Chapter 6
Jordan
We finished our meal in comfortable silence, the warmth of the food settling pleasantly in my stomach.
As I set down my bowl, I became acutely aware of the curious glances being cast our way.
Several Orcs passing by our table slowed their pace, their eyes lingering on me with an intensity that made the hair on the back of my neck prickle.
It struck me as odd. Orcs had been living alongside humans for years now—I'd even spotted humans working throughout the village as we'd walked through, their hands deep in garden soil, their laughter mingling with orcish voices as they worked side by side.
Yet here I sat, apparently the most fascinating thing in the room.
Perhaps none of them had ever encountered a healer besides Morg. That would explain it. A human doctor—especially one who'd made such a dramatic entrance—might be worth a second look. Or a third. I shifted in my seat, fighting the urge to shrink under their scrutiny.
Ruka noticed. "They mean no disrespect." He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "You are different from the humans who choose to live here."
I raised an eyebrow. "Different how?"
"They come seeking our way of life. You came seeking to save a life." His golden eyes held mine for a moment, and something in his gaze made my breath catch.
Before I could respond, Zuhra approached our table, wiping her hands on her apron. "So, Doctor," she said, her tusked smile warm and genuine. "How did you find the meal?"
"It was incredible," I said, meaning every word. "Honestly, that meat was one of the best things I've ever eaten. The herbs, the way the meat just fell apart—and that bread!" I gestured enthusiastically at my empty plate. "I don't know what you put in it, but it was amazing."
Zuhra's chest puffed slightly with pride, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Ah, you have good taste. The secret is in the slow cooking—we let it simmer for hours.
And the bread is made fresh every morning with grain we mill ourselves.
" She leaned in conspiratorially. "I also add a touch of wild thyme from the mountain slopes.
Most don't notice, but it makes all the difference. "
"Well, it definitely made a difference. Thank you so much. I didn't realize how hungry I was until I started eating."
"A healer must keep her strength up," Zuhra said, nodding approvingly. "You are welcome at my kitchen anytime, Doctor."
Ruka shifted in his seat, drawing Zuhra's attention. "Zuhra, the doctor will be staying with us for a few days while she tends to Ardin. Can you arrange lodging for her? One of the guest cottages should suffice."
Zuhra's expression turned apologetic. "Ah, Chieftain, I'm afraid that won't be possible.
With the recent influx of families, all our guest cottages are occupied.
" She tapped her chin thoughtfully, then her face brightened with what looked suspiciously like mischief.
"But the chieftain's residence has plenty of room, does it not?
It's the largest house in the village, with many bedrooms."
I caught the look Ruka shot her—a slight narrowing of his golden eyes that suggested he knew exactly what game she was playing. For a moment, I thought he might argue, but instead he let out a quiet breath through his nose, the sound almost resignation.
"That is... true," he said slowly, his gaze shifting to me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "You are welcome to stay at my home, Jordan. As Zuhra says, it is large. There are several guest rooms, and you would have your privacy."
"Oh, I don't want to impose," I said quickly, even as my heart did a little flip at the prospect. "If there's anywhere else—"
"There isn't," Zuhra said firmly, though her eyes sparkled with unmistakable satisfaction. "And it's no imposition. The chieftain's residence is meant to house guests of importance. A healer who saved one of our own certainly qualifies."
Ruka nodded, though I noticed the slight tension in his shoulders. "It's settled then. You'll stay with me."
The words sent an unexpected thrill through me, and I had to fight to keep my expression neutral.
Get a grip, Jordan. Yes, he was attractive—impossibly so, with those striking golden eyes, that commanding presence, and that voice that seemed to resonate in my chest. But I was here as a medical professional, not some romance novel heroine getting swept off her feet by the first devastatingly handsome chieftain she encountered.
Ardin was my patient. That was my priority. That was the only priority.
Still, as I glanced at Ruka from the corner of my eye—at the strong line of his jaw, the way his dark hair fell across his forehead—I couldn't quite ignore the warmth that crept up my neck or the flutter low in my stomach. Professional. I needed to stay professional.
