The transformation stung. But what did I want from her?
I couldn’t even name that.
We rode in silence. The only sounds breaking through the silence were Peeka’s steady breathing and the crunch of snow beneath her clawed hooves. The forest gave way to open prairie, and in the distance, I could make out the outline of Lonesome Creek’s buildings.
Almost there. Almost back to the real world, where I was beginning to suspect we’d have to pretend nothing had happened between us.
But something had. The marks proved it, even if we were both determined to ignore their significance.
“Becken.” Her voice came out quiet, uncertain. “What you said about the marks being permanent. What exactly does that mean?”
“In orc culture, mating marks appear when two souls recognize each other as destined partners. They’re a sign that the fates have chosen you for each other.”
“But what does that mean, practically? Are we…” She paused, searching for words. “I know I sputtered it out back there, but are we married now according to orc traditions?”
“Not exactly. The marks are an invitation, not a binding.” I tightened my arm around her waist as Peeka navigated a particularly deep drift. “They indicate compatibility, but the choice to complete the bond is still ours.”
“What happens if we don’t, if I leave after Christmas like I planned?”
“The marks will fade over time. Slowly, but they’ll disappear.”
“And if we chose to complete the bond?”
“Then we’d be mated for life. Connected on a level beyond the physical.” I paused, then added quietly, “Orcs don’t divorce, Carla. When the fates bless us with a mate, it’s considered a blessing.” Never a burden. “I don’t know of anyone who’s rejected the bond.”
She absorbed this in silence, her body growing even more tense. I could sense her internal struggle through the mark, the pull she felt toward me warring with her fear of commitment.
“I understand how you feel. How would anyone want to seek permanence with someone they just met?”
“Seems we’ve more than just met,” she said dryly.
I’d give her that.
“I’ve never stayed anywhere longer than a year.” Her sigh rang out. “I don’t know how to do forever.”
“Neither do I. Not anymore.”
“I’m not…” Her voice came out hesitant. “I’m not trying to replace Wexla.”
“Of course not.”
“Exactly.” She said it as if that settled things, but it didn’t. I wasn’t sure anything would ever be settled between us again.
We passed my cousins’ homes and approached town on the main road. Smoke rose from chimneys and the cheerful glint of Christmas lights felt harsh after the endless storm, the relentless whiteness of the world we’d left.
How could I explain that we’d formed something I’d never thought I’d find, only to discover it might be temporary?
“People will wonder where we were,” Carla said.
“We were caught in the storm, and we took shelter in one of the trail cabins.”
I guided Peeka toward the rodeo grounds, where several figures moved from one building to another. Word must have spread about our disappearance. My cousins would be worried, especially if Dester had returned without a rider. I should’ve thought to tell them where we were going, but who could’ve predicted something like this?
“Are you ready for this?” I asked.
Carla straightened her shoulders and transformed before my eyes. The vulnerable woman who’d questioned the marks became the confident professional who could handle any situation.
“I am,” she said.
