Chapter 5 #3
Vorak emerged from between two buildings, one of my younger warriors with more confidence than sense. His gaze locked onto Jordan with unmistakable hunger, and his fist came up to thump against his chest—the ancient gesture that declared interest, that signaled intent to pursue.
Fury detonated in my veins. My hand flew to my blade before conscious thought could intervene, every instinct screaming to challenge, to claim, to make it crystal clear that Jordan was—
Mine.
The word blazed through my mind like wildfire.
I wrenched my hand away from the weapon, but couldn't suppress the growl that rumbled up from somewhere primal and possessive. Vorak's eyes went wide as moons, and he practically fled down the path.
"Ruka?" Jordan's voice pulled me back, concern softening her features. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." The word came out rough.
But it wasn't nothing. It happened twice more before we reached the common house.
Two more warriors, two more chest-thumps, two more waves of rage that threatened to drown my reason.
Each time, I had to physically restrain myself from doing something I'd regret—or maybe something I wouldn't regret at all.
The violence of my reaction should have alarmed me.
I was their chieftain, their leader, bound by duty to remain level-headed and fair.
I had no claim on this human woman who'd appeared in our lives mere hours ago.
No right to this savage possessiveness that made me want to plant myself between her and every male who dared look her way.
She's under my protection, I rationalized. A guest who saved my nephew's life. Of course I'd feel protective.
But protection didn't explain the heat that coiled low in my gut when she moved beside me, or the way my pulse kicked up whenever she spoke.
It didn't explain why I couldn't stop cataloging details—the graceful line of her throat, the way her lips curved when something amused her, the subtle scent of her that cut through everything else.
I hadn't taken a lover since Eelara descended back to the underground over a year ago. Clearly, deprivation had made me... reactive. Jordan was objectively beautiful, undeniably skilled, remarkably brave. Any male would respond to such a combination.
Simple biology. Proximity and scarcity.
Nothing more complicated than that.
I repeated it like a mantra, trying to make it true.
The common house dominated the village center like a sleeping giant, its broad timber frame weathered silver by countless seasons, its stone foundation marking it as one of our sturdiest structures.
Smoke twisted lazily from the chimney holes, carrying promises of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread that made my stomach growl.
I shouldered open the heavy door, the familiar creak announcing our arrival before I could.
"After you," I said, stepping aside.
The warmth hit us first—a wall of it, scented with woodsmoke and bodies and food.
Long tables stretched in neat rows across the packed earth floor, leading to the raised platform where the head table presided over the space like a throne.
Most of the breakfast crowd had scattered to their daily tasks—we were late, embarrassingly so—but a stubborn handful lingered over their meals, voices rising and falling in easy conversation.
Until we crossed the threshold.
Then: nothing. Just the crackle of the fire and the sudden weight of a dozen stares.
I pretended not to notice, scanning the room until I found my target.
"Zuhra."
The village manager turned from where she'd been directing a young server, her weathered face transforming the moment she spotted us.
The smile that spread across her features was pure mischief, deepening every line and crease into something dangerously knowing.
Her sharp eyes darted between Jordan and me, and her smile grew wider still.
Oh no.
"Chieftain," she said, crossing to us with the easy confidence of someone who'd changed my nappies and would never let me forget it. "And who might this be?"
"Jordan." I kept my tone carefully neutral, professional. "The human doctor who saved Ardin's life. She'll be staying with us until he's fully recovered."
"Will she now?" Something gleamed in Zuhra's eyes that made my jaw clench. "How very fortunate for us all. I am Zuhra, keeper of this village and its many secrets."
Jordan stepped forward, offering one of those small, genuine smiles that did absolutely nothing to help my current situation. "Thank you for having me. I hope I'm not imposing."
"Imposing? Nonsense." Zuhra's warmth seemed genuine, but I caught the deliberate emphasis when she added, "Any friend of our chieftain is most welcome here."
Friend. She'd practically caressed the word.
Before I could respond—or throttle her—Zuhra swept toward the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, "Sit, sit! I'll bring you something proper to eat."
I led Jordan to the head table, hyperaware of every whisper, every sidelong glance tracking our progress across the room. The murmurs started before we'd taken three steps.
"Is that really a human?"
"The chieftain brought her himself..."
"Did you see the way he—"
I forced my expression into something neutral, something that didn't betray the urge to snarl at every curious face. Instead, I pulled out a chair for Jordan, the scrape of wood against earth impossibly loud in the watching silence.
