Page 27 of Protective Pucking Orc

A thin sheen of sweat dampened her hairline.

My claws flexed, digging into my palms.

I should’ve killed him.

The thought was a snarl in my chest, my Kteer surging forward, demanding blood, vengeance. I forced it back, exhaling through my nose. Sofia needed me here, not pacing the streets, hunting.

Yesterday, after we’d secured Rosa, while Lila turned packing into a game, Kardok had joined Torrk in using their enhanced senses to search the lot behind the diner. They said there’d been no sign of Anthony or his car, and no one had seen him disappear.

I felt powerless, standing here while the monster who hurt my Mate roamed free…but I couldn’t leave her, and I couldn’t even alert the authorities. No cops.

But Kardok and Torrk had agreed to put out the word that they were looking for Anthony; if he reappeared in Bramblewood, my teammates—my friends would find him.

And together, we’d protect my females.

He doesn’t know where she is. She’s safe here.

And she would remain safe here. Mine to protect.

I pressed the back of my hand to her forehead. Too warm. Her pulse fluttered against my fingers, too fast.

Shock. The human body was fragile in ways orc bodies weren’t. The bruises, the fear, the adrenaline crash—it had all taken its toll.

I could fix this.

I turned and left the room, moving quietly down the hall. The kitchen was still dark, the only light coming from the glow of the stove clock. I filled the kettle and set it to boil, then pulled the small wooden box from the highest cabinet—the one I’d brought with me from home.

My father, who’d understood herbs in a way my mother hadn’t, had carved it for her when they were newly Mated. The wood was smooth under my fingers, worn from years of use. Inside, the dried leaves of k’veth still held their scent—earthy, slightly bitter, with a hint of something sweet beneath. It grew wild in the high valleys of my homeland, a hardy plant that thrived where little else could. My father had taught us to harvest it, to dry it, to steep it into a tea that could pull a fever from the bones.

I supposed the humans had an equivalent here in their world, but I hadn’t needed to track it down. Not when ibuprofen had done fine for me these last eight years.

I measured a pinch into the teapot, then added a few drops of honey from the jar Torrk had brought me last summer from his vacation to Seattle. The kettle whistled, and I poured the steaming water over the leaves, watching the liquid darken.

The scent filled the kitchen—familiar, comforting. Something in my chest eased, and I exhaled as I turned to find the bottle with the pain meds for Sofia. I could treat her aches as well as her fever.

I let it steep, then poured a cup, testing the temperature with my finger. Still too hot. I added a splash of cold water from the tap, then carried it back to the guest room.

Sofia hadn’t moved. I set the cup on the nightstand, then hesitated.

I should wake her. She needed to drink it while it was fresh.

But she looked so fragile, her dark lashes fanned against her bruised cheek, her lips parted slightly. The split in her lower lip had scabbed over, but the swelling was worse. The bruise along her jaw had deepened to a sickly purple, the skin around her eye puffy and discolored.

My vision blurred as my Kteer howled for blood.

I turned away, pressing my fists to my eyes until the red haze of rage receded. When I looked back, my face was a mask again—calm, controlled.

“Sofia.”

Her name was a rough whisper. I touched her shoulder, gentle. “Dkaar.” It was an old word my parents had used for each other: beloved. It had slipped out yesterday, when my Mate was in danger, and now I couldn’t seem to stop thinking of her that way.

She stirred, a small sound escaping her. Her eyes fluttered open, then widened slightly as she focused on me. “Dakvaar?”

“You’re feverish.” I reached for the cup. “Drink this. It will help.”

She pushed herself up slowly, wincing as she moved. “What is it?”

“Medicine.” I held the cup out to her. “From my world.”