Chapter 6 #3
She nearly dropped the percolator. "I'm not bossy."
"You're incredibly bossy."
"I'm assertive."
"Same thing."
"Not even—" She stopped, turning to face me with the coffee pot still in her hand. "You know what? Fine. I'm bossy. And you're alive because of it."
"True."
"So maybe stop complaining."
"I wasn't complaining."
"You were absolutely complaining."
"I was making an observation."
"A complaint disguised as an observation."
I grinned. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Being bossy."
She pointed the coffee pot at me. "Keep talking and you're not getting any coffee."
"You wouldn't."
"Try me."
We stared at each other for a long moment, and I watched the flush creep further down her neck. She was trying so hard to maintain her composure, to keep things professional and distant.
But her scent told a different story.
She turned back to the stove abruptly, setting the percolator down with more force than necessary. "Breakfast will be ready in five minutes."
"Take your time."
We fell into silence after that, but it felt different now. Charged. The only sounds were the crackling fire, the sizzle of bacon and eggs, and the gentle percolation of coffee. Outside, the sun was fully up now, streaming through the windows and painting everything in warm golden light.
It felt... domestic. Peaceful.
Like we weren't fugitives hiding from a corrupt sheriff who wanted me dead.
Sarah plated the food—eggs, bacon, toast—and brought it to the small table by the window. She poured coffee into two mismatched mugs and sat down across from me, finally meeting my eyes directly.
But only for a moment. Then she looked down at her plate, focusing intently on cutting her eggs.
"Eat," she ordered, her voice carefully controlled.
Bossy, but I didn't need to be told twice. The food was simple but good—the eggs cooked perfectly, the bacon crispy, the toast buttered and warm. I ate quickly, efficiently, the way I'd learned growing up with Argon. Around him, you ate fast or you didn't eat at all.
Sarah ate more slowly, but I noticed the way her movements were becoming sluggish. The way she had to blink hard to keep her eyes open. The way her hand trembled slightly when she lifted her coffee mug.
She'd been awake all night. Driving, planning, worrying. Keeping me alive.
And now she was running on fumes.
But I couldn't stop watching her.
It was a mistake—I knew it was a mistake—but I found myself studying the way she moved. The delicate line of her jaw. The way her dark hair had started to escape from the tie she'd put it in, a few strands curling against her neck. The faint freckles across her nose that I'd never noticed before.
She was reaching for her coffee mug when she caught me looking.
Her hand froze mid-motion. Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, and I watched as awareness crashed through her. Not fear. Never fear. But that same hyperawareness I'd seen at the station, magnified now in the quiet intimacy of the cabin.
Her cheeks flushed a deep pink.
She quickly looked back down at her plate, but her hand was shaking slightly as she set the mug down. Coffee sloshed against the rim, nearly spilling.
"Sorry," she muttered, not meeting my eyes. "I'm just... tired."
"You're allowed to be tired."
"I'm not—I don't usually—" She stopped, frustrated. "I'm fine."
"You're exhausted."
"I'm fine."
"Sarah."
"What?" She looked up, defensive.
"You're about to fall asleep in your eggs."
"I am not—" She blinked hard, as if to prove her point, but it only made her look more tired. "Okay, maybe a little."
"Go lie down."
"There's too much to do. We need to—"
"We need you functional," I interrupted. "And you won't be if you collapse from exhaustion. I'll keep watch. I'll make sure no one comes up the road. But you need to rest." She wanted to argue—I saw it in the set of her jaw, the stubborn tilt of her chin. But exhaustion won out.
"Just a few hours," she said finally, pushing back from the table.
"As long as you need."
She hesitated at the bedroom door, looking back at me. "Kael... don't. Don't let anyone see you. If word gets out there's an Orc in these mountains—"
"Dawson will know exactly where to find me," I finished. "I know. I'll be careful."
She nodded, but the worry didn't leave her eyes. "I mean it. No one can know you're here. Not hikers, not neighbors, not—"
"Sarah." I stood, crossing to her.
The moment I moved, I watched her register it.
Her words faltered mid-sentence, her mouth closing abruptly.
Her hands, which had been gesturing as she spoke, suddenly dropped to her sides.
She took a small step backward—not away from me, exactly, but a shift in her weight that suggested she was acutely aware of the distance between us shrinking.
"I understand," I said quietly, stopping a few feet away from her.
She searched my face, looking for... what? Reassurance? Promise? Truth? But her eyes kept darting away from mine, unable to hold the contact. Her fingers fidgeted at her sides, picking at the hem of her sweater. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer than before, slightly rushed.
"Just—just be careful, okay? Really careful." She swallowed hard, her throat working.
"I know," I said, and I did know. But I was too distracted watching the way her chest rose and fell a little faster than it had moments before. The way her neck flushed that telltale pink. The way she couldn't quite meet my eyes.
She was exhausted. Vulnerable. Running on fumes.
And still, she was hyperaware of my proximity.
It was curious. Compelling. And something in me—something possessive and dangerous—wanted to understand why.
Whatever she found seemed to satisfy her, because she nodded again and slipped into the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her.
But not quite as softly as before. There was a finality to it, a quickness that suggested she needed the barrier between us more than she was willing to admit.
I stood there for a long moment, staring at that closed door.
She'd risked everything for me. Her career, her freedom, her safety. This cabin—this piece of her family history, her grief, her memories—she was risking it all.
Because she believed in justice, even when it meant breaking the law.
I'd never met anyone like her.
Human or Orc.
I cleaned up the breakfast dishes, washing them in the bucket of well water and setting them to dry by the fire. Then I checked the windows, making sure the curtains were drawn tight. Checked the door locks. Checked the perimeter from inside, looking for sight lines, approaches, vulnerabilities.
The cabin was defensible, I decided. Only one road in, and we'd hear any vehicle long before it arrived. The forest was dense enough to provide cover if we needed to run. And the elevation gave us a tactical advantage—we could see anyone coming from below.
But it also meant we were trapped. Isolated. If Dawson found us, there was nowhere to go but deeper into the wilderness.
I'd have to scout the area. Learn the terrain. Find escape routes and defensive positions.
But not now. Not while Sarah was sleeping and vulnerable.
Now, I'd keep watch.
I settled into the chair by the window, positioning myself so I could see the road through a gap in the curtains. The morning sun was warm on my face, and the fire crackled softly behind me.
And I thought about Sarah.
About the way she'd looked in those jeans. About the way her scent filled the cabin—vanilla and steel and something that made my pulse quicken despite my best efforts.
About the way she'd gotten flustered when she caught me looking at her. The flush creeping up her neck. The way she couldn't quite meet my eyes.
She was beautiful. That was undeniable. But it was more than that.
She was strong. Brilliant. Loyal to a fault.
And so damn bossy it made my teeth ache.
I couldn't think about her like that. Couldn't let myself want something that would only complicate everything. She was my lawyer. The woman keeping me alive.
She wasn't... she couldn't be...
Stop it, I told myself again, more firmly this time.
But even as I forced my attention back to the window, back to watching for threats, I couldn't quite shake the memory of her smile. The sound of her laugh. The way she'd looked at me in the parking lot, terrified but determined. The way she'd blushed when she realized I was watching her.
Five days.
We just had to survive five days.
And then maybe—maybe—I could figure out what the hell I was going to do about Sarah Potter.