Chapter 14 #2
Jordan looked poised to mount a defense, but something inside her simply.
.. collapsed. The fight bled out of her posture all at once.
She managed a weak nod, and I watched the precise moment when the adrenaline that had been propping her up like scaffolding finally gave way.
She slumped in her chair, and I was already there, my hand finding her shoulder.
"Come," I murmured. "Your turn to be taken care of."
She looked up at me, and the vulnerability swimming in those exhausted eyes struck something primal in my chest. My mate—my fierce, relentless mate—who had poured every ounce of herself into saving our people.
Who had earned not just respect but genuine devotion from every Orc in the village, not through any claim to my bed, but through sheer stubborn brilliance and a healer's heart that refused to let anyone slip through her fingers.
Even without the mate bond thrumming between us, bringing her here would have been the shrewdest move I'd ever made as chieftain.
But the bond was there. Undeniable. All-consuming. And right now, she didn't need her chieftain's rule or her village's gratitude. She needed her mate—someone to catch her when she finally stopped running, to hold the pieces together while she surrendered to the exhaustion clawing at her bones.
"Okay," she whispered, the single word carrying the weight of days.
I helped her to her feet, keeping one arm locked around her waist as she listed against me.
The village had quieted, the worst of the storm weathered, but voices still drifted through the air—low conversations, the weight of worry in the air, the occasional keening of grief.
If I took Jordan back to our dwelling, this would find her.
She would lie rigid in the darkness, listening, counting heartbeats until she was certain I'd fallen asleep.
Then she'd slip away, drawn back to her patients like a moth to flame.
I knew my mate's heart well.
"We're not going home," I murmured when confusion flickered across her face as I guided us toward the village's edge.
"Ruka, I should—"
"No." The word came out soft, but no less resolute. "Dr. Carter and the others are more than capable. What you need is rest. True rest, away from all of this."
Her lips parted to argue—of course they did—but I caught her gaze and held it. "Jordan. Please."
The fight drained from her eyes. She nodded, a barely perceptible movement, and let herself sink more fully against my side.
I navigated us through the winding paths, acknowledging the males who stepped aside with knowing looks and respectful bows. They understood what their healer had sacrificed, what she'd poured out of herself to save our people.
At Zuhra's dwelling, I paused. The elder female emerged before I could knock, as if she'd been waiting. Exhaustion lined her weathered face, but her dark eyes sparked with warmth when they landed on Jordan.
"I'm taking her to the fishing shack," I said quietly. "She needs distance from the village tonight. Rest." The next words stuck in my throat, but I forced them out. "If there's an emergency, send someone."
Zuhra's expression softened with approval.
She motioned for me to wait then vanished inside and returned with a bulging pack.
"Food, blankets, water. The shack should have firewood—the nights still bite.
" She transferred the weight into my arms, then reached out to cradle Jordan's face with surprising tenderness.
"You did beautifully, little healer. Now let your mate care for you. "
Tears pooled in Jordan's eyes, threatening to spill. Her smile trembled at the edges. "Thank you."
Zuhra's thumb swept across Jordan's cheekbone, her touch feather-light. "You cannot carry every soul, child. But the ones you saved—they will carry you in their hearts forever. Hold onto that."
Jordan's breath caught, a small, broken sound. I pulled her closer before she could shatter completely. Zuhra met my eyes over Jordan's bowed head, understanding passing between us in that silent moment.
"Go," she whispered. "Take her somewhere the world can't reach."
The path to the lake stretched before us, winding through darkening woods where the last rays of sunlight filtered through the canopy in golden shafts.
Jordan moved like a ghost beside me, her feet finding the trail more from instinct than conscious thought.
I kept my hand at the small of her back, a steady anchor as she drifted through the twilight.
The fishing shack finally emerged from the tree line, silhouetted against the bruised purple sky.
My males had built it seasons ago during a particularly abundant fish run—solid timber walls chinked with moss and clay, a roof that had weathered countless storms. It perched at the water's edge like a sentinel, far enough from the village that even the wind couldn't carry whispers of sorrow to her ears.
