"I should probably apologize," I murmured, my voice rough as gravel. "But I'd be lying. I've wanted to kiss you since the moment you stumbled into my village."
Her fingers curled into my shirt, holding tight. "I'm attracted to you too." The words came out breathless, sending triumph surging through my veins. "But Ruka... my life is in Franklin. I'm a doctor—I have patients who need me, responsibilities I can't walk away from. I have to go back to the hospital tomorrow."
Tomorrow. The word hit like a physical blow, though I'd known this moment would come. She was never mine tokeep. The village, this night—we were just a brief, beautiful interruption in her real life.
"I know," I said, the truth tasting like ash. "Doesn't make me wish any less that things were different."
"Me too," she whispered, and the longing in those words echoed the fracture spreading through my chest.
Gently, I shifted her, turning her body so she sat sideways across my lap, tucked against me. She melted into my chest without hesitation, her head settling into the curve of my shoulder as though it had been made for exactly that purpose. I pulled her closer, arms tightening around her as if I could somehow hold back the dawn, and together we turned our gaze back to the waterfall.
Silence settled over us—not hollow, but heavy with unspoken truths. The water continued its timeless cascade, silver ribbons catching moonlight as they plunged into darkness. The moon traced its path across the heavens, uncaring of our fleeting moment, and still we sat, two souls caught between reality and impossibility, neither brave enough to say goodbye.
Chapter 9
Jordan
Ruka walked beside me toward my truck, our footsteps crunching a rhythm in the gravel. The morning sprawled ahead of us, golden and unhurried—hours still before my 7 PM shift would drag me back to reality. Behind us, the village was winding down from the farewell breakfast they'd insisted on throwing, tables still groaning under half-empty platters, the air thick with the ghost of fresh bread and cardamom tea.
I could still feel Ryhain's arms around me, her tears dampening my shoulder as we'd watched Ardin dart between the houses, shrieking with laughter, blissfully unaware of how close he'd come to never playing again. The weight of her gratitude, the warmth of all those faces gathered to say goodbye—it settled somewhere deep in my chest, heavy and sweet all at once. These people had become more than patients. They'd become friends.
And Ruka, what exactly had he become?
The morning sun painted everything in shades of amber and gold, and I found myself hoarding details like a dragon hoards treasure—the way light pooled in the crevices of stone walls, the distant melody of children's laughter floating on the breeze, the solid warmth of Ruka's presence beside me. Each moment felt precious, something to clutch close when I was back under fluorescent lights breathing in the antiseptic smell of the hospital.
The breakfast had been overwhelming in the best way. Zuhra had outdone herself, preparing every dish I'd mentioned liking over the past week. The elders had spoken blessings in their ancient tongue, words I didn't fully understand but felt thrumming in my bones.
I stole a glance at Ruka. The morning light worshipped him—tracing the strong lines of his jaw, turning his skin to bronze—and something in my chest cracked open. How was I supposed to climb into that truck and just... leave? Pretend the past weeks had been nothing more than a professional obligation?
Last night played on repeat in my mind. His kiss under the stars had started as a question, gentle and uncertain, before transforming into something desperate—like he was trying to brand himself into my memory. His arms had wrapped around me with a fierceness that made me feel safer than I had in years, maybe since before my parents died. The way I'd fit against his chest, his heartbeat steady and sure beneath my ear—it had felt like coming home.
After the kiss, he'd just... held me. For hours. We'd sunk down onto the grass together, my back against his chest, his arms a warm circle around my waist. Neither of us spoke—we didn't need to. The stars wheeled overhead while his thumb traced absent patterns on my hip, and I'd memorized the rhythm of his breathing, the way his chin rested perfectly on top of my head.
The ride back on Drakkar had been exquisite torture. Pressed against Ruka's chest, his arms wrapped around my waist, feeling every shift of his muscles as he guided his mount through the darkness. The heat of him had seeped through our clothes, and I'd caught myself pressing closer, my cheek against his chest, breathing in the scent of him—smoke and pine and something uniquely Ruka.
When we'd finally reached the cabin, I'd been seconds from inviting him to my bed. The words had been right there, trembling on my tongue. But he'd cupped my face in his hands, pressed a kiss to my cheek—so tender it made my throat ache—and whispered goodnight.
Respecting my wishes. Even when my traitorous body had screamed at me to grab his hand, pull him inside, damn the consequences.
I'd fallen for him. Somewhere between the desperate hours treating Ardin and the quiet meals with his clan, between learning to love his village and understanding their language and the electric shock of every accidental touch, I'd tumbled headfirst with Ruka.
And it was utterly, completely impossible.
Two more years. The number circled my thoughts like a vulture. Two more years shackled to Franklin Memorial by a contract I'd signed in grief and desperation. ER doctors were rare commodities in rural hospitals, and they'd written their penalty clauses accordingly—meant to maim anyone who tried to escape.
If I'd been in my right mind, if I hadn't been drowning in grief, maybe I would have signed so quickly. But Mom and Dad were barely cold in the ground, and suddenly their debts had become mine—a mortgage underwater by forty thousand, credit cards I'd never known existed, medical bills from Dad's cancer that had metastasized into collections. The American dream, rotting from the inside out.
When Franklin Memorial offered a signing bonus and loan assistance, I'd snatched it like a drowning woman grabbing driftwood. Signed my name in triplicate without understanding I was trading one kind of debt for another.
Now that lifeline felt like an anchor.
I couldn't just walk away. Couldn't pack my life into boxes and build something new here, even if the village would have me. The financial penalties would annihilate me—six figures I didn't have, destroying what little credit I'd managed to salvage. And what would I even do in this place? They had their healer, their traditions stretching back centuries. My expertise was in trauma bays and code blues, not in the gentle rhythms of village medicine.
But God, every cell in my body was screaming at me to stay.
We reached my truck in silence, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down like storm clouds. Ruka lifted my medical bag with the same reverence he might show a sacred talisman, settling it in the passenger seat as if it were made of glass. Then he pulled out another bag—cloth, tied with twine in that practical, beautiful way the village did everything.
"From Zuhra," he said, his voice like gravel and honey. "She wanted you to have these."
