Page 74 of Protective Pucking Orc

My kitling. Because Rosa was mine now, as surely as Sofia was.

“Not a problem,” Kardok wrote. “I’ll ask Lila to bring her miniature unicorns, and she’ll prob be delighted to have someone to play with.”

I huffed a small laugh, knowing my teammate couldn’t hear or see me and thus ruin my stoic reputation. Kardok was known as The Wicked for his reputation with the ladies, but when he’d met Lila, he’d fallen hard for a female who was classier—and wealthier—than he could have imagined. He called her his princess, and both Kardok and her father competed to see who could spoil Lila more.

Jord, who despite being the rookie had lived in Bramblewood longer than any of us and knew the town the best, was the one who offered one last suggestion: “Holly’s brother is a cop. I’ll ask him to increase patrols past your place, just in case.”

It was a good suggestion, but Bardon beat me to it. “Good thinking, T’mak,” he typed. “They’ll be safe, Dakvaar. We swear it.”

Yes. They would. I would die to protect my Mate and kitling, and I knew my friends—my team, my clan—would protect them after that.

“Thank you, brothers,” I typed, then closed down my phone before Torrk could send a fart emoji, and went to cajole Rosa into helping set the table.

After dinner, she declared there was still plenty of time to practice ice skating. “Please, Dak? I wanna grow up and hit guys with hockey sticks, just like you.”

Across the table, Sofia dropped her forehead into her palm, and I could feel her exasperation and attempts not to laugh.

Luckily, I was good at keeping my humor hidden. “There’s a lot more to hockey than just hitting people, dkaar.”

“I know,” the five-year-old huffed. “I gotta get good at skating first! Now I got my helmet, I don’t gotta hold your hand all the time.” She paused, then shrugged. “Only when you think you’re might gonna fall, then I can hold it for you.”

“Thank you,” I deadpanned, and Sofia snorted without looking up.

“Pleeeeeease?” Rosa batted her eyes at me, because she knew I was a sucker. “I’ll get all bundled up, I swear, and Mama doesn’t let me skate without you. She can’t come because she goes ass over teakettle on the ice.”

One of my brows rose as Sofia gasped and jerked her chin up. “You’re not supposed to repeat that, young lady.”

Rosa shrugged unrepentantly. “I won’t have to if you learn how to skate, Mama.”

I decided it was time to intervene. “Little one, I will take you skating this evening, at least until it’s time to get ready for bed. Your mother could use some time alone, I’m sure.” I knew for a fact she hadn’t read more than four chapters in the last two days. “But only because we’re inching toward the equinox, and that means the ice will begin to thin and we won’t be able to skate.”

Luckily, this distracted her, and I was able to get through all the cleanup and dishes and bundling her into her winter gear and skates, just by explaining equinox and time zones and rotational spin to her.

I can’t imagine she understood any of it; my kitling just liked to hear herself chatter.

The pond glowed.

I’d strung the lights along the back porch a week ago—warm gold ones, because Rosa had informed me the white ones looked “like a dentist”—and they threw soft circles out across the ice, catching the snow that had begun to sift down sometime after dinner. Fat, lazy flakes, the kind that fell straight down in windless air.

My breath plumed. The mountains stood black against a charcoal sky, and behind me, through the big window, my Mate sat curled on the couch with her tea and her book, one lamp burning beside her like a candle in a cave shrine.

I didn’t need the porch lights to see. Rosa did, and so the lights existed. Most things in my life now could be explained that simply.

“Dak! Watch!”

My kitling pushed off from the bank with tremendous ambition and little to no technique, arms windmilling, skates chattering against the ice, and made it nearly four full strides before physics caught up with her.

She went down on her backside with a whump that puffed snow off the surface.

I glided closer, unhurried. Rule One of Teaching Rosa To Skate: Do not swoop in to rescue her. Swooping earned me a lecture. An adorable lecture from a five-year-old, but still.

“I meant to do that,” she announced from the ice.

“Of course.”

“It’s called a sit spin. Miss Lila told me about them.”

As if Lila had had a chance to teach her skating? “Miss Lila’s are further off the ice,” I deadpanned.