhain, Ardin's wound is infected. He needs treatment now."
The prescriptions landed on the bedside table with a hollow rattle—a sound too small, too pathetic for the crisis unfolding before me.
Pills. I'd brought pills. As if antibiotics alone could fight what I was seeing.
The fever-bright flush painting Ardin's cheeks, the rapid-fire rhythm of his breathing, the waves of heat rolling off his body like he was burning from the inside out.
This was beyond pills.
"Ruka." I turned, my voice sharp and worried. My mind was already three steps ahead, cataloging supplies, calculating what I'd need. "My medical bag. It's in my truck. I need it now."
No hesitation. Just a single, decisive nod before he strode from the room, his boots thundering against the wooden floor. The door crashed open.
"Kael!" His voice boomed through the settlement, commanding and absolute. "The human's truck—there's a bag inside. Bring it to me. Now!"
A distant shout answered him. Footsteps scattered like startled birds.
I moved to the bedside, my focus narrowing to the patient before me. "I need to see the wound."