As darkness settled fully around us and we prepared for another night together, I realized something that should have terrified me: I was falling for this impossibly stubborn orc who saw past my professional competence to the lonely woman underneath.
And for the first time in my life, I thought someone might be falling for me too.
Chapter 10
Becken
Evening settled around the cabin like a blanket, muffling the sounds of the storm outside. The battery-powered lamp cast a warm glow over our small space, making everything feel intimate despite the howling wind beyond the walls. Carla had won the last three hands of gin rummy, and I was beginning to suspect she’d fooled me into thinking I was improving.
“Tell me more about Wexla,” she said, gathering the cards for another shuffle. “But only if you want to.”
The request should’ve closed me off completely. Instead, I found myself considering it. All day, Carla had shared pieces of herself. Her childhood disappointments. Her dreams for her career. The loneliness she carried like a boulder on her back. Her honesty deserved the same from me in return.
“We met during a clan gathering when I was twenty-three.” I watched her deal the cards. “She was visiting from a neighboring territory with her family. I’d been struggling to find my place in the community.”
“In what way?”
“I was too serious. Too focused on work. Other orcs my age were finding love, starting families. I preferred sorhoxes to social gatherings.” I picked up my cards but didn’t look at them. “Wexla was different. She didn’t expect me to be someone I wasn’t.”
“She accepted your grumpiness?” A hint of teasing colored Carla’s voice.
“She found it amusing rather than off-putting.” The memory brought an unexpected smile. “When her family returned home, she stayed, taking a job in my city, seeking me when she was free. She’d bring art supplies to the sorhox pens and sketch while I worked. We’d spend hours together without feeling the need to fill the silence with conversation.”
“That sounds peaceful.”
“It was. We courted for two years before I asked her to be my mate. We fit so well together. We wanted similar things from life. A home. Younglings. And a person who accepts the other for who they are.”
Carla arranged her cards, but I could feel her attention focused entirely on me. “When did she get sick?”
“Three years ago. She started tiring easily, losing weight. The healers thought it was stress from caring for her aging mother who’d moved in with us.” My throat closed off with the familiar helplessness. “By the time we understood how serious it was, the illness had spread through her body.”
“What did you do?”
“Everything possible. Consulted every healer in the kingdom, tried traditional remedies. Spent our savings on experimental medicines.” I set down my cards and got up to pace, needing to move. “Nothing worked. The illness wore her out until there was nothing left of the female I loved.”
I walked to the window, looking out at the swirling snow. “Her last six months were hard. She grew weaker, and sheneeded constant care. She was in incredible pain. I took leave from work to stay with her.”
“That must’ve been exhausting.”
“I didn’t mind. She’d have done the same for me.” I pressed my palm against the cold glass. “Watching someone you care about fade away while knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop it is pure torture.”
“I can’t imagine.”
Her voice held no pity, no false sympathy. Just understanding, which somehow made it easier to continue.
“The night she died, she made me promise to live fully. Not to let grief become my permanent home.” I turned back to face her. “I thought I was honoring that promise by coming to the surface to start over. But I’ve spent the last six months existing.”
“Grief wears you out. It sucks away all your joy.”
She’d lost her parents; she’d know. “Lately…” I hesitated, then plunged ahead. “I’ve been feeling guilty because some days I don’t think about her at all. Hours pass without that sad, lonely feeling latching onto my heart and squeezing it. I catch myself laughing, planning for the future, feeling hope.”
“That’s healing, not betrayal.”
“How can you be sure?”
Carla set down her cards. “Because healing is what the people who love us want for us. Taking joy from life again doesn’t dishonor her memory. It honors the love she had for you.”
“What if I forget her? What if someday I can’t remember the sound of her laugh or the way she smelled like paint and flowers?”
