These aren't normal circumstances.
One more dip of her head, then she disappears down the hall, and the bedroom door clicks shut behind her.
Maya turns to me. "I know this isn't easy for you. Having a human this close." She holds my gaze. "But you're saving her life. And you really are the only one who can."
"Thank me when she’s still alive in eight days.” I grab my jacket off the hook and push past them onto the porch.
Behind me, Nova murmurs something to Maya—low voices, the rustle of movement—then footsteps on gravel, an engine turning over, headlights sweeping across the tree line as they pull away.
Inside, the bathroom light clicks on.
Her shadow moves past the window.
The last human I let get close to me burned for it.
Eight days.
I give it three days before history repeats.
Chapter Two
Eden
My hands won't stop shaking.
I stand under the spray—barely lukewarm, shoulder angled out—and watch my fingers tremble against the tile.
An orc. Carver sent me to an orc.
I knew, of course. Nova told me on the drive here.I know how they look. I know what you've been told about them. But I've trusted these orcs with my life, and I'm trusting one of them with yours. He's abrasive. Don't let it fool you.
But knowing and seeing are different things. Knowing doesn't prepare you for seven feet of muscle filling a doorframe. Knowing doesn't prepare you for tusks.
The graze on my shoulder throbs. The skin is hot and tight. Maya changed the bandage at her clinic before we came here, showed me how to do it myself. But the angle is awkward, and I can barely reach it, let alone see what I'm doing.
I stay in longer than I should. Let the water run until it goes cold, then stand there shivering because getting out means facing whatever comes next. Facing him.
Maya packed shampoo but no soap, so I used the bar on the shelf—his soap, cedar and something darker, like aged bourbon. Now I smell like him.
I should mind. I'm too tired to care.
When I finally step out, wrapped in a towel that smells like pine, I reach for the clothes I wore in.
The rust-brown stain on the collar stops me. Blood from my shoulder, soaked through before a medic cleaned the wound.
I'm not putting that back on.
A stack of black undershirts sits folded on the shelf above the towels. His. Clean.
I pull one on before I can think about it. It falls past my knees, covers everything that needs covering. Good enough to get to the bedroom.
I crack the bathroom door. Listen for movement.
Nothing. The cottage is quiet.
Maya packed a bag for me—jeans, real clothes. It's in the bedroom where I dropped it when I came in.
I slip down the hall and into the bedroom—
