Chapter 18
LANEK
The tears hit without warning, hot and humiliating, spilling down my cheeks faster than I can blink them back. My breath comes in sharp, broken gasps that sound pathetic even to my own ears, and I press both hands over my mouth to try to hold back the sob building.
It doesn't work.
The sound that tears out of me is ugly and raw, the kind of crying that makes my shoulders shake and my nose run and completely destroys any shred of dignity I walked in here with.
"Don't leave."
The words come out muffled against my palms, thick with tears and desperation.
"Quinn—"
"Please don't leave." I drop my hands, letting him see the full wreckage of my composure, the tears streaming freely down my face, the way my body trembles with the effort of holding myself together.
"Please. I was wrong. I was so wrong to push you away like that.
I was scared and I panicked and I said things I didn't mean because I didn't know how to handle what I was feeling and I'm so sorry, Lanek, I'm so sorry—"
The duffel bag hits the floor with a thunderous crash that makes the entire room shake.
Before I can even process the sound, he's moving, closing the distance between us in two massive strides, and then his hands are on me, cupping my face with a gentleness that seems impossible given the sheer size of him.
"Stop crying."
"I can't." Another sob hitches through me, making my voice break. "You're leaving and it's my fault and I ruined everything and I don't know how to fix it—"
"You are not ruined." His thumbs swipe across my cheekbones, catching tears that just keep falling. "We are not ruined. Breathe, little baker."
I try. I manage a single shaky inhale before another wave of tears hits, and I fist my hands in the front of his shirt like I can physically hold him here through sheer force of will.
"I don't want you to go."
"Then I will not go."
The simple statement stops me cold. I pull back just enough to look up at him, vision blurred, searching his face for any sign that he's just saying what I want to hear.
"You mean it?"
"I have never lied to you. If you want me to stay, I stay.
If you want me to leave, I leave. If you want me to stand in this exact spot for the next forty years and never move, I will do that too.
You are my mate, Quinn. That does not change because we had a fight.
That does not change because I made mistakes.
I am yours. Completely. In whatever form you need me. "
A fresh wave of tears spills over, but these feel different, lighter somehow, like something breaking open inside my chest instead of breaking apart.
"I need you here." The words come easier now, steadier. "I need you next door. I need to hear the bone saw at five in the morning and find mysterious cuts of meat on my doorstep and watch you terrorize food critics. I need all of it. All of you. Even the parts that scare me a little."
A flicker of hope breaks through the devastation that's been carved into every line of his face.
"You are certain?"
"Yes." I reach up, covering his big hands with my own much smaller ones, holding them against my cheeks.
"I'm so certain it terrifies me. I've never been this certain about anything in my entire life.
I love you, Lanek. I love your ridiculous traditional courtship gifts and your protective instincts and the way you look at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.
I love that you learned municipal zoning laws for me.
I love that you recorded felonies instead of committing assault.
I love every single impossible, overwhelming, too-much part of you. "
For one endless moment, he just stares at me, those dark eyes wide and unguarded, and I realize with a sharp jolt that I've never actually said those words to him before.
That in all our fighting and kissing and claiming, I never once told him I loved him.
His throat works visibly, like he's trying to swallow around something too big to fit.
"Say it again."
"I love you."
A low, rumbling sound vibrates through his chest, something between a growl and a purr that I feel against my palms.
"Again."
"I love you, Lanek Grieves." The tears are still falling, but I'm smiling now, wide and helpless. "I love you and your bone saw and your ridiculous shoulders and your traditional Orc logic and the way you smell like woodsmoke and black pepper. I love all of it. I'm never letting you leave."
He makes that sound again, deeper this time, and then he's kissing me, hard and possessive and absolutely devastating, one hand sliding into my hair while the other wraps around me and lifts me clean off the floor.
I cling to him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his black t-shirt, feeling the solid heat of muscle underneath as I kiss him back with everything I have. Everything I've been holding back, all the fear and love and desperate need I've been too terrified to name.
