Page 12 of Vargan

The dinner rush won't start for another hour, but I'm already prepping in the kitchen—kneading dough for tomorrow's biscuits, slicing tomatoes for burgers, anything to keep my hands busy and my mind off the green-skinned man working on his bike across the street.

It's been a day and a half since Vargan crashed into my life. A day and a half of trying not to notice how my heart jumps a little every time he walks into the room. A day and a half of reminding myself that getting attached to anyone, especially an orc on the run for murder, is the definition of stupid.

And I stopped being stupid about men the day I walked away from Royce.

Helen pokes her head into the kitchen. "Dining room's clear if you want to take a break. I'll finish the prep."

I wipe flour from my hands. "You sure?"

"Hon, you've been wound tighter than Victor's wallet since that big green fella showed up. Go take five before you snap."She gives me a knowing look. "Besides, I hear he's making good progress on that bike. Might be gone soon."

The way my stomach drops at that thought is inconvenient at best. "Thanks. I'll be quick."

Outside, the late afternoon sun beats down on Shadow Ridge's empty main street. The parking lot of Greene's is half-full—better than most days, thanks to the town's morbid curiosity about this week's excitement. Everyone wants to see where the fight happened, where the "monster" took on Victor and his goons.

I cross the street quickly, eyes automatically scanning for Victor's black truck. All clear for now.

The sound of metal on metal guides me around the side of the farmhouse to the detached garage. The doors are open wide, and inside, Vargan is hunched over the mangled remains of his motorcycle. Silas's tools are spread around him, the old man himself nowhere in sight.

I pause in the doorway, taking a moment to observe him unnoticed. His back is to me, muscles shifting beneath his t-shirt as he wrenches something free from the bike's wreckage. His clan tattoos peek out from beneath his sleeves, trailing down his forearms in intricate patterns. There's a focused intensity to his movements, a kind of reverence in the way he handles each piece.

"How's it coming?" I ask, announcing my presence.

He turns, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. "Slower than I'd like."

I step into the garage, careful to avoid the scattered parts. "That bad, huh?"

"I've fixed worse." He crouches back down beside the frame. "But Victor did a thorough job."

I lean against the workbench, watching his hands—so large they make the tools look like toys—work with surprisinggentleness. "I'm expecting Willie back tonight," I say, not sure why I'm telling him this. "My brother."

Vargan glances up at me. "You want me gone before he gets here."

It's not a question, but I find myself shaking my head. "No, I just—" I'm not even sure what I'm trying to say. "I haven't figured out how to explain you yet."

That gets me a slight quirk of his lips, almost a smile. "Most don't bother trying. 'Monster' seems to cover it for most humans."

The casual way he says it makes my chest tighten uncomfortably. Like he's heard it so many times he's just accepted it as truth.

"You're not a monster," I say firmly.

He looks at me then, really looks at me, his eyes searching my face for a lie he seems to expect to find. I don't look away.

"You might be the only human who thinks so," he finally says, returning to his work.

I'm about to respond when the screen door of the house slams shut, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps.

"Savvy!" Willie's voice carries through the yard. "Savvy, where are you?"

I straighten, alarmed by the panic in his voice. "Out here!"

Willie rounds the corner at a run, skidding to a stop when he sees Vargan. My brother has shot up in the past year, lanky at fifteen with my coloring and our father's height. Right now, his face is flushed, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and anger.

"Willie, what's wrong?" I move toward him, but he backs up a step.

"What the hell, Savvy?" he hisses, eyes darting between me and Vargan. "What is he doing here?"

"This is Vargan," I say calmly, reaching for my brother's arm. "He's—"

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