Page 10 of The Orc's Protection
Something flickers across his stoic features—humor, maybe, or satisfaction at making me laugh. The corner of his mouth lifts just enough to reveal more of one polished tusk. The sight sends an unexpected flutter through my chest. I’ve never paid much attention to orc tusks before, but on him, they’re oddly compelling, especially paired with those intense amber eyes currently fixed on my face with single-minded focus.
I accept his explanation on the surface.
But nothing about the way my pulse refuses to settle feels professional at all.
Chapter Four
Riona
We eat in surprisingly comfortable silence for a few minutes. I can’t help noticing the scale of his lunch: meat, stew from a thermos, and what looks like half a loaf of bread. “Orcs burn through about three times the calories humans do,” he explains, catching my glance.
“I wasn’t judging,” I assure him. “Just curious. Does human food actually work for you?”
“Well enough, with supplements.” He hesitates, then adds, “Though some traditional foods are difficult to reproduce here.”
“Do you cook?” I ask, genuinely curious about his life outside of school.
“Necessity makes one learn,” he says. His formal phrasing makes me smile. “But some recipes require ingredients that do not exist on Earth.”
I’m struck again by how much had to be left behind, not just home and family, but even the comfort of familiar food. “That must be hard.”
He shrugs slightly, a surprisingly human gesture. “Adaptation is survival.”
“Still,” I persist, “there must be things you miss.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and I worry I’ve overstepped. But then he says, so softly I almost miss it, “Many things. The food most of all.”
The simple admission feels significant, a small piece of himself offered without tactical assessment or rules.
Before I can respond, the lounge door bursts open and Principal Winters hurries in.
“Oh good, you’re here,” she says, sounding harried. “Mr. Vraag, we need you at the playground. One of the older children climbed onto the roof of the equipment shed during outdoor recess. He’s refusing to come down, and the roof is slick.”
Vraag stands immediately, all personal conversation forgotten. “Location?”
“East playground,” Principal Winters says. “The fifth-grade teachers are there, but—”
He’s already moving, his long strides carrying him swiftly toward the door. At the threshold, he pauses and glances back at me. “We will finish this later.”
It’s not a question, but a statement of intent that sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. Then he’s gone, off to handle whatever crisis awaits.
I realize I’m still staring at the empty doorway when Principal Winters clears her throat. “He’s quite efficient, isn’t he?”
“Very,” I agree, hoping I don’t sound as flustered as I feel.
“The children seem quite taken with him,” she continues with an assessing look. “Especially your class.”
“He’s been surprisingly good with them,” I acknowledge. “They were intimidated at first, of course, but now they treat him like a celebrity.”
“And you?” Principal Winters asks with the deceptively casual tone she uses when fishing for information. “How’s he working out in your classroom?”
I choose my words carefully. “He’s very professional. He respects the classroom while staying alert.”
“Good, good.” She nods, apparently satisfied. “Some of the parents expressed concerns initially, but the board is committed to our inclusive hiring practices.”
“Well, if any parents have concerns, they’re welcome to visit my classroom and see for themselves how Mr. Vraag interacts with the children,” I say with perhaps more heat than I should.
Principal Winters raises an eyebrow at my tone, then simply nods. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