Even if staying under his roof was going to make that considerably more challenging.
Zuhra's voice pulled me back from my wandering thoughts, something about gathering my belongings.
"I appreciate it," I said, then winced. "Though I should warn you—the sum total of my possessions amounts to one medical bag, and I'd really prefer to keep that close to Ardin."
"Of course," Ruka said, his tone understanding.
I looked down at myself, suddenly hyperaware that I was still wearing yesterday's clothes—my sweatshirt decorated with an artistic pattern of dirt smudges and Ardin's blood from the surgery. No spare clothes, no toothbrush, nothing. I was basically a disaster in human form.
Zuhra's face lit up. "Do not worry. Many humans have chosen to make their home among us. I can gather what you need—clothes, personal items, whatever makes you comfortable."
"Really? How many humans live here?" The question tumbled out before I could stop it. Though now that I'd seen the village, I could understand the appeal.
The air here didn't taste like exhaust fumes and anxiety.
People actually knew their neighbors' names.
Everything felt purposeful, built to endure rather than to squeeze maximum profit from minimum investment.
There was something profoundly seductive about a place where you could actually see the fruits of your labor, where relationships weren't just networking opportunities, where life moved at a human pace instead of being dictated by algorithm-driven productivity metrics and the relentless scroll of social media.
What would it be like to just... stay?
The thought ambushed me, and I shoved it away before it could take root.
"Several families," Ruka said. "They prefer our way of life to what they left behind in your world."
I stared at him, genuinely surprised. "I wouldn't have expected you to allow that. Given, you know, everything humans have done..."
Something shifted in Ruka's expression, a softening around his eyes. "Not all humans are the same, just as not all Orcs are the same. Those who come seeking a different path are welcome, provided they respect our ways and honor the land."
"What makes them want to stay?" I asked, fascinated despite myself.
"Many reasons," he said, his voice taking on a thoughtful quality. "Some flee the chaos of your cities. Others crave a simpler existence, one not shackled to your technology and endless consumption."
"Like homesteaders," I said, the pieces clicking together. "Subsistence living. People who want to get back to basics."
"Yes," Ruka nodded, and I could have sworn he looked pleased. "They live in harmony with the land, not against it. They take only what they need and give back what they can. It is a partnership, not a conquest."
The conviction in his words made my chest tighten. How different would the world be if more people thought that way? If we saw ourselves as part of the ecosystem instead of its masters?
We left the communal hall and stepped back into the village proper. Ruka paused to speak with several males who'd been waiting near the entrance, his deep voice issuing directions for an upcoming hunt. I hung back, watching the easy deference the other Orcs showed him—not fear, but genuine respect.
The midday sun had burned off the morning mist, and for the first time, I could really see the settlement spread out before me.
I'd expected something primitive. Rough.
Maybe even squalid, if I was being honest with myself.
Instead, the village looked like it had been lifted from some fantasy architect's fever dream.
Sturdy timber buildings rose from the earth as if they'd grown there, their logs fitted together with such precision I couldn't spot the seams. Stone foundations anchored each structure, and the thatched roofs were so perfectly layered they looked almost geometric.
Gardens exploded with life beside nearly every home—not the sad, struggling plots I'd attempted at my cabin, but lush, thriving beds of vegetables and herbs that practically hummed with vitality.
Chickens scratched contentedly in well-built coops.
Somewhere nearby, a goat's bleat echoed off the surrounding trees.
Everything was clean. Organized. Purposeful.
"Your village is beautiful," I said, and the words felt inadequate.
Ruka glanced at me, and something warm flickered behind those golden eyes. "We build to last. To honor the land that sustains us."
As we walked deeper into the settlement, I became hyperaware of the attention tracking our movement. Work paused. Conversations died mid-sentence. Heads turned.
They weren't looking at Ruka.
A female hanging laundry on a line between two posts stared at me with open curiosity, her hands frozen mid-reach. Two children who'd been mock-battling with wooden swords stopped mid-swing, their mouths falling open.
And then there were the males.