Page 17 of The Orc's Protection
“Ms. Walker returned my poncho last week,” I state firmly. “And she is not my intended.”
“Ah, but she kept it long enough for your scent to mark her,” Grulk counters, tapping his nose knowingly. “And now you watch her area like a war-wolf guards its den.”
“I’m assigned to that area,” I insist. “The attempted break-in—”
“Yes, yes, security protocols.” Grulk waves dismissively. “Call it what you like, but your clan scent doesn’t lie.”
I straighten to my full height, staring down at him. “You’re misinterpreting professional concern for personal interest. An integration violation I take seriously.”
Grulk’s expression shifts, his usual teasing manner replaced with something more thoughtful. “Eight years since the Emergence, Vraag. Eight years of ‘integration protocols’ and ‘professional distance.’ When do we start living again? When do we acknowledge that this world is now our home?”
The question strikes deeper than I care to admit. Before I can formulate a response, movement at the main entrance catches my attention. Early-arriving teachers, including Ms. Walker, hurrying through the cold toward the building.
Even from this distance, I can see she’s underdressed for the sudden temperature drop—a light jacket instead of a proper coat, no gloves or hat. She hugs herself against the cold, walking quickly with her head down against the biting wind.
“Your eyes track her like a hunter,” Grulk observes quietly. “Whether you admit it or not.”
“She’s cold,” I say, already moving in her direction, leaving Grulk chuckling behind me.
I intercept Ms. Walker on her way to the staff entrance.
“Good morning, Mr. Vraag,” she greets me, her voice slightly breathless from the cold. “Quite the temperature drop, isn’t it?”
“You’re underdressed for current conditions,” I state, noting the rosy blush on her cheeks.
She laughs, the sound creating a small cloud in the frigid air. “Thanks for the assessment, Captain Obvious. The forecast said it wouldn’t get this cold until tonight. By the time I realized how cold it was, I was out the door and running late.”
Without conscious thought, I’m already removing my heavy tactical coat. “Here.”
The effect is immediate. She exhales, a quiet sound of relief, and pulls the coat closer around herself.
“This is like wearing a heated blanket,” she murmurs. “Thank you, but aren’t you cold now?”
“Orc metabolism runs hotter than humans,” I say. “My uniform layers are sufficient.”
She nods, still tugging the coat tighter, clearly comfortable now. The sight sends a sharp, possessive satisfaction through me. She’s wrapped in my protection, my scent already saturating the fabric of her clothes. Any orc who passes her will know it.
Mine.Not the startled flash I had in the hallway—this is older, quieter, and worse. A settled knowing that has no business being settled at all. I have known this woman for a few weeks. I have handed her a coat in the rain. And now some part of me that has nothing to do with reason has simply decided. My jaw tightens against the instinct. Eight years of making myself smaller, quieter, less. All of it feels very thin right now.
The force of my reaction unsettles me more than the impulse itself.
We enter the building together, the coat making her look almost comically bundled beside me. In the warmer air of the hallway, color returns to her cheeks.
“I’ll give it back once I warm up,” she says, pushing her arms through the oversized sleeves so she can free her hands.
“Keep it until you leave,” I reply. “The heating system is probably still adjusting to the temperature drop.”
She hesitates, then nods. “That’s actually really thoughtful. Thank you.”
As we walk toward her classroom, I become acutely aware of the significance of what I’ve just done. Offering personal protection garments once might be explained as practical assistance. Twice establishes a pattern that, in StoneWatch tradition, signals clear intent.
And now she walks beside me, wrapped in my coat, my clan scent infusing the fabric of her clothes and, by extension, marking her. To any orc who encounters her today, the message will be unmistakable.
Grulk’s words echo in my mind, “Your intended.”
The most honorable course would be to explain the cultural implications immediately, yet I find myself reluctant to do so. Such a conversation would create awkwardness where there is currently easy companionship.
I rationalize my silence as cultural sensitivity. Humans don’t share orc customs regarding protection garments. Ms. Walker would likely be embarrassed or uncomfortable learning she’d unknowingly participated in what my clan would consider the preliminary stages of a courtship ritual.
