The nurses' faces when comprehension had crashed over them—that raw horror, that bone-deep shame, that immediate, desperate need to make it right. The security guards who had stood with us when they could have looked away. The FBI agents who had listened with open minds, who had chosen evidence over easy prejudice.
"There are people like Nadine," Ruka said, each word deliberate. "People whose hatred runs so deep it becomes their identity. People who will despise us for the simple crime of drawing breath." He cradled my face between his palms, and I felt the warmth of his skin, the flutter of my pulse. "But today I also saw something else, Jordan. I saw good people. People who were sickened when they learned the truth. People who chose to stand with us when it would have been easier to turn away."
He held my gaze, willing me to see what he saw. "I have to believe that those people—the ones who choose compassion over cruelty—outnumber the bad."
My eyes searched his, looking for cracks in his conviction, for the reassurance I needed. He didn't flinch from my scrutiny.
"My people have survived war, displacement, and now disease," he continued, his voice gaining strength. "We have endured because we adapt. Because we forge alliances where we can and bare our teeth when we must. And now?" A smile tugged at his lips. "Now we have you—a human doctor who fights for us with the ferocity of any Orc warrior." His smile widened. "Who punches murderers in the face without hesitation."
That startled a laugh out of me—genuine this time, bright and unexpected. "I probably shouldn't have done that. Very unprofessional."
"It was glorious," he assured me, his grin turning wolfish. "And immensely satisfying to watch."
We lingered there a moment longer, drawing strength from each other like roots intertwined beneath the earth, before finally stepping apart. I wiped my eyes one last time and squared my shoulders, that determined fire kindling once more in my chest.
"Take me home," I said, echoing my earlier words. But this time they carried a different weight—not the desperate plea of someone fleeing chaos, but the quiet certainty of someone choosing where they belong.
Chapter 17
Ruka
Two months had passed since Jordan came to live in the village, and the transformation still left me breathless. Every morning I woke to find her beside me, and every morning that same fierce joy crashed through my chest—she was here, she was mine, she was real.
My mate.
The word thrummed through my blood like a war drum, primal and possessive and right in a way nothing else had ever been.
I watched her now as she moved through our dwelling, droplets of water still clinging to her shoulders from our morning bath, humming some human melody under her breath. The domesticity of it—the simple, ordinary beauty—made something in my chest crack open wider. I'd led warriors into battle. I'd negotiated treaties and settled disputes. I'd done a thousand things that required strength and cunning.
But nothing had ever undone me quite like the sight of Jordan padding barefoot across our floor, completely at home in a space that had been mine alone for so long.
"You're staring again," she said without turning around, amusement threading through her voice.
"Can you blame me?" I moved up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her back against my chest. "I'm admiring my greatest treasure."
She melted into me with a contented sigh that I felt all the way to my bones. "How's the clinic coming along?"
"The foundation is finished. The walls will be up by week's end." I couldn't keep the pride from my voice. My people had thrown themselves into the construction of the new clinic with an enthusiasm that warmed me. "The solar array arrived yesterday. It took eleven warriors to carry all the pieces up the mountain path."
Jordan spun in my arms so fast she nearly knocked the breath from me, her eyes blazing with excitement. "It's really here? Can I see it?"
Her joy was infectious, irresistible. I pressed my forehead to hers, breathing in her scent. "After the morning meal. I promise." My thumbs traced idle circles on her hips. "The medical equipment you ordered should arrive within a fortnight. I made sure the shippers understood that every piece was precious cargo."
"Ruka, you didn't have to spend so much—"
"You are my mate." I cupped her face in my hands, marveling as I always did at how delicate she seemed, how perfectly she fit against me. "There is nothing—nothing—I would not provide for you." I brushed my lips across her forehead. "Besides, you've already treated over half the village. You've earned their respect ten times over."
And she had. In the months since the smallpox outbreak, Jordan had stitched wounds, diagnosed fevers, set broken bones, and even helped deliver a baby. The clan sought her out, trusted her, loved her.
Word spread beyond our village like wildfire through dry grass. Last week, three humans had made the arduous journey up the mountain specifically seeking Jordan's care. One arrived with a badly infected wound that the doctors in Franklin had dismissed with a shrug and a prescription that did nothing.Another needed medication she couldn't afford at the human clinics, where profit mattered more than healing. Jordan was able to give her a herbal remedy that healed her in days. The third had simply heard whispers of a skilled healer who actually listened—truly listened—to her patients.
Jordan had treated them all without hesitation, her hands as gentle with strangers as with clan, charging only what they could afford. Sometimes nothing at all. I'd watched her work with the same fierce dedication she showed my people, and something in my chest had expanded until I thought my ribs might crack from the pressure of my pride. She made no distinction between Orc and human, between wealthy and poor, between those who could repay her and those who couldn't. To her, a patient was simply a patient—a person in need of care.
She'd bridged two worlds with nothing but her kindness and skill, building a connection I'd never dared to imagine possible.
She'd worried at first that our old healer Morg would resent her presence, perhaps seeing Jordan as an outsider encroaching on sacred territory, stealing the respect that came with the healing role.
But Morg had surprised us both with her reaction. The elderly female had been ecstatic to turn over her healer duties, cackling with delight as she announced she'd just been waiting for someone with the right skill to come along so she could finally rest her old bones without guilt.