Chapter 12
Ruka
I woke to pale morning light filtering through Jordan's lacy curtains.
My mate—and she was my mate, I knew that now with a bone-deep certainty—lay cradled in my arms. Her small body molded perfectly against mine, her head tucked beneath my chin, one delicate hand resting over my heart as if to gauge its steady beat.
The scent of her, of us, of what we'd done together through the long night, filled my lungs with every breath I took.
We had barely slept. All through the day and into the night we had reached for each other again and again, driven by something primal and insatiable, the pull between us growing stronger with each joining rather than being sated.
Even now, exhausted as I was, my body stirred at her nearness, wanting her still.
This was what Sarsa had spoken of. What the ancient histories of my people had tried to capture in inadequate words.
The mate bond wasn't just attraction or even love—it was recognition.
A certainty that lived in my bones, in my blood, in every fiber of my being.
Jordan was mine, and I was hers, and nothing in this world or any other could change that fundamental truth.
She stirred against me, a soft murmur escaping her lips, and instinct took over—my arms tightened, drawing her closer, as if I could shield her from everything beyond these walls.
My mate. My Jordan. The fierce human woman who'd stormed into my world and set it ablaze, who stood toe-to-toe with me, who made me feel like I was finally, truly awake after years of sleepwalking through life.
Sarsa had been right. That meddling old female was always right, damn her.
Jordan's lashes fluttered, and then those beautiful green eyes opened, still clouded with sleep. When her gaze found mine, something luminous bloomed across her features—tender and unguarded—and it struck me like a physical blow, stealing the breath from my lungs.
"Morning," she whispered, her voice deliciously rough from sleep.
"Morning," I rumbled, surrendering to the need to press my lips to her forehead, breathing her in.
But morning brought more than just her warmth in my arms. Reality seeped back in like cold water, carrying with it all the tangled complications I'd been holding at bay.
Jordan had built a life here—a career she'd fought for, responsibilities that mattered.
I couldn't be the selfish bastard who asked her to abandon it all, no matter how desperately I wanted to keep her close.
"When do you need to be at the hospital?
" The words came out strained, my chest constricting at the thought of watching her walk away, even for an hour.
"Your work—I know how important it is. I can come here when you're on shift, and you can visit the village during your time off. Whatever you need, we'll make it work."
Something flickered across Jordan's face—a shadow, there and gone. She turned her head, her gaze sliding away from mine as her fingers began tracing aimless patterns across my chest. "I don't have to go to the hospital."
Confusion furrowed my brow. "You have today off?"
"No, I mean..." She drew in a breath, and I felt her tense against me. "Nadine fired me."
The words didn't make sense at first. Then understanding crashed over me, followed immediately by a wave of fury so intense it made my vision blur at the edges. "She fired you? For treating Ardin?"
"That's the one." Jordan's voice had gone tight, brittle. "Apparently I ‘compromised the integrity of the hospital' by treating a non-human. Put the whole institution at risk, according to her."
"At risk of what?" The growl that rumbled up from my chest was pure predator. "Showing basic decency? Helping someone who was dying?"
"At risk of losing funding, probably. At risk of pissing off the donors who think Orcs are barely a step above animals." Bitterness crept into her tone like poison. "Nadine made it pretty clear she thinks you should all crawl back underground where you belong."
The muscles in my jaw locked tight enough to crack stone.
I'd weathered my share of human prejudice—the suspicious glances, the clutched purses, the way conversations died when I entered a room—but this?
Knowing Jordan had been punished for saving my nephew's life?
It ignited something primal and furious in my chest.
"If I had known helping Ardin would cost you—"
"Don't." Her fingers pressed against my lips, silencing me. "Don't you dare apologize. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I'd do it a thousand times." Her eyes found mine, fierce and unwavering. "I'm not sorry I helped him. And I'm sure as hell not sorry I met you."
I caught her hand, turning it to press a kiss into her palm, breathing in the scent of her skin. "You deserve to work for someone who sees your worth. Not some narrow-minded—"
"I know." A sad smile ghosted across her lips. "But knowing that doesn't pay my bills. Student loans don't care about principles. Neither does my landlord."