The door groaned on its leather hinges as I shouldered it open.
Familiar scents greeted us—pine resin, old smoke, the faint musk of cured fish.
The last shards of the setting sun spilled through the single window, illuminating the sparse interior in shades of gold and shadow.
A sleeping platform dominated one wall, piled with furs.
Fishing nets hung from the rafters like captured clouds.
The fire pit sat cold and waiting in the center, ringed with smooth river stones.
Jordan drifted to the middle of the room and simply stopped, as if her body had forgotten its purpose. She swayed on her feet, arms hanging loose at her sides, eyes unfocused and distant.
My chest constricted at the sight. This woman who had commanded a room full of sick villagers and the CDC with steady hands and an unwavering voice now looked like she might blow away on the next breeze.
"Come here," I murmured, guiding her to the platform with gentle pressure. She folded onto the furs without resistance, boneless and pliant in a way that had nothing to do with trust and everything to do with exhaustion.
I turned my attention to the fire pit, building it quickly—kindling first, then progressively larger pieces until flames caught and began their hungry climb. Orange light bloomed through the shack, chasing shadows into the corners and breathing warmth into the cool air.
Zuhra's pack yielded its treasures as I unpacked.
Strips of dried venison, a round of dense bread still fragrant with herbs, wedges of sharp cheese wrapped in cloth, and—bless her thoughtfulness—a clay pot sealed with wax.
When I cracked it open, steam rose in fragrant curls.
Stew, rich with root vegetables and meat, still warm from Zuhra's hearth.
She must have kept it simmering, somehow knowing we'd need it.
I settled beside Jordan on the platform, cradling the pot of stew between us. "Eat," I said, scooping up a spoonful and lifting it toward her lips.
"I can feed myself," she mumbled, though her hands remained limp at her sides.
"I know you can. Humor me anyway."
Her lips parted, and I slipped the spoon inside. She chewed with mechanical slowness, each movement deliberate yet distant, as though her body performed the task while her mind wandered the halls of the common house, cataloging every decision, every moment she believed she'd failed.
I offered another spoonful. Then another. She accepted a few bites of bread, nibbled at the cheese. But midway through chewing, she simply... stopped. The food sat in her mouth, forgotten, while her gaze fixed on something only she could see.
"Jordan." I brushed my knuckles along her jaw. "Swallow for me, love."
She blinked, awareness flickering back into her eyes. She swallowed with visible effort. When I raised the spoon again, she turned away.
"I can't," she breathed. "I'm sorry, I just... I can't."
"You've done enough." I set the pot aside and drew her against my chest. She melted into me, curling small and tight as if she could fold herself into the spaces between my ribs. "You ate. You tried. That's all I ask. Rest now."
But rest eluded her. She remained taut in my embrace, her breathing shallow and stuttered, her fingers twisted in my tunic like she was clinging to a cliff's edge.
The tears she'd imprisoned all day—all week—pressed against their walls, building and building, waiting for the moment the dam would shatter.
I held her and waited. My mate would break in her own time, and I would be here to gather every fragment of her battered soul.
The minutes stretched between us like pulled thread. The fire snapped and hissed. Jordan's breathing fractured into something jagged, something that cut the air between each inhale.
"I failed them." The words came out so quiet I almost missed them. "Four people died, Ruka. Four people I couldn't save."
"You saved far more," I said, my voice low and steady.
"But four died." The crack in her voice widened. "I should have called for help sooner. Should have known what to do. Should have—"
"Jordan." I turned her in my arms, needing her to see my face, to read the truth there. Her eyes were bloodshot, haunted by ghosts I couldn't fight for her. "You cannot save everyone. No healer can. Not even the greatest among us."
"But I'm supposed to—"
"You are supposed to do your best. And you did." I framed her face with my hands, holding her gaze captive. "I am so proud of you that my chest aches with it. So proud I have no words large enough to contain it."
Her lips quivered. "People died."