Page 74 of My Orc Package Deal

Milo had been talking nonstop about the Eastshore Elementary holiday concert for weeks, and now that it was finally here, he was practically vibrating.

“You ready for tomorrow?” I asked him as we piled into Korrad’s truck, the heat blasting against the cold.

Milo nodded so hard his beanie nearly fell off. “Ms. Miles said I can play the snare drum for ‘Jingle Bells.’ And next year, in Upper School, I get to be in the band for the concert!”

I reached back and squeezed his knee. “That’s amazing, baby.”

He beamed. “I know! And Jay said he’ll come even though he hates music.”

Jay groaned from the front seat. “I don’t hate music. I just don’t get it like you do.”

“You hate it,” Milo sing-songed.

“Do not!”

“Do too!”

Korrad and I exchanged a look, then burst out laughing.

“Kitlings,” Korrad said, shaking his head.

“They’re your kitlings,” I shot back.

“Thank the gods for that.”

The drive—and ferry ride—home was a blur of bickering brothers and Korrad’s hand warm in mine, his thumb still tracing circles over my knuckles. The house was dark when we pulled up, the only light coming from the twinkling Christmas lights Jocelyn had helped me string along the porch last weekend.

Inside, the warmth hit me like a hug. The smell of pine from the tree in the living room, the faint scent of spaghetti sauce lingering in the air from our too-early dinner, the way the floorboards creaked underfoot like they were saying welcome home.

Milo disappeared into the sunroom to practice and Jay collapsed onto the couch with a groan. “I’m starving.”

Korrad nudged me toward the living room. “I’ll make sandwiches. You go put your feet up.”

I opened my mouth to argue—because someone had to be the responsible one around here—but he cut me off with a look.

“Dkaar. My turn to take care of you.”

All these months later, and I was amazed that such a declaration didn’t fill me with worry I wasn’t doing my part. That day in the lighthouse, the day I accepted Korrad’s Mate Bond, it was as if I finally understood what he’d been trying to tell me: Love didn’t keep score.

I pretended to huff as I let him steer me toward the couch. “Fine. But I’m helping with the dishes.”

“Deal.”

Jay was already half-asleep, his head lolling against the cushion, so I tucked a blanket around him and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He mumbled something that might’ve been “love you”, and my heart squeezed as I scooped up my laptop to work on my latest article for the Eastshore Gazette.

Korrad brought out a plate of sandwiches and a mug of tea for me, then nudged Jay awake and handed him a sandwich.

“Thanks, Dad,” he yawned. “Can I play a few rounds while I eat?”

I could see Korrad was going to agree, so I hurried to interject, “You have to read three chapters by Friday to finish the book Mr. Millan assigned by the end of break.”

“I can read before bed?” I could deny the pleading in his tone, but not the way he’d learned to open up his eyes that large and innocently. Korrad began to chuckle, and I rolled my own eyes and made a shooing motion.

With a pumped fist and a muttered, “Yes!” Jay grabbed his sandwich and ran for his room.

Still chuckling, Korrad settled beside me with his own food. The TV was on some holiday movie—something with snow and singing and a plot that made no sense—but neither of us was paying attention.

“What were you thinking about when I came in, Mate?” Korrad murmured, his voice low.