14. Laina
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LAINA
“The mirrormoose is transferring from a kingdom facility that was closing,” Greth said when we reached the enclosure. “Female.” He entered the fenced-in area with the moose-size creature watching him, shifting her hooves on the ground.
“Easy, there,” Greth said softly, his hand extended her way.
She stopped stomping her feet.
I gaped at her, understanding where she got her name.
She was broad-shouldered and wide-antlered, much like a surface moose. But her hide looked pale at first glance, almost creamy. When she moved, the colors shifted with her. The tree line reflected along her flank. The facility windows appeared and slid across her shoulder.
I had no words to describe her.
“As you can see, she mirrors her surroundings,” Brovish said from beside me. “Her antlers track her emotional state, going pale when she’s calm and dark when she’s stressed.” He glanced at her head. “They’re currently pale, so that’s good.”
“Wouldn’t want to see her when they’re dark,” Greth said, taking a step back from the creature. “They can be vicious.”
“She startles if she catches her own reflection.” Brovish swung open the gate and entered the enclosure with me. “We’ll keep her away from still water until she’s settled.”
I put the clinical part of my brain in charge.
“Amazing,” I breathed. “Simply amazing.”
Brovish gave me a tusk-filled smile.
“I’ll be inside,” Greth said, leaving us to our examination.
The driftwhisps lifted off my head and settled along the railing to watch.
When the mirrormoose turned to look at me, my own face appeared on her neck and stared back.
I froze.
I’d seen my reflection plenty of times, on mirrors, windows, and still water. But this was different. This creature showed me not just my features but the exact expression I wore, unfiltered and honest.
I looked uncertain. Caught between wanting something and being afraid to claim it.
“She mirrors emotional states as well as physical surroundings,” Brovish said. “Not always, but sometimes. Mostly when the viewer is…conflicted.”
“I’m not conflicted.”
“Laina.” He moved into my line of sight, blocking the mirrormoose and my reflection. “You’re allowed to be uncertain about your mother’s visit. About what’s happening between us. About all of it.”
“I’m not uncertain about you.” The words came out fierce, surprising us both. “I’m uncertain about explaining you to someone who’s never chosen anything that didn’t fit neatly into her idea of acceptable.”
His expression softened. “Then don’t explain me. Not until you’re ready.”
“And if I’m never ready?”
“Then I’ll wait for as long as you need.”
I looked past him to where the mirrormoose watched us both, our two forms reflected on her flank, standing close together.
The image steadied. My face in the reflection looked less uncertain now.
“I should examine her,” I said.
“Yes.” But he didn’t move away. “After.”
“After?”
He kissed me again, inside the enclosure where anyone walking past could see. When he pulled back, his gaze held mine. “Now I’ll leave you to work.”
He left me with the mirrormoose, whose hide mirrored my body as I approached. When I checked her eyes, my reflection looked back, and this time I was smiling.
When I’d finished taking notes, I left her enclosure and strolled over to Cooper’s small pen, watching him hop around and stretch his wings. We’d purposefully put him in a pen without enough room to fly. But he’d been ready to start moving, preparing for the time we’d set him free.
Brovish sat on a stool inside the enclosure, watching the bird stare toward the woods beyond.
“We can put him in the larger pen in a few days,” I said. “Maybe less. He’s doing very well.”
“I’ll keep the cage open after we release him,” he said. “In case he wants to return.”
“Has one come back before?”
“Some do. Some don’t.” He said it without sadness. “But I keep the door open for them all.”
He’d have a page in his notebook for Cooper’s release. What the bird did when he cleared the tree line, whether he circled.
I went to check on the mossnibbles, finding Drogar there.
During the past week, he’d taught the mossnibbles to steal his hat on command.
I learned this when he stopped in the middle of their enclosure, made a specific clicking sound with his tongue, and stood at attention while three of them scaled him from boots to shoulder, plucked the hat from his head, and deposited it at his feet in under five seconds.
He beamed. “A trick.”
“That’s not a trick,” Traig said from the gate, his tablet in hand. “You’ve taught them your hat is obtainable. They’ll steal it all the time now.”
“Only when I click.”
“You won’t always click on purpose.”
Drogar considered this.
“Drogar,” I said.
“Yes?”
“They’re adding your hat to their nest.”
He turned. The hat had vanished into the mound, along with a few pens, one of the rubber gloves I’d swear I was wearing while examining the fizzlings, and a belt Greth had reported missing last week. A mossnibble sat on top of the pile, whistling.
