12. Traig #2
I rose, got into my truck, and drove to her apartment. I couldn’t stay away.
I sat in my truck outside her building on Main Street for a long time.
Five minutes became ten. Ten became fifteen.
Every light in her building was off except for one window on the second floor. Hers, if I was guessing right. A soft glow behind curtains.
I should go home.
I turned the key and the engine started.
My hand stayed on the key.
I turned it off again.
This was foolish. It was late. She’d be asleep or doing any number of things that didn’t involve a seven-foot orc showing up unannounced because he couldn’t sit alone in his cottage.
I got out of the truck.
The stairs to the second floor creaked under my weight. I moved carefully, which was pointless. There was no version of this where I arrived quietly.
I lifted my hand and knocked on the door.
Footsteps echoed inside the apartment and the lock clicked.
Willa opened the door, wearing soft pants and an oversized shirt, her hair loose around her face. Her eyes widened when she saw me.
“Traig.”
I couldn’t speak.
All the words I’d prepared on the drive over disappeared.
She looked at my face and stepped back, pulling the door wider. “Come in.”
I walked inside.
I took in her small but warm apartment. Books on every surface. A blanket thrown over the back of the couch. A mug on the table, steam rising from it.
She closed the door and turned to face me.
“Do you want tea?” she asked.
“No.”
“Okay.” She gestured to the couch. “Sit.”
I did as she asked.
She settled beside me, close but not touching, and waited.
“There’s a letter,” I finally said.
Her brow creased.
“From my parents.”
“What did it say?”
I pulled the folded paper from my jacket pocket and read it to her, translating the Orcish language into hers.
Her face went very still.
“They’re coming this week,” she said.
“Day after tomorrow.”
She processed this, her hands folded in her lap. “What counts as a bond? How do they assess it?”
Always asking the right questions.
“The scribe will watch me with my potential mate, which I don’t have. See if we share space. Share things. Care for each other.” I paused. “They’ll ask questions. Watch how we act. Write everything down.” I dragged my teeth over my lip. “It’s thorough.”
“And if you fail?”
“I go back to the kingdom. They pair me with someone approved by the Council and my parents. I’ll lose everything here.”
Her breath hitched. “Your home. Your work.”
“My brothers.” I looked at her. “You.”
She reached for my hand, her fingers weaving through mine.
“I wanted to tell you right away,” I said. “But asking you to be my mate so I can pass an assessment feels like using you. Like you’re a solution instead of a person I’ve chosen.”
“Would you choose me if you could?”
I looked at her face. The soft curve of her mouth. The way her eyes held mine without flinching.
“Yes.” The word came out barely above a whisper.
She shifted closer, pressing her knee against my thigh.
I stopped breathing and leaned in.
Her face tilted up. Her eyes stayed open, watching me close the distance between us.
My mouth hovered above hers.
I could feel her breath. Could smell the herbal tea she’d been drinking.
One of her hands came up, and she laid it on my chest.
Her hand twitched.
I pulled back, and her hand fell away, her fingers dragging down my chest before they dropped to her lap.
I couldn’t do it like this. I couldn’t ask her to save me instead of choosing her.
She pulled back too, but gently.
“You think you’ll lose me?” Her voice stayed soft, but the edge in her tone made me look at her face. “I’m not going anywhere.” She leaned forward. “But I need you to want me here, not need me here. Do you understand the difference?”
I stood because sitting felt like taking something I hadn’t earned.
She stood too.
We faced each other in her small living room, the letter on the coffee table between us.
“I need to go,” I said.
I walked to the door. My hand was on the handle when she spoke.
“Traig.”
I turned.
“Whatever you decide,” she said, “I meant what I said. I’m not going anywhere.”
The drive back to the rescue league blurred. I parked in front of my cottage and sat in the truck with the engine off.
I need you to want me here, not need me here.
She was right.
How did I prove I wanted her for herself when everything about this situation made it look like I needed her to help me stay on the surface?
I got out and walked inside.
I undressed and lay in my bed.
The cottage pressed in around me.
“I don’t want her here because I need her.” The words came out steady. “I want her here because everything is better when she is.”
“I don’t know how to prove a bond to someone who’s never tasted her cookies or seen the way she looks at creatures like they’re important. She looks at me like I’m important.”
“I’m afraid of losing her.” The admission cost me. “But I’m more afraid of never telling her I chose her. That I chose her the moment she moved the message pad and didn’t get upset when I moved it back. I’ve been choosing her every day since.”
I had to tell her soon.
Before it was too late.