Page 21 of Her Orc Healer

The shelf behind Drev—one of the heavy oak ones I’d reinforced last autumn—shuddered, then tipped.

She barely had time to stumble clear before it crashed to the floor with a thunderous crack. Glass shattered, ink burst in violent plumes, and a wave of color spilled across the wood—dark blues and reds bleeding together in chaotic swirls. Dust and parchment flew up in a choking cloud.

For a breath, there was only silence—broken by the slow drip of ink threading through the wreckage.

The door to the shop slammed open before the dust had even settled.

Kazrek filled the doorway like a storm, broad shoulders nearly brushing the frame, his sheer size making the space feel small. His eyes swept over the destruction— the broken jars, the overturned shelf, the haze of dissipating magic—before locking onto Drev.

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t growl, didn’t bare his tusks, didn’t raise his voice.

He didn’t have to.

He simply stepped inside, and suddenly, the space between Drev and me wasn’t empty anymore.

It washim.

A wall of unmoving certainty. Of quiet, undeniable strength. And of something deeper—something inherently orcish, something that made the fight drain from Drev’s posture before she even realized she’d surrendered it.

I exhaled, only then realizing I’d been holding my breath.

Drev, to her credit, didn’t leap back like a startled deer. But her smirk had faltered, just a little.

"Is this your guard dog, Ro?" Her voice was breezy, but there was an edge to it now.

She didn’t look at him when she said it. Didn’t acknowledge him at all. Like he was nothing more than a brute. A weapon. A body built for taking orders and breaking things.

But he wasn’t. Seven save me, he was so much more than anyone gave him credit for. Smart. Controlled. Protective in a way that had nothing to do with orders and everything to do with choice.

And right now? Right now, standing there like an immovable force between me and Drev—he was devastatingly, unfairly sexy.

Kazrek didn’t speak. He just looked at her. Not threatening, not even overtly angry. Just watching, calculating, waiting to see if she was smart enough to leave on her own.

She was.

Drev clicked her tongue, shaking her head as she glanced back at me. "This isn’t over, little Ro.”

I forced my shoulders to stay squared. "It is for today."

Her smirk returned, thinner this time. "I’ll be in touch." And just like that, she was gone, slipping out the door with a lazy swagger that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Kazrek turned, flipping the lock behind her with a decisive click.

The shop felt unnaturally quiet in the aftermath. The faint sound of laughter from outside—people going about their business, utterly oblivious to the storm that had just passed through—seemed distant, muffled.

I should have thanked him. I should have found the words to explain, to make sense of what had just happened.

But all I could see was Maeve.

She stood there, my sweet May, but she wasn't herself. The shadows still clung to her fingers like wisps of smoke, and her eyes weren't the warm green I knew. Something darker swirled in their depths, something that made my chest tight.

Fear.

I was afraid of my own niece.

The realization hit me like a physical blow, and Maeve must have seen it in my face. The way I hesitated. The way I didn't reach for her, didn't try to comfort her like I always had before.

Her small face crumpled, anger giving way to something raw and wounded. Without a word, she spun and fled, her footsteps thundering up the back stairs to our living quarters. The door slammed with enough force to rattle the remaining bottles on the shelves.

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