Page 16 of Saved By the Mountain Man Orc
Drak leads me by the hand through paths I never would have found on my own, winding deeper into the mountain than I knew was possible. The moon hangs full and bright above us, turning everything silver. I'm wrapped in a cloak he made for me, thick fur lined with soft leather, with a clasp carved in the shape of the fox that brought us together.
I didn’t get the photograph of a lifetime that day. I got the man—theorc—of my dreams instead.
I can feel eyes watching us from the shadows between the trees. The brothers, I know, though I haven't seen themyet. They're giving us this moment of privacy before the real ceremony begins.
The path opens into a clearing surrounded by standing stones—ancient monoliths weathered smooth by countless years of wind and rain. Some are carved with symbols that seem to shift and dance in the moonlight, speaking of powers older than written history.
"This is where it's done," Drak says in a soft voice. "Where bonds are made official. Not just between two people, but with the mountain itself."
He reaches into a leather pouch at his waist and withdraws something that makes my breath catch. The pendant is carved from a smooth black stone. The symbol etched into its surface is beautiful and complex, intertwining lines that suggest both flame and growing vines, claiming and nurturing in equal measure.
"A gift for my mate," he says, lifting the leather cord over my head. The pendant settles against my chest, right over my heart, and the moment it touches my skin somethingshifts. Like the mountain itself is acknowledging me. Welcoming me home.
I press my palm over the pendant, feeling its warmth seep into my skin. "I'm yours," I whisper. "Completely."
A low rumble from the tree line makes me turn. Four massive shadows step into the moonlight—Drak's brothers, each distinct but unmistakably part of the same fierce bloodline.
The largest one—broader even than Drak, with intricate scars marking his arms and a bearing that speaks of command—studies me with eyes like molten copper. This has to be Garruk, the one Drak mentioned most often.
"You're certain about this?" he asks Drak, voice like grinding stone.
Drak's arm tightens around my waist. "I've never been more certain of anything."
Another brother—leaner than the others, with dark hair braided with small bones and eyes that seem to catalog every detail—nods once. "She smells right," he says simply. "Like she belongs."
The third brother remains silent, but there's curiosity in his gaze rather than hostility. The fourth—wild-eyed and restless—just snorts and melts back into the shadows.
"Kroy's never been one for ceremonies," Drak murmurs to me. "Not even his own."
I blink up at him. "He bonded too? With a human?"
Drak nods. “A few weeks ago. She came through the southern pass. He hasn’t been the same since.”
“I have a sister-in-law?” I ask in wonder. The words feel strange and wonderful on my tongue.
A faint smile tugs at his mouth. “You’ll meet her soon.”
Garruk steps forward, and I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Up close, he's even more intimidating, all battle scars and controlled violence. But when he speaks, there's something almost gentle in his tone.
"Do you understand what you're choosing?" he asks me. "This isn't just taking a mate. You're joining our clan. Taking on our enemies, our secrets, our way of life."
"I understand," I say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds.
"And if others of your kind come looking? If they bring guns and fire and try to drive us from our home?"
I think of the camera I'd been so desperate to get the perfect shot with, of the life I'd built chasing images of beauty without ever really seeing it.
"Then they'll have to go through me first," I say.
Something that might be approval flickers in Garruk's eyes. He nods to Drak.
"Then let it be done."
The ceremony itself is simpler than I expected and more profound than I could have imagined. Drak takes my hands in his massive ones, his voice carrying clearly across the stone circle as he speaks words in the old language. The sounds seem to resonate in my bones.
I don't understand the words, but I understand their meaning.Mine. Yours. Ours. Always.
When it's my turn, I speak from the heart in the only language I have.