She hesitated—just a heartbeat—before sitting, moving with that same fluid grace despite the exhaustion still shadowing her features.
Zuhra materialized moments later bearing a tray that could have fed a small army—roasted meat glistening with fat and herbs, root vegetables caramelized to golden perfection, and flatbread so fresh the steam still curled from its surface.
The scent alone was enough to make my mouth water.
A clay pot of tea and two mugs completed the offering, which she set between us with a flourish.
"Eat," she commanded, brooking no argument. "Both of you look half-starved."
Then she caught my eye and did something that sent ice sliding down my spine. The smallest nod. A flicker of approval. Her gaze darted meaningfully to Jordan before returning to mine with an expression that said I see exactly what's happening here.
My stomach dropped.
She turned away, utterly unrepentant, humming as she returned to her domain.
"This looks incredible," Jordan breathed, already reaching for the flatbread. Thank the ancestors she'd missed that entire exchange. "I didn't realize how hungry I was until just now."
I watched her tear off a piece, watched her bring it to those soft lips, and my hand was already moving. Without conscious thought, I selected the choicest cut of meat from the tray—tender and perfectly seasoned—and transferred it to her plate.
"Try the boar," I heard myself say. "It's Zuhra's specialty."
Jordan paused, the bread halfway to her mouth. Her eyes found mine, something unreadable flickering in their depths. "Oh. Thank you."
But I wasn't done. My hands continued their work, adding roasted vegetables to her portion, making sure she had the best pieces, ensuring her plate was properly filled.
It was only right. She was my guest. Under my protection.
She'd saved Ardin's life, for fuck's sake. Any decent host would do the same.
The whispers erupted like wildfire.
I glanced up to find every remaining soul in the common house staring at us with naked fascination. Kira, one of the younger females, had both hands pressed to her mouth, her eyes round as moons. Old Throk beside her wore a grin so wide I could count all three of his remaining teeth.
Heat crawled up the back of my neck. "Something you need?" I growled.
They dispersed like smoke, suddenly finding urgent business elsewhere in the room.
Jordan glanced around, her brow furrowing. "Did I... did I do something wrong?"
"No." The word came out too sharp, too quick. I gentled my tone with effort. "They're curious, that's all. We don't see many outsiders."
True enough. Just not the whole truth.
Because the whole truth? The whole truth was that I'd just performed the opening move in an ancient courtship ritual without even realizing it.
Among my people, when a male hand-selects food for a female—choosing the finest pieces, ensuring her plate overflows with care—it's a declaration.
The first deliberate step in a mating dance older than the mountains themselves.
And I'd done it as unconsciously as drawing breath.
Jordan ate with unguarded enthusiasm, humming soft notes of contentment that wreaked absolute havoc on my composure. I mechanically lifted food to my own mouth, barely tasting it, each bite like swallowing sand.
"This is really good," she said, her eyes brightening. "I haven't had a proper meal in days."
The image of her hungry, struggling, alone—it ignited something primal in my chest. "You will eat well here. Zuhra will see to that personally."
"She seems wonderful. How long has she been village keeper? That's like a manager, right?"
"Close enough." I reached for the tea, the warm ceramic grounding me.
"She's guided my clan for thirty years, perhaps more.
We were fortunate when she chose to leave the underground and join us.
" I tore a piece of flatbread, using it to gather vegetables.
"Nothing occurs in this village without passing through her awareness first."
"Including mysterious human doctors materializing from thin air?"
I caught her gaze, surprised to find playfulness dancing there instead of suspicion. "Especially that."
Her laughter spilled out—unguarded, melodic, utterly genuine—and something behind my ribs constricted painfully. Around us, conversations faltered. Heads turned. Eyes tracked the sound of her joy, the sight of us sharing this moment at the head table.
Let them stare, I thought with sudden, reckless defiance. She saved Ardin's life. She's earned every honor we can bestow.
But the lie tasted bitter even in my own mind.
This had nothing to do with honor. Nothing to do with gratitude or duty or the obligations of hospitality.
This was about how her scent wrapped around me like smoke, intoxicating and inescapable.
About the territorial fury that surged through me whenever another male's gaze lingered too long.
About how sitting beside her felt like finding something I hadn't known I'd lost—something essential I'd been missing since I'd abandoned the underground for the surface world.
I was in trouble.
The kind of trouble that changed everything.
And judging by the knowing, almost sympathetic look Zuhra aimed at me from across the room, I was the last person in the village to figure it out.