Page 12 of The Orc's Protection
He considers this for a moment, then makes what appears to be a decision. “Wait here.”
Before I can respond, he strides purposefully into the downpour, raindrops bouncing off his broad shoulders as he disappears around the corner of the building. I wait, confused, until he returns a minute later carrying what I recognize as the tactical bag from his locker.
From it, he withdraws a large black rain poncho that would likely hang to his hips but would completely swallow me.
“Standard issue all-weather gear,” he explains, holding it out. “Waterproof material with thermal retention properties.”
The gesture is so unexpected that I simply stare for a moment. Something about it lands in my chest, unexpected and warm. I choose not to dwell on it. “I can’t take your gear.”
“It is a temporary loan,” he clarifies. “Logical resource allocation given our respective physiological considerations.”
When I still hesitate, something in his expression shifts. “Please, Ms. Walker. Allow me to ensure your safe passage.” The quiet sincerity in his voice crumbles my resistance, which is the problem, really. I’ve spent a long time making sure it holds. I’m not sure when I decided this man was an exception.
“Thank you,” I say, accepting the poncho.
As I slip it over my head, I’m immediately enveloped in warmth and the subtle scent of cedar and something faintly spicy. Theponcho is comically large, hanging well past my knees, but gloriously dry.
“Better?” he asks, and I catch a note of quiet satisfaction in his voice.
“Much.” I smile up at him, suddenly aware of how close we’re standing beneath the narrow shelter of the overhang. “But now you’re getting even more soaked.”
Rain beads and runs over the dark fabric of his jacket, collecting at the seams, dripping from the edges. It hits me all at once: he’s more concerned with me than himself, and something in me shifts, whether I want it to or not.
“Your vehicle is closer,” he points out. “This minimizes your exposure.”
“Well, when you put it that way, how can I argue?” I laugh. “Always the practical one.”
“Practicality ensures survival,” he says, but his voice carries something gentler than the statement itself.
Together we step into the rain, his larger frame naturally blocking the worst of the wind as we make our way to my car. He waits as I unlock the door and toss my bags inside.
“I’ll return your poncho tomorrow,” I say, reluctant to take it off just yet.
He nods. “No hurry. Your comfort is the priority.”
The simple statement shouldn’t affect me. It does. “Thank you, Mr. Vraag. For everything.”
“I am merely fulfilling my assigned duties,” he replies, though something in his eyes suggests otherwise.
“Still,” I say softly. “Thank you.”
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. Rain traces the ridges of his brow and clings briefly to his tusks before falling away.
His gaze holds mine a fraction too long.
He’s beautiful. In a way that makes my pulse race and my breath catch.
I pull back first. “Drive safely.”
As I pull out of the parking lot, I glance in the rearview mirror. He remains where he is, rain-darkened and still, watching until I turn onto the main road.
The scent of cedar and spice follows me all the way home, and if I press my face into the fabric of his poncho once I’m safely inside, that’s nobody’s business but mine. What I don’t pursue is the question of why it feels so easy to let him take care of me, and why easy is the part that worries me most.
Chapter Five
Vraag
By midday, when the school settles into its predictable rhythm, I am inspecting the east gate when a familiar voice detonates across the lot.
