"Okay," I called out, pulling open the bedroom door before I could second-guess myself into changing outfits a fifth time. "I'm ready."
Ruka stood waiting in the main room, and when his eyes found me, something shifted in his expression—a softening around the edges, a slight parting of his lips. The look lasted barely a heartbeat before his usual composure slid back into place, but I'd caught it. Heat crept up my neck. He wore the same leather pants as before but had changed into a black t-shirt, that for the life of me looked better than any formalwear I could remember.
"The clothes suit you well," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that hadn't been there before.
"They're perfect. Thank you."
He held my gaze a moment longer than necessary, then gestured toward the door with an almost reluctant movement."Come. The clan is eager to meet the healer who saved Ardin's life."
My stomach performed an acrobatic routine worthy of Cirque du Soleil, but I followed him into the deepening twilight.
The village had settled into its evening rhythm. An elderly female Orc passed us carrying a basket of what looked like purple root vegetables, offering Ruka a respectful nod and me a curious but not unfriendly stare. Two young males hauling firewood stopped mid-stride to watch us, their tusked grins breaking wide when Ruka acknowledged them. A child squealed somewhere nearby, chasing what I could only describe as a very indignant small goat around a corner.
Ruka walked close beside me—close enough that the fabric of his sleeve whispered against mine with each step. Every accidental brush of contact lit up my nerve endings like a string of Christmas lights, and I was absolutely certain he could hear my heart hammering against my ribs.
Say something, my brain urged.Literally anything. Break this tension before you spontaneously combust.
"Your village is lovely," I ventured, then immediately wanted to crawl into a hole.Lovely? Really, Jordan?
But Ruka's expression gentled. "I'm glad you think so." He paused, seeming to choose his next words carefully. "It means something, that you see it that way."
The sincerity in his voice caught me off-guard, and suddenly the silence between us felt less awkward and more... charged. Anticipatory. Like the moment before a storm breaks, when the air itself seems to hold its breath.
The common house swallowed us whole the moment we crossed the threshold—a riot of warmth and sound that crashed over me like a wave. Laughter erupted from every corner, wild and uninhibited, weaving between the percussion of wooden cups slamming down and benches scraping across stone. Tablesstretched the length of the hall like the spine of some great beast, every inch crammed with Orcs whose shoulders jostled companionably. I caught sight of several humans scattered among them, looking perfectly at home, and felt a flutter of surprise. The air itself was intoxicating—roasted meat and earthy root vegetables mingling with herbs that smelled delicious. My stomach announced its approval with a growl that could probably be heard back in Franklin.
Every table groaned under the weight of food and bodies—every table except one.
The chieftain's table.
Ruka's hand found the small of my back, guiding me forward, and I had to actively remind myself to breathe. To think about literally anything other than the heat of his palm burning through the fabric of my tunic.
Zuhra sat at the table already, flanked by a handful of Orcs whose faces I didn't recognize. But one face was notably missing.
"Where's Ryhain?" I asked as we drew closer, keeping my voice low.
Zuhra's expression melted into something softer. "I took food to her earlier. She didn't want to leave Ardin's side."
"He's awake?" Hope surged through my chest, bright and sudden.
"Awake, talking, and demanding seconds." A smile ghosted across Zuhra's lips.
"That's excellent," I said, feeling the knot of worry I'd been carrying loosen just a fraction. "All textbook signs of recovery."
Ruka gestured to the bench beside him, and I slid onto it, hyperaware of every eye that swiveled in our direction. The buzz of conversation had dimmed, replaced by a weighted silence thick with curiosity. Some gazes held simple interest. Others—particularly the males—held something decidedly less simple. Something that made my skin prickle with awareness.
I studied my empty plate like it held the secrets of the universe.
Then Ruka rose to his feet, and the entire hall went silent as a tomb.
"My clan." His voice rolled through the space like thunder, commanding without effort. "This is Jordan. She is a healer from the human world." He let the words settle, let them sink into every corner of the room. "Most of you know that my nephew suffered a grave injury. Doctor Jordan saved Ardin's life. Without her skill and her bravery, Ryhain's son would not be with us."
A ripple of sound moved through the crowd—whispers, murmurs, the rustle of bodies shifting.
"Doctor Jordan will remain in our village until Ardin is fully healed," Ruka continued, his gaze sweeping the room. "She has earned your welcome. She has earned your respect."
He sat, and the silence stretched taut as a bowstring.
Then someone thumped their fist against the tabletop—once, twice. The sound detonated through the hall like a war drum. Others joined in, the rhythm spreading like wildfire until the entire common house thundered with it. A primal percussion that rattled my bones and set my heart galloping.