When he finally pulls back, breaking the kiss with obvious reluctance, I'm breathless and dizzy and completely wrecked in the best possible way. My lips feel swollen, my face is still wet with tears, and I don't think I've ever been happier in my entire life.
"You are mine," he rumbles against my mouth. Those dark eyes are locked on my face.
Now it just makes me feel safe.
"Yes."
"You will not push me away again."
"No. Never again."
"You will tell me when I am being too much instead of letting it build until you break." His thumb strokes along my jaw, careful despite the size of his hand. "You will use your words, little baker. Not run."
I nod, still not quite trusting my voice to come out steady, the lump making it hard to breathe properly.
"Good." He sets me down carefully, my feet finding the floor again, but he keeps one massive hand anchored at my waist like he's afraid I'll disappear if he lets go completely. Like I'm something precious that needs to be handled with care. "Now. You will sit."
I blink up at him, confused by the sudden shift in tone. "What?"
"Sit." He steers me toward the heavy wooden stool near his primary workstation, the one he uses when he's doing detailed butchery work. "You brought me a gift. I will honor it properly."
I'm still confused, wiping at my tear-streaked face with the sleeve of my cardigan, when he crosses back to where I dropped the sad, lumpy meat pie on his counter.
He picks it up with both hands, cradling it like it's made of spun glass instead of burnt pastry and questionable structural integrity. His massive palms dwarf the sad little thing, making it look even more pathetic than it did sitting abandoned on his counter.
"Lanek, you don't have to—"
"You made this for me."
"It's terrible. I know it's terrible. I'm a dessert baker, not a—" My protest dies as I watch him lift the pie closer to his face, examining it with the same careful attention he gives to his premium cuts.
He takes a bite.
A massive, deliberate bite that removes nearly a quarter of the entire pie in one go, his tusks catching slightly on the burnt crust before he tears through it. I can hear the crunch of carbonized pastry from where I'm sitting.
I watch in absolute horror as he chews slowly, methodically, his strong jaw working through what has to be the most unpleasant texture ever created by human hands.
His expression remains completely neutral, unreadable, giving away nothing.
He could be eating sawdust and I wouldn't know the difference.
My stomach twists into knots.
He's going to be polite about it. He's going to pretend it's good because he loves me and he doesn't want to hurt my feelings and that somehow makes this so much worse.
"Lanek—"
He swallows.
Then he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose like he's savoring the finest cuisine he's ever encountered.
"This," he rumbles, his voice thick with something that sounds dangerously close to genuine emotion, "is the best thing I have ever tasted."
"You're lying."
"I have never lied to you." He opens his eyes, pinning me with that intense, unguarded stare. "You made this with your own hands. For me. You learned how to prepare meat because you wanted to speak my language. Do you understand what that means to an Orc?"
I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak.
"It means you see me as a worthy mate. It means you value my culture enough to honor it.
It means you are willing to meet me halfway.
" He takes another enormous bite, demolishing half of what remains.
"This terrible, burnt, structurally unsound meat pie is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me. "
The tears start again, hot and fast, and I press both hands over my face.
"Stop making me cry."
"No." I hear him set down what's left of the pie, hear his heavy footsteps crossing back toward me. "You cried because you thought I was leaving. Now you cry because you know I am staying. These are good tears. I will allow them."
"You'll allow them?"
"Yes." His hands close around my wrists, gently pulling my hands away from my face. "Look at me, Quinn."
I look up, vision blurred, and watch in absolute shock as this massive, intimidating Orc lowers himself slowly to both knees right in his pristine butcher shop floor.
Even kneeling, he's almost at my eye level, his broad shoulders blocking out most of the room behind him.
"What are you doing?"
"I am groveling." He says it matter-of-factly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You asked me to stay. I will stay. But first, I will prove that I have learned. That I can be the partner you need."
"Lanek, you don't have to—"
"I do." He reaches into the pocket of his work apron, pulling out a thick, official-looking document bound in leather.
"I spent the last three days learning your human laws.
Corporate real estate law. Tenant protection statutes.
Historic preservation codes. I hired lawyers. Good ones. Expensive ones."
