“And now you have a chance to find something that’s not the same or even better, but that will fill your heart all over again.” He nudged my shoulder. “Don’t waste it because you’re afraid.”
“See you at breakfast.” I stepped away, his words echoing in my head.
With a nod, Ruugar headed toward his sorhox, leaving me alone with Peeka and my thoughts.
I fed the beasts, checking each one for signs of stress from all the activities. Thrakul seemed particularly pleased with himself, prancing around his pen as if he knew he’d been the star of the show. Dester appeared calm, though he kept shaking his head, perhaps wishing he also had the chance to wear reindeer antlers.
By the time I finished, the sun had fully risen, painting the snow-covered plain in bright white. The beauty of it struck mein a way it hadn’t before. The surface world was a strange mix of light and dark, warmth and cold, joy and sorrow. So different from the consistent dim warmth of the orc kingdom, yet gorgeous in its own way.
Like Carla. Unpredictable, challenging, bringing light to places I’d forgotten could be illuminated.
The scent of coffee and Lavon’s breakfast specialties drifted from the Red Fang Saloon as I approached. Voices and laughter spilled out, my family gathering for the special meal. Through the window, I spotted Aunt Inla in another of her holiday dresses, this one a deep green with silver embroidery. Beside her, Lavon leaned close, saying something that made her laugh, her hand coming up to touch his arm in a gesture that wasn’t completely casual.
Those two had been circling each other for weeks now. Perhaps Aunt Inla would finally find happiness with the orc chef who clearly admired her.
Grannie Lil held court at her usual table, dispensing wisdom and criticism to anyone who wandered within range. Today she wore a red sweater with tiny blinking lights sewn into the pattern. Jessi moved between tables, refilling mugs, while Greel wiped down the bar, the muscles in his arms bunching beneath his rolled-up sleeves.
Carla sat with them, her auburn hair catching the morning light. She smiled at something Max said, her entire face lighting up with joy. The youngling was gesturing wildly, probably talking about some adventure, while Holly and Sel watched them both.
My heart stumbled in my chest. Carla belonged here, among these people who’d claimed her as family. She fit into this patchwork community as if she’d been born to it.
Could she feel how right it was?
As if she sensed me watching through the window, she looked up, her eyes finding mine. The world around us disappeared. There was only her gaze holding mine, a silent communication I couldn’t fully interpret but felt all the way to my bones.
She smiled, and my body responded with a surge of heat that had nothing to do with the morning sun. Last night rushed back. Her taste. The sounds she’d made. And the way she’d trusted me with her pleasure. The memory made my fingers itch to touch her again, to remind myself she was real.
Straightening my shoulders, I pushed through the door, into the warmth and noise of the saloon. Whatever happened next, whatever she decided when Christmas passed, I would make these final hours count. I would tell her what she meant to me, what she could mean to this town.
And maybe, if Christmas magic truly existed, it would be enough to make her want to stay.
Chapter 21
Carla
The Red Fang Saloon buzzed with morning conversation, silverware clinking on plates and laughter rippling across the room. Christmas Eve had arrived, bringing with it a particular energy I’d experienced many times before, anticipation and joy wrapped in a blanket of longing.
No, here the word wasbelonging.
I glanced around the room at these people who’d somehow become my family in just a few short weeks. Jessi discussing menu plans with Lavon. Max describing his latest sorhox riding lesson to Hail. Grannie Lil dispensing unsolicited advice to Greel about his Christmas playlist selections. And Becken beside me, his arm occasionally brushing mine as he reached for the dartling syrup, each touch sending awareness skittering across my skin.
This was everything I'd spent years avoiding, the vulnerability, the risk, the possibility of being hurt the way I was when my parents died, when my aunt and uncle counted the days until I turned eighteen. But for the first time, I wanted to stay and fight for something instead of running toward the next job. Did I have the courage to choose love over safety?
“Pass the tea?” I said.
Becken handed me the pot, our fingers touching. The golden mark on my wrist tingled, and his eyes darkened as if he felt it too. This connection between us was unlike anything I’d experienced, both primal and tender all at once.
“Sleep well?” he asked, his voice pitched low enough that only I could hear.
“Not really.” I poured tea into my mug, focusing on the liquid to avoid looking at him. “You?”
“No.” The single syllable contained volumes.
I risked meeting his gaze, finding heat and something softer beneath his usual stoic expression. Last night played through my mind in vivid detail. His hands on my skin. His mouth everywhere. The way he’d whispered my name. The intensity of it should’ve frightened me. Instead, I craved more.
“More pancakes, dear?” Aunt Inla appeared at my elbow, a plate stacked high with fluffy buttermilk cakes. Today she wore a red dress with tiny Christmas trees scattered across the fabric, and she’d twisted her silver-threaded hair into an elaborate updo. “You’ll need your strength for the starlight ride tonight.”
“I’ve had enough, thank you.” My stomach was already tight with too many emotions to accommodate more food.
