Chapter 6 #2
The first one I noticed was massive even by Orc standards, his dark hair woven into intricate braids that fell past his shoulders. He'd been repairing a fence, but when he looked up and saw me, his entire body went still. Then, deliberately, he brought his fist to his chest and thumped it twice.
The sound resonated like a drum.
I felt Ruka go rigid beside me.
"Um," I said quietly, "what does that mean?"
"It is a greeting." Ruka's tone was so carefully neutral it practically screamed subtext. "An acknowledgment."
Right. And I was the Queen of England.
Still, I offered the Orc a small wave and what I hoped was a friendly smile. No point in being rude.
The Orc's tusked mouth curved into a grin that showed way too many teeth. He thumped his chest again, harder this time.
Ruka's hand materialized at the small of my back, warm and firm, steering me forward with gentle insistence.
We passed a workshop where wood shavings carpeted the ground like snow. An Orc bent over a half-finished chair looked up at the sound of our footsteps. His eyes found me, widened, and—
Thump. Thump.
"Hi," I said, waving again because apparently I was committed to this now.
Ruka's jaw could have cracked walnuts.
"Should I not be waving?" I whispered.
"You may do as you wish." The words came out slightly strangled.
A third male emerged from a nearby building, younger and leaner than the others, his arms full of firewood.
When he spotted us—spotted me—the bundle nearly went tumbling.
His eyes went huge, and he executed the most enthusiastic chest-thump yet, the sound practically echoing off the surrounding buildings.
Ruka made a noise low in his throat that definitely qualified as a growl.
"Okay," I said, fighting to keep my voice light despite the waves of tension rolling off my companion. "I'm definitely missing something here."
"It is nothing."
"Ruka. That was not a nothing growl."
He was quiet for a long moment, his hand still resting at my back. Then he sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. "They are... expressing interest."
"Interest in what?"
Those golden eyes slid toward me, and I caught something in them I couldn't quite name. "In you."
Oh.
Oh.
Heat flooded my face so fast I probably looked sunburned. "I see."
"They mean no disrespect," he added quickly, and was that actual concern in his voice? "It is simply... you are a lone human female who doesn't carry the scent of a mate. And you are..." He paused, seeming to wrestle with his words.
"I'm what?"
"Pleasing to look upon." The words came out rough, almost reluctant.
If my face got any hotter, I'd spontaneously combust. "Well. That's... thank you. I think."
We continued in silence, weaving past more tidy homes and flourishing gardens.
The village sprawled wider than I'd first realized, fanning out in an organic circle around the central gathering space.
At the far edge, where civilization surrendered to wilderness, a structure rose that commanded attention.
It dwarfed everything around it. And the craftsmanship—even from a distance, I could tell it was exceptional.
"That's yours?" I asked.
"Yes."
As we approached, details emerged. The house was enormous, constructed from massive logs that had been stripped and buffed until they practically glowed in the light.
Stone pillars—each one a work of art—anchored a generous porch that embraced the entire front facade.
Actual glass windows caught the sun and threw it back in brilliant flashes.
The whole thing looked like it belonged on the cover of some impossible fantasy architecture magazine.
"Wow," I breathed. "This is... Ruka, this is stunning."
He pushed open the heavy wooden door with one hand, and I stepped across the threshold into another world.
The exterior had been impressive. The interior stole my breath.
The main room vaulted upward into cathedral-like space, easily twenty feet to where thick beams crisscrossed like the ribs of some great beast. A fireplace of epic proportions commanded one entire wall, its hearth so cavernous I could have walked into it without ducking.
The stones fit together with such flawless precision they seemed to have grown that way, no mortar visible anywhere.
Every piece of furniture sang with the skill of its maker.
A banquet table stretched along one wall, its surface gleaming like dark honey, easily capable of seating a dozen people.
The chairs surrounding it featured intricate carvings and seats woven in complex patterns.
Near the fireplace, a couch built to Orc-scale proportions sprawled invitingly, upholstered in buttery leather and heaped with cushions and throws in rich earth tones.
"Did you make all this?" I asked, trailing my fingers across the table's silken surface.
"Some. Others were gifts from clan members. We each contribute what we can." He gestured toward a loft overlooking the main space. "My quarters are up there."
I glimpsed a railing and what appeared to be built-in shelving before he was already moving, leading me down a hallway that branched off from the great room.
"Your room is here," he said, opening a door.
The bedroom beyond made the one in my bedroom look like a closet.
A bed fit for royalty anchored the space, buried under an avalanche of blankets and furs that looked cloud-soft and impossibly warm.
The frame rose from the same polished wood as everything else, its posts thick as tree trunks.
Woven rugs in geometric patterns covered the floor.
A window framed a view of the forest, and beneath it sat a small writing desk with a chair that looked almost delicate compared to everything else.
"This is for me?" The words came out in a squeak.
"Yes. And through here—" He crossed to another door.
I followed, then froze in the doorway.
A bathroom. A real, functioning bathroom.
The fixtures were clearly handcrafted—a sink with a hammered copper basin that caught the light like captured fire, a toilet fashioned from smooth wood and glazed clay, and dominating the far wall, a copper tub large enough to swim in that gleamed like a new penny.
"You have indoor plumbing," I said stupidly, because my brain had apparently short-circuited.
"We are not savages," Ruka said, and I definitely heard amusement threading through his voice.
"We have a spring-fed system. The water comes from higher in the mountains.
It runs cold, but there is a heating mechanism for the tub—a fire box beneath that warms the water.
It takes time, but..." He shrugged those massive shoulders. "It works."
I spun to face him, this towering Orc chieftain casually explaining indoor plumbing like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Incredible doesn't even begin to cover it. You've built all this—the water system, the heating—with your own hands?"
