“Could you tell me more about fated mates?”
“Orcs sometimes find their perfect match. Sometimes, the couple knows right away, though sometimes, the bond takes time to kick in. It’s unbreakable, though I guess there are ways around that. Wexla and I chose each other instead. It was comfortable.”
“And now?”
I looked at her, this human who’d stumbled into my life and turned everything on the other end in less than a week. Who made me want things I’d thought died with my mate.
“Now I don’t know what I want,” I said.
Snow continued to fall beyond our windows, sealing us into our small world of warmth and heart-wrenching confessions. For the first time since arriving on the surface, I wasn’t thinking about work or grief or the weight of survival.
I was thinking about a future where I might be able to be happy again.
Chapter 9
Carla
The morning drifted by with surprising ease. Becken moved around the cabin, checking our supplies and adjusting the blankets while I stayed in bed, resting against pillows, with my ankle elevated. The awkwardness from sleeping in the same bed faded, replaced by something that felt almost companionable.
“There has to be something to do in here besides eat and sleep,” I said, pulling open the drawer of the bedside table. My fingers found a worn deck of playing cards tucked behind a flashlight. “Perfect.”
Becken looked up. “Cards?”
“You know how to play any games?” I shuffled the deck with a skill I’d perfected playing years of solitaire.
“Orcs play strategy games, mostly, with polished stones or intricately carved pieces. But I’ve seen humans play cards.”
“I’ll teach you gin rummy. It’s easy.” I patted the bed beside me. “Come sit.”
He hesitated for a moment, then settled on the edge of the mattress, careful to maintain distance. His weight made the beddip, and I had to resist the urge to scoot closer to him. For warmth. Nothing else.
Yeah, sure.
“The goal is to form sets and runs,” I explained, dealing out the cards. “Like this.” I demonstrated with my hand, showing him how three sevens made a set and how five, six, seven of hearts made a run.
Becken picked up the concept quickly, his gaze focused on the cards. When our fingers accidentally brushed as he reached for a card, that same electric awareness from the night before flickered between us.
“Where did you learn to play?” he asked after winning his second hand.
“A friend at school taught me. We went to summer camp together. Aunt Misty would dump me there.” I paused and shook my head. “Well, to her, it was dumping me, but to me, it was a lot of fun. I could swim, hike, and hang out with people who liked being around me.” I arranged my cards, remembering the fun I’d had until they decided I was too old for camp, that it was too costly, and that I could stay home by myself during the summer months.
“You said your aunt and uncle raised you after your parents died?”
“Aunt Misty and Bart got married before I was born.” I discarded a card and drew another. “They tried their best, I suppose. They weren’t child people.”
Becken’s expression invited me to continue, patient in a way that made words come easy.
“They had this perfectly ordered life. Cocktail parties every Friday. Gallery openings on the weekend. Charity galas. Everything scheduled and coordinated.” I played a run of clubs. “A five-year-old didn’t exactly fit their aesthetic.”
“What were Christmases like?”
The question made me wince. “Expensive. They’d give me beautiful gifts, wrapped in perfect paper with elaborate bows. Designer clothes, educational toys, a tablet when I got older.” I shrugged. “But no tree decorating. No cookie baking. No Christmas morning pajamas or stockings by the fireplace.”
“It sounds lonely.”
“It was realistic,” I said, echoing my aunt’s favorite word. “They’d arrange everything the night before. Presents stacked neatly under their minimalist table-top plastic tree. Christmas morning, I’d open everything while they had their coffee and scrolled through their phones. Then we’d have brunch at the country club.”
Becken laid down a set of kings. “No traditions?”
