Chapter 5 #2
Rosa shifted beside me, her small hand patting my arm. “Please, Mama? Mr. Dakvaar says he has a hot tub! And a big TV! And he even said I could sleep on the floor if I wanted, like a real campout!”
I closed my eyes, my chest aching at her simple joys.
Dios, how could I say no?
I was too hurt, too tired to make a decision now. And he was right—I couldn’t run like this, not with my wrist sprained and my face a mess. Not with Rosa depending on me.
You already owe him so much.
But the way he was looking at me—like I was something precious, something worth fighting for—made my resolve crumble.
“Okay,” I whispered.
The word was barely out of my mouth before Dakvaar exhaled, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. His thumb brushed over my knuckles again, slow and soothing.
“Good,” he said, his voice rough. “That’s good.”
Rosa squealed and threw her arms around my neck, nearly knocking me backward. “Yay! It’s going to be so fun, Mama!”
I hugged her tight, my eyes burning but a dangerous little spark warming my chest.
Hope.
Sofia
The drive to Dakvaar’s home was a blur of snowflakes and the hum of the engine.
Rosa chattered nonstop from the backseat of his truck—where had he acquired a booster seat for her?
—her excitement a bright counterpoint to the dull ache in my bones.
I tried to listen, tried to smile, but I kept looking over my shoulder, expecting to see Anthony’s headlights behind us.
No one followed us, just like Dakvaar had promised.
His home was nothing like I expected.
Not that I’d expected much—just that it would be big, maybe messy, the way most single men’s places were.
But his house was…perfect. Clean lines, warm wood, huge windows that framed the mountains and the frozen pond in the back.
The den—where he settled me on the sofa with a care that made my throat tight—was all dark leather and warm blues, the kind of room that begged you to sink into it with a good book and warm tea.
There were framed sketches along one wall—mostly landscapes—and I knew he’d been the artist.
Rosa was already bouncing on her toes, eyes wide as she took it all in. “It’s like a castle!” she declared, spinning in a circle.
Dakvaar—who had just finished tucking a blanket around my shoulders—chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Not quite. But I’ll show you around.”
He led her away, his big hand dwarfing hers, and I listened to their voices fade down the hall. Rosa’s high-pitched questions, his rumbling answers. The way he explained things to her—not talking down, just…patient.
Like she was someone worth his time.
I closed my eyes, pressing my fingers to my temples. The painkillers were wearing off.
You’re bringing danger to him.
The thought coiled in my chest, sharp and insistent. Anthony wouldn’t stop. He’d find us. And when he did, he wouldn’t just hurt me—he’d destroy anyone who stood in his way.
A giggle cut through my spiraling thoughts.
I opened my eyes just as Rosa came barreling back into the room, her cheeks flushed.
“Mama! Mr. Dakvaar’s bathroom has a tub as big as a pool!
And his kitchen has a fridge that makes ice all by itself!
And he has books everywhere—he said you can borrow as many as you want!
I’m going to sleep on the floor in the book room, like I’m camping! ”
Dakvaar followed her in, his expression his usual stone mask, but I caught the way his claws flexed at his sides—like he was holding himself back. “I have one guest bed,” he said, his voice rough. “I thought you might be more comfortable without a squirmy bedmate.”
My chest tightened. He was thinking of me? Of my comfort.
Rosa’s eyes lit up. “I can’t kick Mama if I’m on the floor!”
He looked almost…embarrassed. “The library has plenty of space. Torrk dropped off an air mattress earlier.”
I swallowed hard. “Thank you,” I managed. “You’re right. She’ll love it.”
Rosa threw her arms around my neck, her small body warm against mine, and I couldn’t mind the way she was gripping every one of my bruises. “Goodnight, Mama! Mr. Dakvaar says he’ll tell me a story!”
I pressed a kiss to her forehead, breathing in her scent—soap and crayons and sweet, sticky warmth. “Sleep well, mija.”
Dakvaar hesitated, then jerked his head toward the hall. “Give your mother a goodnight kiss, Rosa. Then I’ll set up your bed while you brush your tusks.”
Rosa giggled as she slid off me. “I don’t have tusks, silly! I have teef!”
They disappeared down the hall, still bickering, and I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my lips. It faded quickly, though, replaced by the weight of everything pressing down on me.
You can’t stay here.
He’d done too much for us already—the ridiculous tips, entertaining Rosa when he didn’t have to—and he didn’t seem to expect anything in return. Maybe orcish males thought differently than human males, because Dakvaar was full of surprises.
I needed to do something to pay him back, to make myself useful. Dinner, maybe? Rosa had eaten in the cafeteria at the ice complex, but my jaw had hurt too much to do more than allow bread to dissolve in my mouth.
With the distant murmur of voices telling me he’d kept his promise of a bedtime story, I struggled out of the warm cocoon he’d made me, and stumbled toward the kitchen.
I blinked against the glare of the overhead lights, my fingers gripping the countertop. The pain in my wrist was a dull, insistent throb, and my ribs ached with every breath. But I could do this. I could help pay him back.
The fridge hummed as I pulled it open, the cold air biting at my skin. Vegetables. Pasta. A block of cheese. My stomach growled, but my hands shook as I reached for a pot on the drying rack.
“Sofia.”
I jumped, nearly dropping the pot. Dakvaar stood in the doorway, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
“You should be resting,” he said, his voice low.
“I—” My throat closed. “I wanted to make dinner. To thank you.”
His jaw tightened. “You don’t owe me anything.”
The words made me drop my gaze to his chest, ashamed. I wanted—I needed to do something, anything, to make this feel less like charity. To make it okay that he was putting himself in danger for me.
He exhaled, then stepped forward, his hand gentle as he took the pot from me. “Sit. Please.”
I didn’t argue. My legs were trembling anyway.
The small table by the window was bathed in the soft glow of the snowfall outside, fat flakes drifting past the glass like slow-motion stars.
Dakvaar guided me into a chair, then moved around the kitchen with an efficiency that spoke of long practice.
The kettle hissed as it heated, the clink of spoons against mugs strangely soothing.
“You designed this house,” I said, my voice rough. I’m not sure how I guessed; it was just so him.
He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes glowing green in the dim light. “Yes. My second year with the team.”
“It’s beautiful.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “It’s functional.”
I watched him move—a male who knew exactly where everything was, who didn’t waste a single motion. “You’re very organized.”
He didn’t answer, just turned back to the stove. The scent of garlic and something rich filled the air, and my stomach growled again.
“Is canned soup okay?” he asked, not looking at me. “I would make it from scratch, but I suspect you want to eat as soon as possible.”
I nodded, then winced as the movement sent a jolt of pain through my skull. “Yes. Thank you.”
He set a bowl in front of me a few minutes later—creamy crab bisque, steaming and fragrant. A basket of soft bread sat between us, still warm from the oven.
“Eat,” he said, his voice gruff.
I did.
The soup was rich, velvety, the crab sweet and tender. It slid down my throat without needing to be chewed, the warmth spreading through me like a balm. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I’d finished half the bowl.
Dakvaar watched me, his own soup untouched. “More?”
I shook my head, then regretted it as my vision swam. “No, thank you. I—” I pushed the remainder toward him. “I can’t finish it.”
He didn’t hesitate. He pulled my bowl toward himself and finished it in three long swallows, then stood to rinse both bowls in the sink.