She shifted, pulling back just enough that cool air rushed between us. Her arms wrapped around herself, a barrier I suddenly wanted to tear down. "Actually, something came through yesterday. An offer. From Emory University Hospital. In Atlanta."
The words hit like a fist to the gut. "An offer?"
"A job offer." She still wouldn't look at me. "Lead physician in their emergency department. The pay is excellent. Benefits are top-tier. I'd be working alongside some of the best trauma surgeons in the country."
"Atlanta." I forced the word out past the tightness in my throat. I'd heard of the city, but knew little about it.
"Four hours from Franklin. Maybe closer to five with traffic." Her voice had gone carefully flat, emotionless—the tone someone uses when they're trying not to feel too much. "They need an answer by Friday."
"You're going to take it." Not a question. A stone sinking in my chest.
"I..." Finally, she met my eyes, and the anguish there nearly undid me. "What choice do I have, Ruka? I need to work. I have obligations. And it's not like..." Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard, tried again.
"Not like what?"
"It's not like I can stay here," she whispered, and each word carved itself into my bones.
"I'm an ER doctor. There's exactly one hospital within an hour of Franklin, and I just got fired from it.
Whatever job I take, I'll have to leave.
Whether it's four hours away or four hundred—does it really matter? "
Four hours. I couldn't stomach the thought of her being four minutes away, let alone four hours.
The idea had been circling my mind like a hawk since the moment she'd told me about being fired—waiting for the right moment to strike.
I'd asked her the question once before, but that was when she still had her position at the hospital, when the offer had been easy to dismiss.
Now, with everything stripped away, the path forward seemed suddenly, brilliantly clear.
"Come back to the village with me," I said, my voice steady despite my racing heart. "Be our clan doctor."
Her eyes widened, pupils dilating with shock. "What?"
"Come back to the village. Be our clan doctor.
" The words came easier the second time, gathering momentum like a river finding its course.
"You said yourself you loved it there. Morg is getting older—the clan will need a healer, and you.
.." I reached for her hand, threading my fingers through hers. "I want you there. I need you there."
Jordan's expression shifted like clouds across the sun—surprise melting into hope, then hardening into something that looked painfully like resignation.
"Ruka, I would love that. God, I really would.
The village was beautiful, and your people were so welcoming, and I.
.." She bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth.
"But even if I could get out of my lease early, I have over two hundred thousand dollars in student loans hanging over my head.
Medical school isn't cheap. I need a job that pays well enough to handle those payments, and I—"
"How much?" I interrupted, unable to let her finish that thought.
She blinked. "What?"
"How much do you need?"
"I... I don't know exactly. With my payment plan, probably at least eighty thousand a year just for the loans, and then I need to live, and save for retirement, and—"
"The clan will pay you five million human dollars per year."
The words hung in the air between us like a thunderclap. Jordan's mouth fell open. For several heartbeats, she simply stared at me, her expression cycling through disbelief, confusion, and something that might have been the beginning of hysteria.
"I'm sorry," she finally managed, her voice strangled. "Did you just say five million dollars?"
"Yes." I frowned, suddenly uncertain. Had I miscalculated human currency values? "Is that not enough? We can negotiate—"
"Not enough?" The words came out as a squeak. "Ruka, that's... that's absolutely insane. That's more than a lot of surgeons make. That's—" She pressed her palms against her eyes, laughing breathlessly. "I think I'm having a stroke. This is what a stroke feels like."
"You're not having a stroke," I said, fighting back a smile at her dramatics.
"And that's what you're worth to us. More than that.
You'll be the only doctor for the entire clan—on call at all hours, dealing with everything from injuries to illnesses to births.
Plus, you'd have the opportunity to conduct research into Orc physiology that no human doctor has ever had proper access to. "
She lowered her hands slowly, staring at me like I'd just offered her the moon on a silver platter. "Five million dollars," she repeated, as if testing the words for reality.