6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

M ara

My fingers tremble as I cling to Krull’s massive frame. The deafening roar of the tsunami fades, but my panic remains. I’m paralyzed against Krull’s chest, unable to form a coherent thought beyond my terror.

Krull’s steady voice and gentle reassurances are the only things tethering me to reality. His strong arms cradle me with unexpected tenderness for someone so large and intimidating. I feel oddly safe here, wrapped in an embrace that could easily crush me, yet it somehow makes me feel cherished.

As the cacophony outside subsides, Krull suggests we stay put a little longer. I nod mutely, beyond grateful that he’s acting as though it’s his mission to protect me. Is there something wrong with me that his caring touch makes my pulse skitter for reasons entirely unrelated to fear ?

We wait in charged silence as an eerie quiet descends. I grab the phone from my pocket and see the most recent text from the National Weather Service on the screen.

“Expect storm surges for the next several hours,” I read out loud.

“Couldn’t they have been a bit more specific?” Krull snarks. It wasn’t funny, but I laugh. I guess that’s what they call gallows humor. It takes a bit of the edge off.

When I try to contact my parents, all circuits are busy. I should have expected as much.

I send a text, I’m holed up in my apartment, doing fine. Perhaps it will get through at some point when the circuits aren’t jammed with actual emergencies.

I know I should extract myself from Krull’s arms and survey the damage to the building before the next surge—try to formulate some plan of action.

My entire life is wrapped up in this building, in the artwork possibly floating in dirty water one floor below us. But I can’t force myself to pull away just yet. Krull’s solid warmth is the only certainty in a world tilted off its axis.

At last, Krull stirs, his gravelly voice rumbling through his chest. “I think the worst is over for the moment, but let’s take a careful look outside before venturing down.”

I shudder at the thought of witnessing the devastation but know we can’t hide up here forever. Krull helps me to my feet. When I sway unsteadily, his hands span my waist, helping me stay upright. That simple touch sends a flush of warmth through my belly. I shake off the wayward reaction, moving hesitantly to the window, with Krull shadowing me closely, then settling behind me, his large palms settling at my hips.

I gasp at the chaotic scene outside. The street below churns with debris and filthy water. Smashed bicycles, downed poles and trees, someone’s metal backyard building, all swimming in the swirling currents.

The buildings across the street don’t seem badly damaged—hopefully an indicator of what my building looks like. Our street may have survived the worst of the water, but there are smoke plumes in the distance. Sirens wail continuously, underscoring the unfolding catastrophe.

“Oh god,” I choke out. “It’s like a different city.”

Krull braces me with one strong arm across my shoulders as I turn and sag against him. “It’s bad,” he agrees grimly. “But we’re still here.”

Outside, the night glows red with roving emergency lights. The urban soundtrack is all screams, shattering glass, and groaning infrastructure. But cocooned in Krull’s arms, his earthy, masculine scent surrounding me, the chaos almost fades away.

I know I’m in shock. Know that I need to snap out of this paralysis and deal with our predicament. But my overtaxed mind rebels, craving only the comfort of Krull’s warm arms.

I press my cheek against his muscular chest and feel the steady thump of his heart beneath my palm. My eyes drift closed as I try to control my rioting emotions.

Krull makes a low, soothing noise, the vibration rumbling through me. One wide hand smooths up and down my back .

“It’s alright, Mara,” he murmurs. “We’re safe for now. I’ve got you.”

I breathe him in, even though the lack of air conditioning means we’ve both been bathed in sweat since the power went out. It’s sweltering in here.

Long moments pass as I cling shamelessly to this intimacy forged in trauma. Finally, necessity reasserts itself. I need to survey the damage, try to protect my livelihood if possible. And remaining wrapped in Krull’s protective arms crosses lines that can’t afford to be blurred.

I pull back reluctantly, meeting the orc’s gleaming amber gaze. Something dangerous sparks, hot and immediate, before I force my attention away.

“I should check on the gallery,” I manage unevenly.

“One of us needs to do that. I volunteer.”

“Really?” Shit. I hate the desperate sound of my voice, but I’d gladly pay money not to have to go down there and face the devastation alone.

“It’s pitch black down there. My eyesight is better. Let me do this for you.”

“Thanks.” I hope the vehemence with which I said that one word tells him how grateful I am for his offer.

I spent every dime I had on this endeavor, hitched the smallest U-Haul they make to my 2011 Ford, and left everything else behind to start this gallery. Where is that woman, I wonder? The one who threw her shoulders back and jumped into the unknown with both feet. I don’t feel strong like her now. I feel broken.