Chapter 1
Tammy
The little silver Corolla groaned and rattled as I climbed higher into the mountain pass, every single cubic inch of the interior crammed with the remnants of my former life.
Cardboard boxes were wedged tightly against the headliner, heavy nursing textbooks were stacked between my medical trauma bag and a portable cooler, and my grandmother's framed photograph was buckled securely into the passenger seat.
The glass frame caught the glare of the descending sun, showing Grandma smiling gently in her floral apron from the porch of her little house outside Knoxville. I reached out with one trembling hand to touch the corner of the frame, drawing what little courage I had left from her memory.
I could not afford to slow down until there were a thousand miles between me and Arlo.
Arlo had never raised a fist to me, but the threat had hung between us like the suffocating pressure before a summer thunderstorm.
He was the golden-boy son of a prominent North Carolina judge, surrounded by enough wealth, political favor, and high-priced attorneys to ensure that whatever he wanted, he took.
In the beginning, his protectiveness had felt like devotion, but it slowly curdled into a web of surveillance, isolation, and unyielding control that left me suffocating in my own home.
Leaving had required careful, ruthless planning.
I waited until Arlo and his father boarded their chartered yacht for their annual weeklong fishing trip off the Outer Banks.
With his tracking apps temporarily out of range and his friends distracted, I spent the midnight hours packing my belongings into garbage bags, sneaking down the back stairwell, and slipping into the night.
The crisp white envelope holding my new employment contract rested safely inside the glove compartment.
StoneSteel Ranch, situated twenty miles north of Leadville, Colorado, had offered a salary three times what I had earned at Franklin Memorial, along with private housing and complete medical autonomy.
The elevation sign at the summit read 9,847 feet, making my ears pop as a sharp chill seeped through the car vents. My breath formed small clouds against the glass, and I watched the pine trees give way to rocky crags before the road wound down toward a wide mountain basin.
Forty-seven miles remained until I reached Leadville. Forty-seven miles stood between my past and the wild hope of building a life where I was finally safe.
I had told my coworkers, my landlord, and my neighbors that I was moving to a coastal clinic in Florida.
Only my dearest friend Jordan, who had bonded with an Orc chieftain, knew the truth of where I was headed.
Over the past year, I had spent dozens of evenings volunteering in the clinic at Jordan's mountain village, watching in quiet awe as human women were cherished, protected, and loved by their Orc mates with a fierce devotion that seemed almost mythic.
I had secretly yearned to feel that profound, soul-deep bond for myself, but none of the unmated warriors in Franklin had stirred that elusive spark in my chest. When the StoneSteel job posting appeared on a specialized medical board, I took it as a sign from the universe.
I would have my independence, a worthy salary, and perhaps the chance to find a man who saw me as an equal partner rather than a possession to be broken.
The welcome sign appeared around a sweeping curve, reading Welcome to Leadville. Elevation 10,152 feet.
The historic mining town consisted of a picturesque main street lined with red brick facades, wrought-iron lampposts, and flower boxes overflowing with purple petunias beneath the shadow of snowcapped peaks.
It was charming, but the sheer isolation made my stomach knot.
The nearest regional trauma center was a two-hour drive across mountain roads, meaning my clinic would rely entirely on the local pharmacy for emergency medication and surgical supplies.
I parked the sagging Corolla in front of Leadville Pharmacy, checking my appearance in the rearview mirror with a grimace.
Dark circles shadowed my blue eyes, my wavy brown hair was knotted into a hurried bun, and my clothes smelled like road dust and stale coffee.
Smoothing my damp palms over my jeans, I climbed out of the car, pulled my shoulders back, and pushed through the heavy wooden door.
A brass bell chimed overhead, echoing into a quiet, narrow shop with dark hardwood floors and high tin-plated ceilings. The air smelled of wintergreen liniment, dried paper, and clinical antiseptic.
A weathered man in his mid-forties stood behind the raised glass counter, methodically counting white tablets onto a sorting tray. He wore an immaculate blue button-down shirt that stretched slightly over a thickening waistline, his silver-threaded brown hair combed with meticulous care.
He glanced up, his pale blue eyes sweeping over my rumpled clothes with immediate, cold assessment. "Can I help you with something?"
"Good afternoon. I am Tammy Duncan." I stepped toward the counter, extending my right hand with my most polished professional smile. "I am the new nurse practitioner for the clinic out at StoneSteel Ranch."
His hands stilled over the pill tray. He stared at my outstretched fingers for several uncomfortable seconds before offering a dry, brief handshake. "Craig Broussard. So, you're the one they brought in from back east."
"That is me," I replied, maintaining an even, pleasant tone. "I wanted to introduce myself and establish our clinic account so we can keep regular supplies flowing up to the ranch."
"For the Orcs." His voice was flat, carrying a hard, bitter edge.
I kept my smile fixed in place, though a warning bell sounded in the back of my mind.
"For the entire ranch operation. There are fifty-two human hands working the herd, along with domestic and maintenance staff.
Given that the county hospital is two hours away, having a fully stocked medical cabinet on site is vital. "
"I am well aware of where the hospital is.
" Craig set down his plastic spatula with a sharp click, leaning his forearms against the counter.
"My family has run this pharmacy since 1878.
My great-great-grandfather supplied the silver miners who built this valley with their bare hands.
We know every creek, every mine shaft, and every decent family in these mountains. "
The blatant hostility in his posture was impossible to miss.
"That is a remarkable legacy," I said carefully, choosing each word with clinical detachment. "You must know the regional medical needs better than anyone."
