Page 3 of The Orc's Promised Bride

Jana poured herself a cup of coffee and stepped out onto her screened porch. The morning air clung to her skin like a damp blanket, heavy with the promise of another scorching South Carolina day. Her gardens stretched before her in neat rows - lavender, rosemary, and chamomile swaying peacefully in the early morning breeze.

Pushing the screen door open with her hip, she carried her cup down the steps, the rich aroma of the coffee mingling with the fragrant scent of her herbs. She loved this time of the day, the sense of potential that came with the new day. The small farmhouse and its grounds were a source of constant satisfaction.

She wove through the plants, pausing every so often to stroke a leaf or bend and sniff at a flower. The mint needed harvesting, its stems reaching skyward. She’d dry some for tea, use the rest in her newest batch of cooling summer lotions. Calendula flowers blazed orange against the green, ready to be plucked for salves. A cardinal’s song pierced the morning quiet, then died away, leaving only an empty silence.

Silence means peace, she reminded herself.Safety.Peace and safety were a luxury worth the loneliness.

The methodical work of checking each plant helped ground her. She traced her fingers over fuzzy sage leaves, mentally cataloging what needed attention. The lemon balm was spreading again, threatening to choke out its neighbors. The echinacea looked ready for harvest, purple petals drinking in the early light.

Her bare toes curled into the cool dirt of the path between beds. This was real. This was now. This quiet morning routine was part of the new life she’d built for herself, far from the horrors of her past.

She returned to the house and refilled her coffee mug, then headed to her workshop, the converted barn’s weathered doors groaning as she pushed them wide. Morning light streamed through the windows, catching dust motes that danced in the air. A huge wooden table filled the center of the space, its top littered with a clutter of bottles and tools, the scents of her oils and salves mixing with the lingering woodsy aroma from the previous evening’s candle-making session.

A row of shelves lined the far wall, their surfaces laden with neatly labeled glass jars. She added a few of the calendula flowers to one of the empty containers, the soft yellow a cheerful contrast to the white paint.

She pulled up the day’s orders on her tablet - three lavender meditation candles, one rose love candle, and two healing salves. She carefully wrapped each candle in tissue paper, tucking dried lavender sprigs and rose petals between the folds. As she did she imagined the love candle flickering on someone’s bedsidetable, the soft glow illuminating a shared moment. Her chest tightened, and she pushed the completed packages aside.

The healing salve needed her attention. She measured calendula-infused oil into her copper bowl, adding beeswax and stirring as it melted. The candles were more profitable, but using her herbs to heal gave her much greater satisfaction. She loved losing herself in the work, in the science of proportions and the art of blending.

Once the jars of salve were set aside to cool, she moved on to a tincture to soothe menstrual cramps. She was so focused on her work that she didn’t notice that the sky had darkened until a gust swept through the open doors of her workshop bringing the scent of rain. She hurried to secure the doors, frowning as she looked up at the ominous black clouds forming overhead. A storm.

The weather app on her phone had promised clear skies. She checked her phone - no messages. No alerts. The storm had come from nowhere.

Lightning suddenly split the sky, illuminating the workshop in stark white. The thunder followed instantly, so loud it rattled the old windows in their frames. The wind howled, a sound unlike anything she’d heard before. It seemed to speak, its voice ancient and foreign, and the temperature dropped so rapidly that chills skated down her arms.

She backed away from the windows as lightning flashed again, lingering too long and casting strange shadows that seemed to swirl with the wind. Power surged through the workshop - bulbs flaring bright before popping in showers of sparks - and the old building seemed far too flimsy to withstand the storm.

Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the workshop door, and the wind yanked it from her grasp, slamming it against the wall. Rain pelted sideways, but it wasn’t water hitting her skin - it felt thick, almost oily. The drops glowed faintly where they landed, leaving trails of pale light.

“Jana.”

The voice of the wind called her name and she panicked, fleeing back inside her workshop. The wind tore through the open door, knocking jars off shelves and scattering dried herbs like confetti. She grabbed the edge of her workbench as a strange light pulsed around her - not the harsh white of lightning, but something softer, almost alive. It danced across her skin in waves of silver and blue.

The force of the wind increased, pulling at her clothes, her hair, trying to tear her away, and her arms burned with the effort of holding on to the workbench. The light grew brighter, wrapping around her like a cocoon. She couldn’t feel the rain anymore, couldn’t hear the thunder. The world became muffled, distant. One hand slipped. Panic clawed at her chest as her grip weakened.

The light intensified until it was all she could see, and her fingers lost their hold. She tumbled backwards into nothingness as everything she knew vanished into the void.

Her last conscious thought was of her garden, wondering who would tend her herbs. Then darkness claimed her, and she knew nothing more.

Jana’s headthrobbed as she regained consciousness. Something nagged at the edges of her mind - words, a questionmaybe? But it slipped away like water through her fingers as her eyes fluttered open.

The scents hit her first - rich earth and decay, moss and moisture. Not the familiar dusty soil of her farm but something deeper, older. Massive tree trunks surrounded her, but these weren’t the pines that surrounded her farm. The bark looked different, felt different under her palm as she steadied herself.

A cool breeze brushed across her skin. All of her skin. She looked down and her breath caught in her throat. Naked. She was completely naked in the middle of… wherever this was. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she instinctively dove behind a thick bush.

She crouched there, arms wrapped around herself, waiting for someone to appear. For voices, footsteps, anything. But there was only the whisper of wind through leaves and the distant call of birds. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe, as fear clutched at her throat. Where was she?

“Calm,” she whispered, and her voice sounded thin and frightened in the quiet.

She was alone. Completely, utterly alone in this alien wilderness. No clothes, no supplies, no idea where she was or how she’d gotten here. Just her, the trees, and a persistent feeling that she’d forgotten something important.

A leaf fluttered down from above and she caught it instinctively, turning it over in her fingers. An oak leaf. She looked up and studied the tree - definitely an oak. But the tree next to it, the one she’d grabbed earlier, was of no species she’d ever seen before. She picked out a familiar pine but the vine winding up its trunk was wrong, the branches twisted in an unnatural way.

Was she dreaming? But her palm still bore a thin line from where she’d nicked herself while cutting lemongrass, and she could feel the smooth texture of the leaf in her hand.

“I don’t think I’m in Kansas anymore,” she muttered, then choked back a half-laugh, afraid that laughter would turn to tears. “There has to be an explanation.”

Another wisp of memory floated by but it disappeared before she could grab it. She pulled her arms tighter around herself, fighting back shivers despite the warm air, and forced herself to breathe slowly, deliberately. Panic wouldn’t help. She needed to find someone, to figure out where she was, and if she couldn’t do either of those, she would need to find shelter. The air was warm enough now but from the way the ground sloped, she suspected she was in the mountains and it would undoubtedly cool off at night.

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