Page 22 of Protective Pucking Orc

“Thank you,” I whispered, my throat tight. “For keeping her safe.”

His jaw tightened. “Of course.”

The words were simple, but the way he said them—like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like there had never been any other choice—made my chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with Anthony’s kick.

Rosa bounded back, clutching a handful of crumpled papers. “Look, Mama! Mr. Dakvaar says I’m a really good arnist!”

I took the drawings from her, my fingers trembling. They were messy, colorful scribbles—a lopsided dragon, a fish with too many teeth, a stick-figure family holding hands. My vision blurred.

“You’re a perfect artist,” I managed.

Rosa beamed, then suddenly gasped. “Oh! I almost forgot!” She turned to Dakvaar, bouncing on her toes. “You know what, Mama? Mr. Dakvaar says we’re going to stay with him for a few days! It’s going to be like a campout, he says! I’ve never been on a campout before!”

My stomach dropped.

Oh no. I couldn’t put him in danger too!

I struggled to sit up, wincing as pain shot through my ribs. Dakvaar sank to one knee beside the exam table, his hand finding mine. The touch sent shivers up my arm, warm and grounding, and I realized it was the first time we’d ever touched like this—skin to skin, no pretense, no distance.

“He doesn’t know where you are, Sofia,” Dakvaar said, his voice low. “But if he finds your apartment⁠—”

I let Rosa climb back onto the table beside me, her small body pressing against my side. “You’ve already done so much,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Too much. We can’t impose.”

Dakvaar’s grip on my hand tightened just slightly. “Not nearly enough.”

The words were quiet, but they spread a warmth through my stomach. I swallowed hard, my throat thick.

“You can’t go back there,” he said, his voice rough. “Not like this.”

“I know,” I choked out. “We have to run.”

At my side, Rosa whimpered and burrowed against my wrapped wrist.

At the sound, or perhaps at my words, something flickered across Dakvaar’s face—pain, maybe, or frustration—and he looked away for a moment before meeting my eyes again.

“I understand. But you won’t get far feeling the way you do.” His thumb brushed over my knuckles, slow and deliberate. “Come to my home, please? Just until you’re healed? I swear I won’t let any harm come to either of you.”

My breath hitched.

He’ll hurt you, Dakvaar.

The thought was a knife in my chest. Anthony was ruthless. If he found out Dakvaar had interfered, he wouldn’t hesitate to destroy him. And it would be my fault.

“This isn’t your fight,” I whispered.

Dakvaar’s eyes darkened, the green in them glowing faintly. “It became my fight when I saw what he did to you.”

His voice was low, fierce, and the way he said it—like it was a vow, like it was something he’d carve into his bones—made my pulse stutter.

He was still touching me, his hand warm and steady around mine. “Remember, dkaar,” he murmured, the word sending a strange thrill through me. “I’m a protector. A wall. No one gets through me.”

I wanted to believe him. Mierda, I needed to believe him.

But Anthony always found a way.

Rosa shifted beside me, her small hand patting my arm. “Please, Mama? Mr. Dakvaar says he has a hot tub! And a big TV! And he even said I could sleep on the floor if I wanted, like a real campout!”

I closed my eyes, my chest aching at her simple joys.