Page 57 of Protective Pucking Orc

I had to tell her soon.

Rosa and I skated until about one o’clock. I’d never worked with a kitling before, and had no idea how long it took to learn to skate. I’d understood the basics back in my world, so it hadn’t taken long for me to feel comfortable on the ice here. She picked it up almost as quickly, and by the time we were ready to break for lunch, was skating by my side, jabbering away about the things she saw or her imaginary adventures with Veth’kar.

Twice, I’d felt Sofia watching us from the porch. The first time, I’d glanced over to see her standing beside the hot tub with her coffee, and the second time she must’ve been at the window. Our Mate Bond was growing stronger if I could feel her gaze…

“I’m hungry. When can I skate without holding your hand? I think we should get hot chocolate.”

I was growing used to the kitling’s way of conversation, and chose just one part to respond to. “When we get you a helmet, you can skate without holding my hand.”

“Sometimes, on my videos, they gotta wear things on their knees and elbows to ride bikes. Like you did.”

It took me a moment—we rounded the far curve of the ice—to understand what she was talking about. “Oh, pads? Yeah, hockey players have to wear a lot of protective padding. I think kitlings wear them when they ride bikes too.”

“I don’t have a bike.” She was tugging me back toward the house. “I want a bike though. Come on, let’s go this way.”

Gently, I redirected her. “The ice in the middle of the pond is too thin, so it’s not safe to skate there. Would you like a bike one day?”

The distraction worked, and she was chattering about riding a bike—and how she’d be faster than anyone else ever—by the time we reached the backyard, and I hoisted her into my arms to carry her to the porch.

“Now it’s time for hot cocoa,” she announced, slinging her arms around my neck. “And then you know what we gotta do?”

“No, what?”

“Soak in the hot tub. Mama said she had fun, so we gotta do it again.”

“Well, if your mother enjoyed it, we will,” I told her seriously. “I will always do what I can to make your mother happy.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re the best, Dak!” Rosa announced, and leaned over to plant a sloppy kiss on my cheek.

My heart swelled.

Sofia had lunch—and hot cocoa—waiting for us, and after lunch we did indeed pile into the hot tub. Hot tubbing with a five-year-old wasn’t nearly as relaxing as it was to do alone, but Rosa’s joy made it worth it. We watched a movie before dinner, all curled together on my big couch, and when Sofia fell asleep against me—I suppose the trials of a small lion cub singing about waiting to be king weren’t as fascinating to her as to her daughter—my Kteer purred in contentment.

It was the following morning that I realized I’d missed a prime opportunity to tell her the truth last night, after we’d put Rosa to sleep. Instead, I’d looked up, seen my Mate’s smile, and swept her off to bed.

It had taken remarkable restraint not to pull off my boxers, spread her legs, and claim her the way my Kteer urged me to. But I couldn’t, not until she accepted the Mate Bond.

To say I was distracted during practice was an understatement.

The team was still flying high after our unexpected win against the Avengers, and Bardon and the coaches used that, pushing us in scrimmage. We had a home game this week, and the guys were ready for it.

More than one of them asked me if little Rosa would be attending, and I realized they thought of her as a good luck charm.

The thought made my heart happy.

She wasn’t mine, but on some level, she was ours.

And maybe, one day, the kitling might be my daughter.

When I came out of the shower, Torrk was waiting for me. Oh, he wasn’t being obvious about it, which was rare for the gregarious male; he was fussing with something in his locker, but I could feel his expectation.

The fact that he wasn’t muttering to himself was a dead giveaway; Torrk always muttered to himself when he was in his own world.

The locker room emptied out slowly, the way it always did after a successful scrimmage; males in various states of undress and euphoria, Jord recounting his goal to anyone who’d listen and several who wouldn’t, Bardon reminding everyone about the film session Wednesday in the tone of a male who knew no one was listening. I took my time with my gear, wanting to give everyone else the chance to clear out.

I peeled off my tape and told myself I was being thorough.

When I finally looked up, the room was empty except for Torrk, who was standing at the far end doing something to his shoulder that involved a lacrosse ball, the cinderblock wall, and a facial expression of profound spiritual suffering.