Page 28 of Falling for the Grumpy Orc (Monsters of Saltford Bay #1)

Chapter Twenty-Two

Cassidy

The half-moon hangs low in the sky, casting everything in a silvery wash as Gerralt and I make our way up the gravel driveway to the lodge.

Despite the crisp night air, warmth curls low in my stomach, spreading through me like slow-burning embers.

The events of the festival still buzz pleasantly in my mind.

The laughter, the closeness, the way Gerralt slowly let down his walls, piece by piece, until I saw glimpses of the man beneath all that gruffness. And now, it’s just the two of us again.

We get out of the truck and walk up the gravel driveway, hand in hand. I feel giddy, like a teenage girl sneaking out to meet her first love. Only I'm not sneaking out, but sneaking.

And not with my first love, but perhaps my last.

The thought makes my lips curl into a smile. Do I love Gerralt?

I cast a sideways glance at his towering figure, so handsome, so strong. Yes. I do. I'm desperately, hopelessly in love with him.

Gerralt’s body radiates heat beside me, his solid presence grounding, steady, yet igniting something almost unbearably electric in my veins.

"You sure you didn't want to stay for the fireworks?" Gerralt asks, his deep voice a low rumble that sends an aching pulse between my legs. His arm brushes against mine as we walk, and the small, fleeting contact nearly has me losing my breath.

I cast him a sidelong glance, my lips curving into a deliberate, knowing smile. My skin feels too tight, my pulse hammering with anticipation.

"The only fireworks I'm interested in are back in the bedroom."

His steps falter, just for a fraction of a second, then his amber eyes widen before darkening, molten heat simmering in their depths. The sheer hunger in his gaze sends a jolt of arousal straight through me, pooling deep, making my thighs press together instinctively.

I swallow, my breath uneven, heart racing with the knowledge that we are only moments away from being alone again. That his hands, his mouth, will be on me soon.

My steps quicken toward the porch, my hands fumbling slightly as I fish my keys from my pocket. My fingers tremble just enough to make slipping the key into the lock more of a struggle than it should be, and every nerve in my body is on high alert, aware of him just behind me.

So close. So warm. So big.

I can feel his presence, the heat of his body like a physical pull, and my mind is already racing ahead to the moment we step inside.

The faint, rhythmic sound of pattering reaches my ears, cutting through my spiraling thoughts. It’s so soft at first, I almost don’t register it. Then it intensifies. It's a muted, relentless splatter, like rain against a rooftop.

But the sky above us is crystal clear.

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat.

A strange, creeping unease replaces the warmth building inside me.

Something is wrong. Frowning, I push open the door, and the sound swells into a full-on rush, a chaotic splashing that sends a spike of unease through my gut.

Cold water surges out over my shoes, soaking through the supple leather instantly.

The door swings wide, and I step inside, reaching for the light switch. My fingers barely graze the switch before Gerralt's hand shoots out, gripping my wrist in a firm but controlled hold.

"Don't," he says, his voice a low, urgent growl. "If the wiring got wet, flipping that could fry the whole system or you."

A shiver runs down my spine, and I let my hand drop. Darkness meets us, save for what little moonlight filters through the windows.

Gerralt pulls out his phone, turning on the flashlight. The beam cuts through the darkness, illuminating the foyer, and my heart stops.

Water. Everywhere.

It pools across the wooden floors Gerralt and I painstakingly refinished, soaking into the vintage rug I found at a flea market last weekend.

As my eyes adjust, I see it farther into the hallway.

Water pours from the ceiling, streaming down the walls, flowing from the hallway that leads to the kitchen.

"No," I whisper, stepping forward. Cold water immediately soaks through my festival-worn shoes, sending a chill up my legs that has nothing to do with temperature. "No, no, no, no."

Gerralt swears, pushing past me with surprising speed for someone his size. His boots splash through what's at least an inch of standing water as he strides into the middle of the foyer. His keen eyes scan the ceiling, tracing the path of destruction.

"It's coming from the ceiling," he growls, his face tight with tension. "Look at the walls."