He sets the document in my lap, and I stare down at it, not quite processing what I'm seeing.
"What is this?"
"Open it."
My hands shake as I untie the leather cord binding it shut, spreading the heavy pages across my knees.
It's a legal injunction.
Pages and pages of dense legal text that I can barely parse through the tears still clinging to my lashes, but certain phrases jump out at me in sharp relief.
Permanent lease protection.
Historic business preservation status.
Rent control mandate.
Corporate acquisition nullification.
"You got my building declared historic?"
"The bakery has been in continuous operation for seventy-three years.
" His voice is steady, calm, like he's reciting facts he's memorized.
"Under municipal code section forty-two point seven, any business with continuous operation exceeding fifty years in the original location qualifies for historic preservation status.
Once granted, the lease cannot be terminated except under extreme circumstances, and rent increases are capped at two percent annually, adjusted for inflation. "
I observe him, my mouth hanging open.
"You memorized municipal code."
"I memorized all of it." He shifts slightly, reaching into his other pocket. "I also filed a formal complaint with the city about the attempted illegal dumping. The developer's business license is currently under review. He will not bother you again."
"Lanek—"
"I am not finished." He pulls out something small, wrapped carefully in butcher paper. "I also learned that human courtship involves flowers. But I am a butcher, not a florist. So I made this instead."
He unwraps the paper slowly, revealing something so delicate and unexpected that it stops my breath completely.
A rose.
A perfect, intricate, impossibly detailed rose carved entirely from a single radish, the edges of each petal so thin they're almost translucent, dyed the exact shade of pink I use for my bakery logo.
"How..."
"I practiced for ten hours. I ruined forty-seven radishes. But I wanted to give you something beautiful. Something that came from my hands but honored your world. Something that proved I can create softness, not just wield violence."
The tears are falling freely now, hot and unstoppable, dripping onto the leather-bound document in my lap.
"It's perfect."
"You are perfect." He reaches up, cupping my face again, his callused thumbs brushing away tears.
"You are fierce and strong and you do not bend.
You demanded I be better, and you were right to demand it.
I will spend the rest of my life learning how to be the partner you deserve.
I will learn your laws. Your customs. Your language. I will meet you halfway in all things."
"Not all things," I manage, my voice breaking. "Some things I need you to stay exactly as you are."
A slow, devastating smile spreads across his face, transforming his features from vulnerable to purely predatory in the space of a heartbeat.
"Tell me."
I take a shaky breath, feeling the solid heat of him beneath my palms. "I need you to keep bringing me perfect cuts of meat."
"Done." The answer is immediate, absolute.
"I need you to keep looming protectively over anyone who dares to insult my pastries."
"Easily." His grip on my waist tightens possessively.
"I need you to keep pinning me against brick walls in that alley and telling me I'm yours in that voice that makes me forget every single reason I should maintain professional boundaries."
His pupils dilate, and that low, rumbling growl vibrates through his chest again.
"Always."
"And I need you to stop kneeling on this cold floor and kiss me."
He surges up immediately, lifting me clean off the stool and into his arms, crushing his mouth to mine in a kiss that tastes like burnt meat pie and radish shavings and absolute devastating certainty.
I wrap my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist, clinging to him like I can fuse us together through sheer force of will.
When he finally pulls back, I'm breathless and dizzy and so full of love I feel like I might actually burst.
"Teach me," he rumbles against my mouth, his voice dropping into that dark, possessive register that makes heat pool low in my belly. "Teach me how to be your partner, Quinn. Show me how to walk in your world without destroying it. I will learn. I swear it."
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes, seeing the vulnerability there, the genuine fear that he won't be enough, that his nature will always be too much.
"You already are my partner. You just proved it. The old Lanek would have dismantled that developer with his bare hands. The new Lanek dismantled him with legal code and preservation statutes. You learned my language. You fought my battles on my terms. You gave me what I needed."
"And what do you need now?"
The question hangs in the air between us, heavy with promise.
I lean in, pressing my forehead against his.
"You."