The words hit me square in the chest. Something primal and possessive roared to life inside me. A surge of emotion so powerful it threatened to buckle my knees.
She'd said it without hesitation, without even seeming to realize the weight of those two words. Not ‘the Orcs’ or ‘the clan’ or even ‘my patients’."My people. As if the clan had already become hers. As if she'd already claimed them—claimed us—as her own.
My mate. Speaking with the fierce protectiveness of someone defending her own blood. This was what I'd hoped for, what I'd barely dared to dream—that Jordan would find her place among us not as an outsider, not as a visitor, but as one of our own.
But watching her now, seeing the exhaustion carved into every line of her body, the desperate determination in her eyes, I realized that belonging came with a price. She would burnherself to ash trying to save everyone, trying to prove herself worthy of a place she'd already earned a hundred times over.
"Jordan." I closed the distance between us, and two pairs of eyes snapped up to meet mine. Dr. Carter had the decency to look relieved, but Jordan simply stared at me with the blank confusion of someone who'd forgotten the world extended beyond her immediate crisis.
"Ruka. I'm just wrapping up with—"
"You need to rest," I said, keeping my voice low and steady. "The crisis has passed. The last patient left the common house this morning. Dr. Carter and his team are more than capable of continuing the investigation."
"But—"
"No." I moved into her space, dropping my voice to a register meant only for her ears. "You haven't slept for thirty-six hours. You're barely staying vertical. Tell me the last time you put food in your body."
Her mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. Nothing emerged but silence—she genuinely couldn't recall.
Dr. Carter rose smoothly, collecting his scattered materials. "Your chieftain makes an excellent point, Dr. Bennett. Rest. We'll update you on any significant findings."
Jordan looked poised to mount a defense, but something inside her simply... collapsed. The fight bled out of her posture all at once. She managed a weak nod, and I watched the precise moment when the adrenaline that had been propping her up like scaffolding finally gave way. She slumped in her chair, and I was already there, my hand finding her shoulder.
"Come," I murmured. "Your turn to be taken care of."
She looked up at me, and the vulnerability swimming in those exhausted eyes struck something primal in my chest. My mate—my fierce, relentless mate—who had poured every ounce of herself into saving our people. Who had earned notjust respect but genuine devotion from every Orc in the village, not through any claim to my bed, but through sheer stubborn brilliance and a healer's heart that refused to let anyone slip through her fingers.
Even without the mate bond thrumming between us, bringing her here would have been the shrewdest move I'd ever made as chieftain.
But the bond was there. Undeniable. All-consuming. And right now, she didn't need her chieftain's rule or her village's gratitude. She needed her mate—someone to catch her when she finally stopped running, to hold the pieces together while she surrendered to the exhaustion clawing at her bones.
"Okay," she whispered, the single word carrying the weight of days.
I helped her to her feet, keeping one arm locked around her waist as she listed against me. The village had quieted, the worst of the storm weathered, but voices still drifted through the air—low conversations, the weight of worry in the air, the occasional keening of grief. If I took Jordan back to our dwelling, this would find her. She would lie rigid in the darkness, listening, counting heartbeats until she was certain I'd fallen asleep. Then she'd slip away, drawn back to her patients like a moth to flame.
I knew my mate's heart well.
"We're not going home," I murmured when confusion flickered across her face as I guided us toward the village's edge.
"Ruka, I should—"
"No." The word came out soft, but no less resolute. "Dr. Carter and the others are more than capable. What you need is rest. True rest, away from all of this."
Her lips parted to argue—of course they did—but I caught her gaze and held it. "Jordan. Please."
The fight drained from her eyes. She nodded, a barely perceptible movement, and let herself sink more fully against my side.
I navigated us through the winding paths, acknowledging the males who stepped aside with knowing looks and respectful bows. They understood what their healer had sacrificed, what she'd poured out of herself to save our people.
At Zuhra's dwelling, I paused. The elder female emerged before I could knock, as if she'd been waiting. Exhaustion lined her weathered face, but her dark eyes sparked with warmth when they landed on Jordan.
"I'm taking her to the fishing shack," I said quietly. "She needs distance from the village tonight. Rest." The next words stuck in my throat, but I forced them out. "If there's an emergency, send someone."
Zuhra's expression softened with approval. She motioned for me to wait then vanished inside and returned with a bulging pack. "Food, blankets, water. The shack should have firewood—the nights still bite." She transferred the weight into my arms, then reached out to cradle Jordan's face with surprising tenderness. "You did beautifully, little healer. Now let your mate care for you."
Tears pooled in Jordan's eyes, threatening to spill. Her smile trembled at the edges. "Thank you."
Zuhra's thumb swept across Jordan's cheekbone, her touch feather-light. "You cannot carry every soul, child. But the ones you saved—they will carry you in their hearts forever. Hold onto that."