I follow his gaze, my stomach dropping further. Water stains spread like bruises across the fresh drywall, turning the sage-green paint a sickly dark color. The ceiling sags in places, threatening to collapse entirely.

Panic grips me, making it hard to breathe. I stumble toward the reception desk, my fingers gripping the half-soaked edge to steady myself. Weeks of work, dripping away before my eyes. The freshly finished kitchen, the repaired walls, the new furniture, all ruined.

"Cassidy, focus." Gerralt's voice cuts through my spiral, sharp and commanding. His large hand grips my arm, anchoring me to the present. "Where's the main shutoff valve?"

"Uh… uh." I blink rapidly, trying to clear the fog of panic. "Basement. Bottom of the stairs near the storage closet."

Without another word, Gerralt moves, taking the stairs two at a time. I hear the dull thud of his boots against the dampened steps as he disappears into the darkness below. I stand frozen, listening to the relentless drip-drip-drip of water destroying everything I've worked for.

Minutes later, though it feels like hours, the hissing rush of water stops. The sudden silence is almost worse, leaving only the eerie dripping sound, like a ticking clock marking the death of my dreams.

I force myself to move, to assess the damage.

It's worse than I initially thought. The hallway toward the kitchen is a disaster zone.

Soggy drywall sags from the walls like wet cardboard.

Water pools in the dips and warps of the floorboards.

Electrical outlets drip with moisture, and I don't even want to think about what that means for the wiring.

I press a hand against my mouth, trying to hold back a sob. Insurance won't cover this quickly. Even with the money from selling my share of the house with Jason, repairs will take weeks, maybe months. Time I don't have.

"This can't be happening," I whisper to the empty hallway, my voice cracking. "Not now."

Gerralt emerges from the basement, his forearms streaked with water, his black t-shirt clinging to his broad chest. His expression is carved from stone, amber eyes blazing with a fury I've never seen before.

"This wasn't an accident," he says, his voice deadly quiet. "Someone did this on purpose."

I stare at him, his words not quite registering. "On purpose?"

Gerralt gestures to a section of drywall that looks like it was deliberately punched through, jagged edges surrounding an exposed copper pipe.

The scars on the metal aren’t from wear or pressure; they’ve been cut, rough and uneven, like someone was in a hurry and didn’t care how much damage they caused.

"These were broken. Cut through."

My pulse thuds in my ears. "Who would do this?"

But Gerralt doesn't answer me. Instead, he pulls out his phone and his fingers fly over the screen. The call connects after barely a ring.

“We’ve got sabotage at the Saltwater Lodge,” Gerralt says without preamble, his voice edged with fury. “Water pipes were cut open. The entire first floor is flooded. Just send Adrian right away.”

A low growl rumbles from the other end. I don't need to ask questions to know the operator is a werewolf, just like the sheriff. They don’t waste time with pleasantries.

“I’ll send the sheriff to secure the scene. You see anyone suspicious?”

“Not yet,” Gerralt mutters, though his eyes are already scanning the darkness beyond the porch, his senses on high alert.

I'm still standing in the flooded foyer, my arms wrapped tightly around my chest. I look through the hazy blur of unshed tears at the devastation unfolding around me, holding myself together through sheer force of will.

This can’t be happening. Not after everything.

Then something shifts, the air, the energy. There's a prickle at the nape of my neck, a deep, gut-felt instinct screaming that we're not alone.

Gerralt stiffens beside me, his broad back going rigid. I see his nostrils flare, his sharp amber eyes narrowing toward the large bay window. Every muscle in his body coils tight, a predator scenting its prey.

Something's out there.

“Stay inside,” he growls, his voice so firm, so final, that I don’t even think to argue .

Before I can ask what’s wrong, he’s already moving, launching toward the door with a speed that seems impossible for a man his size.

The floorboards groan under his weight as he barrels out onto the porch.

I barely have time to process the sudden void where he was before his voice explodes into the night.

“HEY!” His roar shakes the air like rolling thunder.

I rush forward, my bare feet splashing through frigid water, and slam my hands against the doorframe just in time to see a shadow dart toward the tree line.

Someone was here, watching us.

And Gerralt is chasing them down.