Page 42 of Brotan

Iwake to the scent of Maya's skin—that mix of vanilla and wildflower that's distinctly hers. Her hair spills across my chest, auburn strands catching the light filtering through gaps in my blackout curtains. Her breathing comes soft and even against my ribs, stirring something protective in my chest.

It's been three days since she confronted me in my room when I tried to avoid her after the fire. Days of learning what it means to let someone close—grabbing meals between her clinic hours and my patrols, snatching sleep when we can, learning every curve of her body with a hunger that should frighten me.

As I watch her sleep, doubt gnaws at me. She deserves better than a scarred fighter who wakes with his hands around her throat. She deserves someone whose dreams don't end with her in danger.

Maya stirs, her body stretching against mine. When she opens her eyes, the unguarded smile she gives me hits something raw behind my ribs.

"Morning," she mumbles, voice husky with sleep.

I brush hair from her face, the gentleness of the gesture still unfamiliar. She's so damn fragile compared to me—all delicate bones and soft skin that bruises too easily. Yet she presses closer, completely at ease with the monster sharing her bed.

"Hungry?" I ask, knowing the answer before her stomach growls in response.

She laughs, the sound bright in my dark room. "Starving. We never got dinner after the emergency at the Thompson farm. Between splinting Mr. Thompson's ankle and unpacking Hammer's supply shipment, I think I had half a protein bar."

"Greene's?" I suggest, though it's barely a question. The diner's become our ritual—the one public place where we allow ourselves to be seen together, though neither of us has put a name to whatever this is.

"Yes, please." She sits up, wincing as she rolls her shoulder. Her neck bears faint marks from my mouth—evidence that should make me feel guilty, but instead feeds something possessive I never knew lived in me.

Not that she's mine. That's a fantasy. Someone carrying what I did in my past doesn't get to claim someone like her. This temporary comfort is already more than I deserve.

I push the thought away as she slides from bed and heads for the bathroom. She emerges five minutes later in yesterday's clothes, now wrinkled from their night on my floor.

"At some point," she says, tugging at her rumpled shirt, "I need to go back to my place for more than just clean underwear. People are starting to talk."

"I'll take you after breakfast," I offer, though everything in me rebels at the thought of her away from my protection, even for an hour. The town's been quiet since the fire at her place. Almost too quiet. Like someone's waiting for us to drop our guard.

Thirty minutes later, we're in our usual booth at Greene's. Helen sets down coffee without being asked, her knowing smile making Maya blush. The older woman's approval surprises me. I expected judgment, not the almost maternal satisfaction she radiates whenever she sees us together.

"I thought you two might sleep in today," Helen remarks as she pours our coffee. "You both looked dead on your feet yesterday."

"Three strips of bacon with my eggs," I tell her, deliberately ignoring the comment. "Crispy."

"Just egg whites and wheat toast for me," Maya says when Helen looks her way. "And fruit, if you have it."

"Got fresh berries in just this morning," Helen says with a wink. "Doctor's gotta stay healthy."

When Helen walks away, I nudge Maya's foot under the table. "Still eating that rabbit food? Your health nut parents rubbing off on you?"

The mention of her family is calculated, testing the waters. Her parents remain the one subject that closes her off, even when everything else between us has opened.

Her eyes flash with that spark that first drew me to her, defiance wrapped in intelligence. "Some of us care about arterial health," she retorts, though amusement plays at the corners of her mouth. "Just because orcs have the metabolism of a blast furnace doesn't mean humans should eat like that."

I lean back, crossing my arms over my chest. "Guess that means you won't be stealing my bacon today?"

Her eyebrows shoot up in mock offense. "I have never—"

"Liar," I counter, unable to stop the low laugh that escapes me.

A flush spreads up her neck, and I'm struck again by how easy she is to read—each emotion plays across her face like light on water. Nothing like the calculated masks humans usually wear around Orcs.

"It's different when it's yours," she says with complete conviction. "Everyone knows calories don't count when they come from someone else's plate."

"Medical school teach you that?"

"No." She smiles and shifts in her seat with a joy that hits me square in the chest. "That's girl math."

I laugh again, the sound unfamiliar in my own ears. When was the last time I laughed without it being at someone's expense? Before the fights, maybe. Before crossing the Rift, definitely.

---