Ice floods my veins. My heart kicks against my ribs, breath catching in my throat as that horrible familiar panic rises. Because I know where this leads. Know exactly how conversations about breeding value and physical attributes end when men decide they have rights to your body.
I need to leave. Need to move. But my feet won't cooperate, frozen in place by the weight of their stares and the memories clawing up my spine.
"—waste to let her go unmated when?—"
Rakk appears behind them like a storm given flesh.
I don't see him approach. Don't hear footsteps or warning. He's just suddenly there, towering over the younger warriors with an expression that could freeze blood. He doesn't speak, doesn't make threats, just stands with arms crossed and dark eyes burning with something dangerous.
The warriors retreat immediately. Scatter like startled prey, mumbling apologies that don't reach me through the ringingin my ears. Within seconds, the area clears, leaving only Rakk standing between me and where they fled.
He positions himself carefully—close enough to block any view of me from the training yard, far enough that we aren't actually touching. His presence is massive and solid and somehow grounding despite every instinct screaming that orcs are dangerous, that being this close to one is suicide.
"You're safe," he says quietly. Simple statement of fact in that deep voice that rumbles through my chest. "They won't bother you again."
I want to argue. Want to say I don't need protection, that I can handle myself, that his interference wasn't necessary. But my throat is too tight and my hands are shaking and I can't seem to make words form properly.
So I just nod. Quick, jerky movement that probably looks pathetic.
Rakk doesn't comment on my obvious panic. Doesn't ask if I'm alright or offer comfort I wouldn't accept anyway. He just stands there like a living wall between me and the training yard until my breathing steadies and the ice in my veins starts thawing.
"The mess hall is quieter this time of day," he offers eventually. "If you're looking for somewhere to sit."
A dismissal disguised as suggestion. Permission to leave without losing face. I take it gratefully, turning away from the training yard and heading toward the central plaza on legs that feel steadier than they should.
He doesn't follow. But I feel his gaze tracking me the entire way, that same careful attention he's shown since the first day I woke in the healing chambers.
That night,I lie awake in the women's quarters long after the others have fallen asleep.
My mind keeps circling back to the training yard. To the warriors' casual discussion of my body like it's livestock to be evaluated. To the panic that swallowed me whole, dragging me back into memories I've spent years trying to bury.
And to Rakk. To the way he appeared without warning, positioned himself between me and them without touching me once. To the careful distance he maintained even while offering protection I didn't ask for.
He could have grabbed my arm. Could have pulled me away forcibly or wrapped an arm around my shoulders in some possessive display. That's what men do when they claim protection rights—they touch, they mark, they make ownership clear through physical contact.
But he didn't.
He just stood there like a wall of muscle and threat, close enough to matter but far enough that I could still breathe. Like he understood that touch would make everything worse, that proximity was already pushing boundaries I wasn't ready to cross.
I hate that I noticed. Hate that some part of me felt safer with him there than I have since arriving in this settlement. Hate that I keep replaying the moment, analyzing his positioning and his restraint like they mean something beyond basic decency.
Because they can't mean anything. Can't be anything except another manipulation, another way to lower my guard until I'm vulnerable enough to control.
That's how it always works. Kindness followed by cruelty. Protection offered with strings attached. Safety that evaporates the moment you start believing in it.
I won't make that mistake again.
But even as I think it, even as I rebuild my mental walls and remind myself that trust is fatal, I can't stop seeing the careful way Rakk positioned himself today. Can't stop feeling the strange comfort that came with his presence, the way panic receded when he stood between me and danger.
Can't stop hating myself for wanting that feeling to be real.
6
RAKK
Kaelen's dwelling feels smaller every time I visit lately.
Not physically—the carved stone chambers are generous, decorated with tapestries Lola wove and weapons Kaelen collected over years of service. But the atmosphere has shifted since they mated, becoming something intimate and comfortable that makes me feel like an intruder even when they insist I'm welcome.
