"Here." She pressed the basket into my hands, then reached up to cup my cheek—I had to bend low, making myself small for her touch, and the tenderness of it made something behind my ribs constrict. "Enjoy your evening, Ruka. Whatever happens, you deserve this moment."
Her blessing settled over me like armor as I thanked her and headed for the stables, the basket suddenly feeling like it held more than just food—it held possibility.
The stable doors creaked open to release their familiar symphony—the sweet musk of hay, the rich tang of leather, the warm earthiness of horse. Drakkar's great head swung toward me, ears pricked forward, nostrils flaring wide to drink in myscent. My Friesian. Black as a moonless sky and built like a fortress on hooves. His greeting rumbled from somewhere deep in that barrel chest, a sound that vibrated through the floorboards beneath my feet.
His kind seemed bred specifically for Orc riders—massive enough to carry my weight as if I were nothing more than a child, powerful enough to traverse mountain passes that would break lesser horses. We'd been companions since my first days in the sunlit world, and he knew my moods better than most people ever would.
"Easy, boy." My palm found the familiar warmth of his neck, sliding along the obsidian gleam of his coat. Even in the stable's half-light, he shone. "We have somewhere special to be tonight."
I set Zuhra's basket carefully aside and reached for his tack. My hands knew this dance by heart—the saddle blanket smoothed just so across his broad back, the saddle settled into its perfect position, the cinch tightened with practiced efficiency. The bridle slipped over his ears as it had a thousand times before, and through it all Drakkar stood like carved stone, patient and steady. Only his ears betrayed his awareness, swiveling constantly—forward toward me, back toward the door, forward again—as if he could sense the wild current of anticipation crackling beneath my skin.
My fingers trembled on a buckle. I had to pause, draw breath deep into my lungs, begin again.
When everything was secured and the basket tied safely to the saddle, I led Drakkar out into the evening's embrace. The air had cooled, turned soft and welcoming. And there, silhouetted against the porch with sunset painting gold across her shoulders, stood Jordan.
Time stuttered.
Her hair tumbled loose around her shoulders, catching the dying light like spun copper. She'd abandoned her usual practical braid, and the transformation stole the breath from my lungs. The borrowed clothes—a simple tunic and pants in soft brown that some village woman had lent her—draped her frame with an effortless grace that made my chest tighten.
Beautiful didn't begin to cover it.
I'd been aware of her beauty from the start, of course. From that first moment in the hospital when our eyes met. But awareness and this—this visceral punch of longing—were worlds apart. Tonight, with goodbye looming like a shadow between us, her beauty felt almost cruel in its intensity.
The curve of her mouth when she smiled. The spark in her eyes as they found mine. The fluid confidence in her stride as she descended the porch steps—I wanted to burn every detail into my memory, to carry these images with me through all the empty days to come.
"Is this your horse?" She approached Drakkar with the measured respect of someone who understood the language of large animals. "He's magnificent."
"This is Drakkar." My voice emerged rougher than I'd intended, scraped raw by emotion. "He may look fearsome, but he's gentle as morning rain. Have you ridden before?"
"A few times, though never on anything quite so..." She extended her hand slowly, allowing Drakkar to investigate her scent. He exhaled warm breath across her palm, and her smile bloomed wider. "...majestic."
I swung myself up into the saddle, then gazed down at her upturned face, haloed in amber light. "You'll ride with me. Give me your hand."
She placed her hand in mine without a heartbeat's hesitation—small and warm and trusting. I lifted her as thoughshe were made of breath and wishes, settling her sideways before me, then gently guiding her to shift until she sat astride.
And then she was there, cradled against my chest, and the entire world contracted to the places where our bodies met.
She fit perfectly. Impossibly, devastatingly perfectly.
Her spine curved against my torso as if we'd been carved from the same stone. Her head tucked just beneath my chin, her hair whispering against my throat. Her body nestled between my thighs, her hips settling into the cradle of the saddle and my embrace with a rightness that made my heart ache. The scent of her—herbs and soap and something uniquely, intoxicatingly Jordan—flooded my senses with every breath.
My arm encircled her waist to steady her, and her hand came to rest over my forearm, her fingers feather-light against my skin.
"Comfortable?" I managed, though my voice had dropped to something barely above a whisper.
"Very." I could hear the smile threading through her words, feel it in the way she melted more fully against me. She shifted slightly, adjusting her position, and the movement sent liquid fire racing through my veins. "I feel safe with you."
Safe.
The word embedded itself somewhere deep in my chest. She felt safe with me—with an Orc twice her size who could snap her bones like kindling, who would cut off his own hand rather than hurt her. She trusted me enough to surrender completely in my arms, to let me guide her into darkness, to close her eyes and simply believe I would protect her from all harm.
I tightened my hold on her waist, drawing her a fraction closer, greedy for every second of contact. Tomorrow she would leave. But tonight—tonight she was here, warm and real and pressed against my thundering heart.
"Hold on," I murmured against her hair, and urged Drakkar forward into the gathering night.
The path narrowed as we climbed, winding along the mountain's spine like a serpent carved from moonlight and shadow. Drakkar moved with the confidence of a creature who'd walked these trails a thousand times, his massive hooves finding purchase where Jordan would see only darkness. As twilight surrendered to true night, the world before me sharpened—every stone, every gnarled root, every overhanging branch rendered in perfect detail. While our eyes had become accustomed to the sun over the years, we were still beings of twilight and shadow.
Jordan's fingers tightened on my forearm as we crested a particularly steep section, the ground dropping away sharply to our left.