"Right. Of course. I shouldn't keep you from important chieftain business."
He paused in the doorway, his massive frame filling it completely. For a heartbeat, I thought he might say something more. Instead, he simply held my gaze, nodded once, andducked through the frame. His heavy footsteps echoed across the wooden floor, then faded into silence.
The quiet he left behind felt alive somehow, humming with possibility.
I turned slowly, taking in the cabin with fresh eyes. The main room stretched out before me, its high ceilings soaring to accommodate Ruka's towering frame. But it was the details that caught my breath—the small, intimate touches that transformed the space from a chieftain's dwelling into something far more personal.
A collection of river stones lined one windowsill like a rainbow made solid. Smooth and perfect, each one a different hue—slate gray, warm amber, deep green veined with white. Someone had arranged them with deliberate care, largest to smallest, creating a gradient of color and size that pleased the eye.
I paused, remembering what Ruka had told me about Ardin—how his nephew loved collecting river stones. My chest tightened as I studied the careful arrangement. Had Ruka kept these because of Ardin?
The thought made my throat constrict. I could picture it so clearly. Ruka's massive hands gently placing each stone his nephew found, keeping them safe, keeping them close. A quiet memorial to moments shared, to a little boy who'd once brought his uncle treasures from the water.
I blinked against the sudden sting in my eyes and moved on, not trusting myself to linger.
My fingers found a carved wooden box on a shelf near the fireplace. The lid bore intricate knotwork that seemed to flow and twist under my touch, each line purposeful, each curve intentional. I traced the pattern but didn't lift the lid. Some boundaries felt sacred, even in exploration.
Then I saw the books.
Oh, the books.
They were everywhere—a bibliophile's dream made real. Stacked on tables in precarious towers. Marching along shelves that claimed an entire wall. Tucked into corners like secrets waiting to be discovered. I drifted closer, tilting my head to read the spines. Histories thick as my forearm. Philosophy texts with cracked leather bindings. Agricultural manuals bristling with bookmarks. Even novels, their covers worn soft from repeated reading.
This wasn't a collection for show. This was a library built by a mind that devoured knowledge the way others consumed food.
A yawn ambushed me mid-thought, so wide my jaw protested. The adrenaline that had been my constant companion since yesterday was finally abandoning ship, leaving nothing but bone-deep exhaustion in its wake. My limbs felt like they'd been filled with sand. My eyelids drooped despite my fascination with Ruka's home.
The bed whispered my name.
I surrendered to its call, padding back to the bedroom on feet that barely remembered how to walk. The mattress rose before me like a promise—all those cushions, those impossibly thick blankets, those furs that looked softer than clouds.
I didn't bother with the niceties of undressing. Zuhra would bring supplies soon enough. For now, I just kicked off my boots and let them fall where they may, then crawled onto the bed like a pilgrim reaching a shrine.
Heaven.
I sank into softness that defied description, surrounded by furs that smelled of mountain air and something else—something warm and earthy and undeniablyhim. Ruka's scent clung to the fabric, wrapping around me like an embrace.
The flutter in my chest was just relief, I told myself firmly. Simple gratitude that my patient would heal. The way my pulse had quickened when Ruka looked at me, the warmth that bloomed when he smiled—purely physiological. My nervous system recalibrating after sustained stress. Textbook response to finding shelter after weathering a storm.
It had absolutely nothing to do with shoulders broad enough to block out the sun. Nothing to do with eyes that held gentleness despite his fearsome size. Nothing to do with feeling safer standing beside him than I'd felt in years, or the way his voice seemed to vibrate through my very bones when he spoke.
I was tired. Overwhelmed. My brain was probably dumping oxytocin and dopamine like a broken vending machine, creating artificial bonds as a survival mechanism. High-stress situations did that—made you latch onto your protector. Basic psychology. Trauma response 101.
The fact that he happened to be devastatingly, unfairly, almost offensively attractive was purely coincidental.
Completely irrelevant.
I burrowed deeper into the blankets, pulling them up to my chin. My racing thoughts began to slow, growing thick and syrupy. The comfort, the safety, the relief of knowing Ardin would recover—thatwas what mattered. Not the stomach-flipping moment when Ruka had called me pleasing to look upon. Not the ghost of his touch still warming my skin.
My eyes slipped closed, visons of sugarplums replaced by amber eyes and green skin.
Sleep claimed me before I could draw another breath.
Chapter 7
Jordan
I woke to knocking—gentle but insistent, like someone trying to rouse me without startling me awake. For a moment, I floated in that strange liminal space where you can't quite remember where you are or how you got there. The room swam into focus slowly. Dim light filtering through the window, unfamiliar walls, the weight of deep sleep still clinging to my limbs.