Page 21 of Vargan

I press my uninjured hand to my mouth, trying to hold onto the feeling of his lips against mine. It was a mistake—we both know it. He's leaving, and I'm staying. That's how it has to be.

So why does it feel like something precious is slipping through my fingers? And why am I suddenly terrified of returning to the life I had before he crashed into it?

The storm continues to rage outside, but it's nothing compared to the one building inside me.

Chapter Seven

Vargan

The old couch in Silas's living room is too short, forcing my legs to hang over the armrest. But it's better than the alternative—lying awake at Savvy's with her scent haunting me from down the hall.

It's been two days since the storm. Two days since I did something stupid—kissed a human woman who's gotten under my skin like shrapnel. Two days of working myself to exhaustion just to stop the memory of her taste from playing on repeat in my mind.

Orcs don't do regret. We move forward, always. But this... this feels like quicksand pulling me deeper with every struggle to break free.

The sun isn't up yet, but sleep is done with me. I rise silently, careful not to wake Silas in the next room. The old man has been generous with his space, asking no questions about why I suddenly needed a place to stay. But the knowing look in his eyes tells me he understands more than I've said.

I brew coffee in the ancient percolator on Silas's stove, watching dawn break over Shadow Ridge through the kitchen window. From here, I can see the back outline of the diner through the trees, where Savvy’s probably already started her morning shift.

My phone buzzes on the counter. Hammer.

"Tell me something good," I answer quietly.

"Progress," my president says, his voice gravel-rough even through the phone. "Ash found a possible witness—homeless guy who was digging through dumpsters in the alley that night. Says he saw the whole damn thing go down."

Something like hope stirs in my chest. "And?"

"And his story matches yours. But he's scared, Crank. Apparently, our grieving girlfriend has brothers who are some nasty pieces of work. They're trying to use you as a payday."

"Should I expect less from humans?"

Hammer barks a laugh. "You and me both, brother."

"So we're still on Plan B," I say, resignation heavy in my voice. “Crossing the border.”

"For now. But if we can get this witness to testify, our lawyer thinks we might swing a plea deal. Manslaughter instead of murder. You'd do time, but..."

But I wouldn't spend the rest of my life in a cage. Or worse.

"Keep me posted," I say, ending the call as Silas shuffles into the kitchen.

"You look like hell," the old man observes, reaching for the coffee.

"Didn't sleep much."

"Never do when a woman's on your mind," Silas says with the certainty of decades behind him. "Especially one you're trying to pretend isn't."

I don't deny it. What's the point? "Heading to the diner for breakfast?"

Silas nods. "Same as every other day. You coming?"

"Yeah," I say, though my gut twists at the thought of seeing Savvy. "I need to be seen."

"Making yourself a target," Silas says, eyes sharp. "Drawing attention from her."

I shrug one shoulder. "Better me than Savvy."

Silas pours his coffee, studying me over the rim of his mug. "You planning to stick around after your bike's fixed?"

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