“Ah,” Drogar said.
Traig said nothing. Which was, in its own way, louder.
Late afternoon found Brovish and me alone in the conference room, supposedly reviewing adoption applications. I’d made it through two files before I started watching his hands instead of reading.
He had careful hands. I’d seen him handle newborn twins, check Cooper’s healing wing, and calm frightened creatures with nothing but touch. But watching him now, his pen moving across paper in his precise script, I wasn’t thinking about his clinical skills.
I was thinking about those hands cupping my face. Splayed across my waist. The careful way he’d held me while he kissed me.
“You’ve been looking at the same page for five minutes,” he said, his voice startling me back to the present. He’d set down his pen and was watching me with an expression that made my skin warm.
“I was considering an application,” I said.
“You are not.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the page is upside down.”
I looked. He was right.
“Ah.”
“Yes. Ah.” He pushed his chair back from the table. “What were you truly considering?”
Professional honesty would’ve been safer. Something about Cooper’s release timeline or Abagail’s nutritional requirements.
“Your hands.”
He went very still. “My hands.”
“They’re—” I struggled for a word that wouldn’t sound completely ridiculous. “Distracting.”
“Distracting how?”
“You know how.”
“I’d like to hear you explain it.”
The challenge in his voice made my pulse kick up. I stood, the chair scraping back, and walked around the table until I stood beside him.
“They’re gentle with creatures,” I said. “They’re also—”
I lost the words when he reached out and caught my wrist, tugging me closer.
“Also what?”
“Strong.” My voice had dropped to barely above a whisper. “Careful. But not hesitant.”
“I think about touching you,” he said, “when I should be thinking about intake protocols. And dietary requirements of mirrormoose. And whether the fence on the east pasture needs reinforcement.” His fingers stroked along my jaw and tilted my face toward his.
“I think about touching you constantly, and it’s making me inefficient. ”
“That seems like a problem.”
“It is.” His thumb brushed across my lower lip. “A significant one.”
“Maybe—” I had to stop and breathe. “Maybe we should address it.”
“How?”
Instead of answering, I kissed him.
His response was immediate. He pulled me closer, and I went willingly, climbing into his lap before my brain caught up with my body. His hands slid to my waist, then lower, and I made a sound that would’ve mortified me if I’d had any capacity for embarrassment left.
“Laina—”
“Yes?”
“The table—”
“What about it?”
He stood, taking me with him, and turned until my back landed on the conference table edge. The adoption files scattered. His pen rolled off onto the floor.
Neither of us cared.
After locking the door, he returned to lean me back. Lean over me. And kissed down my jaw, finding the spot where my neck met my shoulder, grazing his tusks along it. I gripped his shoulders, then his hair, then gave up and held on while he kissed every sensitive place I’d forgotten I had.
“Tell me to stop,” he said against my collarbone. “Tell me this isn’t appropriate for the workplace, and I’ll stop.”
“Don’t.”
His laugh came out low and rough. “That’s not telling me to stop.”
“I’m aware of that.”
He stepped between my legs, and his expression made my breath catch.
“When orcs court someone,” he said, his hands firm on my hips, “they’re very clear about their intentions.”
“What are your intentions?”
“To keep you.” That was simple. And devastating. “If you’ll have me.”
I pulled him down into another kiss rather than answering with words, and his response told me he understood perfectly.
His mouth moved from mine, trailing along my jaw to that spot behind my ear that made my toes curl. I arched into him and his rumble of approval vibrated through his chest.
“I’ve wanted to do this since you walked into the medical bay to examine Cooper,” he said against my skin. His hands slid up my sides, his fingers brushing the underside of my breasts through my shirt. “You were testing his wing, and I couldn’t focus on a single word you said.”
“I noticed.”
“Did you?” He lifted his head, his eyes dark. “What else did you see?”
That he’d looked at me like I was the only person in the room. That his hands shook when he passed me supplies. That he’s been careful not to stand too close until today.
“Everything,” I said.
He kissed me again, slower this time, thorough. When his tongue traced my lower lip, I opened for him, tasting tea and need.
He slid the hem of my shirt up and slipped his hand underneath, his palm hot against my ribs.
“May I?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He tugged the shirt up and I helped, raising my arms. Cool air hit my skin before his mouth followed, kissing down my chest. His tusks grazed my collarbone and I gasped.
He froze. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. Do it again.”