Page 35 of The Orc's Protection
Four exclamation points. Then I remember who I’m texting with. Before I can reassure him, he adds,Your door is your perimeter. Protect it.
Apologies. I’ll wait for your knock.
My first reflex is to bristle—I’ve been managing my own perimeter, as he would call it, for a long time. But the reflex passes before it fully forms. He isn’t telling me I can’t handle it. He’s telling me he’ll wait. There’s a difference, and I’m learning to feel the difference in my body before I have to think it through.
I glance around my apartment with suddenly critical eyes. Dishes in the sink, teaching materials spread across the coffee table, laundry basket visible in the hallway. Not exactly the picture of romantic readiness.
By the time his gentle knock sounds at my door fifteen minutes later, I’ve managed to create the illusion of order. My hair is brushed, dishes are stacked neatly in the dishwasher, and the most obvious clutter is tucked away. I’m still wearing my comfortable clothes, soft leggings and an oversized sweater, but at least I’ve traded my fuzzy socks for bare feet.
When I open the door, the sight of him still makes my breath catch. Out of his security uniform, dressed in dark jeans and a simple charcoal Henley that stretches across his broad chest, helooks both more approachable and somehow more imposing—his size no longer an official attribute but a personal quality.
“Hi,” I say, absurdly shy despite having kissed this male beneath the stars just two nights ago. Now it's Monday and he's standing in my doorway and my heart is doing the same ridiculous thing it did then. “Come in.”
He steps inside, ducking slightly to clear the doorframe. The apartment suddenly feels smaller with his presence filling it—not uncomfortably, but completely, as if the space has been waiting for his arrival.
“I brought something,” he says, holding out a small cloth-wrapped bundle. “Thunder root tea. Marga’s altered concoction using Earth herbs.”
The gesture touches me. “Thank you. Would you like some now?”
He nods, following me to the kitchen where he watches me heat water with the stillness of someone who doesn’t half-attend anything.
“You don’t have to supervise the tea,” I say, reaching for two mugs.
“I am not supervising,” he replies. “I am ensuring proper execution.”
Glancing back at him, I arch a brow. “It’s water. Not a tactical operation.”
“All operations benefit from proper execution,” he says gravely.
That earns a laugh from me, some of the lingering tension easing as I lean back against the counter. “You’re very serious about everything, aren’t you?”
“Only the important things.”
“Like patrols. Training. Duty.” I tilt my head, studying him. “You talk about those a lot.”
His brow furrows slightly. “As opposed to…?”
“As opposed to where you’re from,” I say. “I’d love to know more about your home. What it was like before you came here.”
He’s quiet for a moment, something thoughtful passing through his expression. Then he gestures toward the living room. “May I show you?”
I follow him, curious, as he settles onto my couch and retrieves a small sketchbook from the inside pocket of his jacket. The book looks almost delicate in his massive hands, yet he handles it with surprising care.
“I don’t share these often,” he says. “They were… suggested. Memory exercises, the integration counselors called them.”
I sit beside him, close enough that our thighs touch, and focus on the pages as he opens the book.
The sketches steal my breath. Mountain landscapes unlike any on Earth. Vast stone structures carved into cliff faces. Interior halls with soaring ceilings and intricate carvings, each scene rendered with remarkable precision and quiet emotion.
“This was the StoneWatch central hall,” he says, indicating a wide chamber filled with orcs gathered around multiple fire pits. “Where clan decisions were made.”
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, leaning closer. “Is that you?”
My finger hovers over a figure near one of the fires. Something about the stance is unmistakable—the watchfulness, the contained strength.
“Yes,” he says, surprised.
“I’d recognize you anywhere,” I reply. “Even in another world.”
