Page 5 of Saved By the Mountain Man Orc
It's all I can manage. All my brain can process.
He tilts his head slightly, and those tusks—curved and sharp and white—catch the firelight. When he speaks, his voice is deep and rough, like gravel tumbling down a mountainside.
"You're safe," he says. Each word is carefully measured, as if he's unused to speaking. "You fell. You were hurt. But you’re okay now."
There's an accent there I can't place—something that suggests English isn't his first language, though he speaks it perfectly.
My throat tightens with emotion. "You helped me."
"I had to." A pause, and something flickers in those golden eyes. "Couldn't leave you."
There's weight in his words. More meaning than the simple statement should carry. His voice has a gentleness that doesn't match his size, like he's used to people being afraid and is trying not to make it worse.
"What are you?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
His brow furrows, and I catch a glimpse of something almost vulnerable in his expression. "Not human," he says simply. "But not what they say, either."
I push myself up to sitting, the fur blanket pooling around my waist. I'm still wearing my clothes—hiking pants and thermal shirt—but he has removed my boots and jacket. The bandage around my ankle is neat and professional, wrapped with what looks like hand-woven cloth.
"What do they say?" I ask.
He studies my face for a long moment. "That we're monsters. Killers. That we steal women and eat children." His mouth twistsin something that might be a bitter smile. "Some of it's true. Most of it isn't."
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, testing my weight. Pain shoots up from my ankle, sharp enough to make me gasp.
He's across the room before I can blink, moving with a speed that shouldn't be possible for something his size. One moment he's in the chair, the next he's kneeling beside the bed, his large hands hovering near my leg.
"Don't," he rumbles. "You're not ready to walk."
I freeze. He's so close now I can smell him—woodsmoke and pine, something wild and clean that makes my pulse quicken for reasons that have nothing to do with fear. His hands are enormous, scarred and calloused, but they shake slightly as he hovers them over my injured ankle.
"I bound it the best I could," he says, golden eyes focused on the bandage. "It's not broken. But it needs rest."
"Thank you,” I say softly.
He exhales like he's been holding his breath since I woke up. The sound is shaky, almost vulnerable.
"What's your name?" I ask.
He hesitates, as if he’s unsure he wants to share it with me. "Drak."
"Drak." I test the sound on my tongue. It fits him. "I'm Jasmine."
He nods once, then slowly rises to his full height, towering over me like a mountain. "You're safe here, Jasmine. I won't hurt you."
The way he says my name—careful, almost reverent—sends an unexpected warmth spreading through my chest.
I believe him.Which should terrify me more than anything else that's happened today.
The hours that follow pass in a haze of quiet domesticity that feels surreal. Drak moves around the cabin with surprising gracefor a creature his size, tending to a fire that fills the space with dancing light, checking a pot of something that smells like herbs and meat simmering on a wood-burning stove.
Everything in the cabin is handmade, from the furniture to the dishes. It's beautiful in its simplicity, functional without being sparse. Furs and woven blankets add warmth and color, and shelves line the walls holding jars of dried herbs, carved wooden bowls, and what looks like hand-bound books.
He doesn't talk much, but he's constantly aware of me. Every few minutes, his eyes flick in my direction, checking to make sure I'm still there, still breathing, still real.
He checks the soup again, nods with satisfaction, and ladles some into a bowl. He gives it to me, along with a cup of tea. I gratefully take a bite, surprised at how hungry I suddenly am. The stew is rich and hearty, with tender chunks of meat swimming in a broth flavored with fresh herbs. I have no idea what it is, but it's the best thing I've ever tasted.
"Keep eating," he says, settling back into his chair. "You need strength."