"I certainly do," he said, his gaze narrowing into cold slits. "Which is why folks who actually belong here do not appreciate outsiders moving in and tearing down our traditions. Especially massive brutes buying up ancestral human homesteads with stolen gold."
The venom in his voice made my pulse jump, but I forced my breathing to remain slow and steady. "I am simply here to provide healthcare to the workforce, Mr. Broussard."
"You know they let a boy die out there just three months ago?
" Craig asked, his voice dropping into a conversational, almost mocking cadence.
"Young Seth Walker. Barely twenty-two years old, with a mother and sister living right down on Maple Street.
Got clipped by a herd bull, and those savages smeared crushed roots on his wound and called it treatment.
The boy died of sepsis in a filthy bunkhouse. "
The unfairness of the accusation made heat flare beneath my collar. Brylan had walked me through the entire tragedy during my video interview, explaining with genuine grief how the local physician had turned the boy away with mild painkillers, leaving the ranch hands helpless when infection set in.
"I am familiar with the case," I said, keeping my tone crisp. "That tragedy is precisely why the owners decided to fund a modern, fully staffed clinic on the property. When an unexpected injury occurs, we need immediate access to broad-spectrum antibiotics and medical intervention."
Craig let out a dry, dismissive snort. "They should have thought of that before they started hoarding land. But Orcs do not value life the way civilized people do. Just because they crawled out of the dirt, put on denim jackets, and learned how to write checks does not make them human."
I pressed my fingernails into my palms behind my back, fighting the urge to tell him about the compassionate, deeply loyal Orc families I had spent the past year admiring in North Carolina.
I wanted to tell him that the StoneSteel brothers had shown more accountability for their worker than any corporate hospital administration I had ever served under.
Yet I was completely at his mercy. If he refused to fill my orders, people on the ranch could suffer and die.
"The ownership is committed to doing things properly now," I said, each syllable tasting like bitter ash on my tongue. "That is why they hired a certified practitioner."
"Is that right?" Craig tilted his head, watching me with shrewd calculation. "Or did they just offer you enough gold to look the other way? I hear they pay their human staff triple the standard wage. Must be easy to overlook their nature when the money is that good."
I forced a faint, self-deprecating chuckle that made my stomach turn. "The compensation is certainly generous, and I needed a clean break from my previous hospital. The mountain scenery is an added benefit."
"A mighty long drive for a little mountain air," Craig countered, leaning in closer. "A pretty girl like you could work anywhere in Denver or Colorado Springs. Instead, you drive clear across the country to live among monsters."
"I am focused entirely on the ranch hands," I said, leaning hard into the lie to soothe his paranoia. "The cowhands and domestic staff are ordinary human men and women who deserve proper care. The Orc owners can manage their own affairs however they see fit."
Craig studied my face for a long moment, searching for any hint of deceit.
Gradually, the rigid tension in his shoulders eased, and a smug, conspiratorial smirk tugged at the corner of his thin mouth.
"Well now, that sounds like common sense.
My family has spent five generations serving the human community of Lake County.
I have no intention of providing top-tier pharmaceuticals to beasts who belong deep in the earth. "
The disgust rising in my throat was nearly overwhelming, but I pulled out my smartphone and brought up my digital supply list. "I have a preliminary requisition list prepared for the trauma cabinets.
IV fluids, suture kits, broad-spectrum penicillins, and basic analgesics.
Can you have these ready for collection tomorrow afternoon? "
"If it is for the human hands, I'll have it boxed by noon," Craig replied, his voice dripping with condescending approval.
"Just remember what I told you, Miss Duncan.
Keep those medicines where they belong. Orcs are dangerous, unpredictable animals, and the moment you forget that, you will end up in a pine box like young Seth. "
"I understand," I whispered, the false agreement burning like acid in my chest. "Humans only."
The brass bell above the front entrance clattered violently against the wood.
A cold gust of wind swept into the shop, followed by the heavy, measured tread of work boots that made the ancient floorboards vibrate.
I turned around, and the breath left my lungs in a sharp gasp.
The Orc framed in the doorway was colossal, easily standing seven feet tall, with massive shoulders that seemed wide enough to block out the entire afternoon sun.
His skin was a deep, rich sage green, stark against the thick black hair bound tightly at the base of his neck with leather cord.
He wore a dark canvas work coat over a faded denim shirt that strained against the thick slabs of muscle across his chest. His features were carved from hard granite, boasting high cheekbones, a square jaw, and two polished ivory tusks that curved cleanly past his upper lip.
He was the most magnificent, intimidating creature I had ever laid eyes upon.
Then his gaze locked directly onto mine, and the world seemed to tilt beneath my boots. His eyes were the exact color of aged whiskey held up to sunlight, blazing with golden heat, fierce intelligence, and an immediate, blistering contempt.
My stomach plummeted straight into my shoes.
He had heard every single cowardly, placating lie that had just spilled from my lips.
The Orc's upper lip curled back in a silent, savage sneer, his golden eyes sweeping over me with cold dismissal. I saw the bitter confirmation in his face, the unmistakable look of a man who had just caught another human proving herself to be a treacherous, money-grubbing bigot.
Every instinct urged me to step forward, to explain that I had only been playing along to secure the medications for his men, that I had spent months volunteering with the Orcs in Franklin, that I knew the beauty of his people.
With Craig watching us like a hawk from behind the cash register, my voice caught helplessly in my throat.
I stood frozen in the center of the aisle, my cheeks burning with shame, realizing with absolute dread that the first Orc I had met in Colorado already despised the ground I walked on.