"With many hands," he corrected, but there was a flicker of pride in those amber eyes. "A village works together. You are a guest. You should have comfort."
"Comfort?" I laughed, a little breathless. "Ruka, this is luxury. I've stayed in hotels that weren't this nice."
The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close enough to make my heart skip.
Standing there in the warm glow filtering through the windows, surrounded by the evidence of careful craftsmanship and thoughtful design, something shifted in my chest. The scent of wood smoke and pine drifted in on the mountain breeze.
Everything felt solid here. Real. Like the world had finally stopped tilting beneath my feet.
This place—this impossible, beautiful place—felt more comfortable to me than anywhere I'd been in years. More than my cramped cabin. Certainly more than the fluorescent-lit chaos of the ER where Nadine watched my every move like a hawk circling prey.
The thought should have terrified me. I'd known Ruka for what, a day? Less? And yet here I was, standing in his home, feeling like some essential piece of myself had clicked into place.
When I looked up at him, I wondered if he could read it all on my face—the wonder, the confusion, the strange certainty blooming in my chest that being here was exactly where I needed to be.
"Thank you," I said quietly. The words felt inadequate for everything I wanted to express, but his eyes softened like he understood anyway.
Ruka dipped his head in that formal way of his, though something warmer flickered beneath the gesture. "Make yourself at home. Explore. I have duties to attend to, but Zuhra will bring supplies soon."
"Right. Of course. I shouldn't keep you from important chieftain business."
He paused in the doorway, his massive frame filling it completely. For a heartbeat, I thought he might say something more. Instead, he simply held my gaze, nodded once, and ducked through the frame. His heavy footsteps echoed across the wooden floor, then faded into silence.
The quiet he left behind felt alive somehow, humming with possibility.
I turned slowly, taking in the cabin with fresh eyes.
The main room stretched out before me, its high ceilings soaring to accommodate Ruka's towering frame.
But it was the details that caught my breath—the small, intimate touches that transformed the space from a chieftain's dwelling into something far more personal.
A collection of river stones lined one windowsill like a rainbow made solid.
Smooth and perfect, each one a different hue—slate gray, warm amber, deep green veined with white.
Someone had arranged them with deliberate care, largest to smallest, creating a gradient of color and size that pleased the eye.
I paused, remembering what Ruka had told me about Ardin—how his nephew loved collecting river stones. My chest tightened as I studied the careful arrangement. Had Ruka kept these because of Ardin?
The thought made my throat constrict. I could picture it so clearly. Ruka's massive hands gently placing each stone his nephew found, keeping them safe, keeping them close. A quiet memorial to moments shared, to a little boy who'd once brought his uncle treasures from the water.
I blinked against the sudden sting in my eyes and moved on, not trusting myself to linger.
My fingers found a carved wooden box on a shelf near the fireplace. The lid bore intricate knotwork that seemed to flow and twist under my touch, each line purposeful, each curve intentional. I traced the pattern but didn't lift the lid. Some boundaries felt sacred, even in exploration.
Then I saw the books.
Oh, the books.
They were everywhere—a bibliophile's dream made real.
Stacked on tables in precarious towers. Marching along shelves that claimed an entire wall.
Tucked into corners like secrets waiting to be discovered.
I drifted closer, tilting my head to read the spines.
Histories thick as my forearm. Philosophy texts with cracked leather bindings.
Agricultural manuals bristling with bookmarks.
Even novels, their covers worn soft from repeated reading.
This wasn't a collection for show. This was a library built by a mind that devoured knowledge the way others consumed food.
A yawn ambushed me mid-thought, so wide my jaw protested.
The adrenaline that had been my constant companion since yesterday was finally abandoning ship, leaving nothing but bone-deep exhaustion in its wake.
My limbs felt like they'd been filled with sand.
My eyelids drooped despite my fascination with Ruka's home.
The bed whispered my name.
I surrendered to its call, padding back to the bedroom on feet that barely remembered how to walk. The mattress rose before me like a promise—all those cushions, those impossibly thick blankets, those furs that looked softer than clouds.
I didn't bother with the niceties of undressing. Zuhra would bring supplies soon enough. For now, I just kicked off my boots and let them fall where they may, then crawled onto the bed like a pilgrim reaching a shrine.
Heaven.
I sank into softness that defied description, surrounded by furs that smelled of mountain air and something else—something warm and earthy and undeniably him. Ruka's scent clung to the fabric, wrapping around me like an embrace.
The flutter in my chest was just relief, I told myself firmly.
Simple gratitude that my patient would heal.
The way my pulse had quickened when Ruka looked at me, the warmth that bloomed when he smiled—purely physiological.
My nervous system recalibrating after sustained stress.
Textbook response to finding shelter after weathering a storm.
It had absolutely nothing to do with shoulders broad enough to block out the sun.
Nothing to do with eyes that held gentleness despite his fearsome size.
Nothing to do with feeling safer standing beside him than I'd felt in years, or the way his voice seemed to vibrate through my very bones when he spoke.
I was tired. Overwhelmed. My brain was probably dumping oxytocin and dopamine like a broken vending machine, creating artificial bonds as a survival mechanism. High-stress situations did that—made you latch onto your protector. Basic psychology. Trauma response 101.
The fact that he happened to be devastatingly, unfairly, almost offensively attractive was purely coincidental.
Completely irrelevant.
I burrowed deeper into the blankets, pulling them up to my chin.
My racing thoughts began to slow, growing thick and syrupy.
The comfort, the safety, the relief of knowing Ardin would recover—that was what mattered.
Not the stomach-flipping moment when Ruka had called me pleasing to look upon.
Not the ghost of his touch still warming my skin.
My eyes slipped closed, visons of sugarplums replaced by amber eyes and green skin.
Sleep claimed me before I could draw another breath.