2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

M ara

Is that an orc?

I’m standing on the threshold, holding the back door open as I watch the delivery truck pull into the garage with the Santiago piece I’ve been waiting for. I blink twice, hardly believing my eyes as I take in the enormous figure behind the wheel—moss green skin, powerful build straining against an ugly orange uniform, and large tusks jutting from a strong, angular jaw. My stomach does a strange flip.

I moved here from Columbus, Ohio nine months ago and although I’m aware the Integration Zone isn’t far from here, I’ve never seen an Other. Are they allowed out of the Zone? Oh yeah, I seem to recall they can get out on pass to work.

A mix of uneasy fascination and instinctive wariness rises in me as he swings out of the truck and strides confidently toward me. He’s so tall he’ll have to duck to clear the doorframe.

“You’re Mara? We spoke on the phone.” His deep, resonant voice vibrates through my body.

I nod dumbly, pulse racing as I fully take in his imposing form, which is just an arm’s length away. His amber eyes, striking against his emerald skin, pin me with an intense gaze. Black, swirling tattoos snake down his muscular arms, disappearing beneath rolled-up sleeves. There’s something so primal, so masculine about his presence; it steals my breath.

“I’m Krull. Where do you want the delivery?”

I have to consciously snap out of my trance, realizing I’ve been staring too long.

“Just through here.” I turn to lead him into the gallery, my professional mask slipping back into place to cover my flustered reaction. But I’m hyper-aware of Krull’s hulking form following close behind me, his earthy, musky scent filling my nostrils, making me lightheaded.

I turn to show him where the piece goes. The short hallway opens into the high-ceilinged gallery. It’s one big room with a small desk near the front door. The entire wall facing the street is a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows.

“Y-you can just… set it on the floor there.” Why is my voice shaking? Get a grip, Mara! He’s just here to do a job, same as any other delivery person. But I can’t deny there’s something about his penetrating gaze that unnerves me, even as it ignites an unexpected heat low in my belly.

He nods, pivots on his booted heel, and within a minute, he returns with the piece. Santiago gave me the dimensions via email—five by ten feet. It’s only now, seeing it in Krull’s huge, ripped arms, that I realize how big it is. He makes it look as though it weighs nothing more than tissue paper.

“You just want me to put it on the floor?” he asks after setting it where I’d pointed earlier. “Need help unpacking it? Hanging it?”

When he steps toward me, a primal wariness skitters up my spine, urging me to keep my distance. But his expression seems earnest, helpful even. I wrestle with my conflicting instincts. “No. Just—”

Suddenly, the building lets out an ominous groan. The polished concrete floor pitches beneath my feet. Adrenaline spikes through me in sickening waves as I stumble forward—directly into Krull’s wide, hard chest. His strong hands grip my arms to steady me as the room rocks and sways, dust raining down from the rafters.

“Get down!” he bellows, pulling me tightly against him. We sink to the trembling floor as a deafening crack splits the air. Krull hunches protectively over my smaller frame, his body solid and unyielding as my world crumbles around us. Chunks of plaster fall around us while the walls groan and flex. The quake intensifies, raw power rumbling up through the foundations.

“It’s okay. I’ll protect you.” His deep voice is muffled against my hair as I squeeze my eyes shut and cling desperately to his large frame, heart galloping out of control. His scent envelops me—sweat, harsh soap, and something distinctly male. It shouldn’t comfort me, but somehow it does.

The deafening roar goes on and on. In my panic, all I can focus on is the heat of Krull’s big body wrapped around me and my pulse frantically pounding in my ears. Please let this end. Please don’t let me die here in the arms of a stranger—no matter how strong and oddly calming his embrace may be.

Finally, blessedly, the awful shaking subsides. In the quake’s eerie aftermath, Krull helps me to my feet. I survey my gallery, taking in the crooked frames and drifting plaster dust with a sense of numb detachment. How can everything change so drastically in an instant? And why does part of me still want to burrow back into the safety of Krull’s arms?

Rattled and reeling, I avoid meeting Krull’s concerned gaze, though I can feel the weight of it on me. With his hand resting consolingly on my shoulder, we stand amidst the destruction, catching our breaths as sirens wail in the distance.

At least we’re both still alive. Now all I have to do is pick up the pieces.