Page 31 of Till Orc Do Us Part

The roof gives a groan like a dying beast.

I don’t hesitate. I duck beneath the sagging frame, boards snapping beneath my boots. The old man clutches the counter, shaking.

I wrap an arm around his thin frame. “Hold tight.”

He nods, teeth chattering.

I lift him—light as driftwood—and turn to carry him out.

Then something gives above us.

A beam. Heavy. Falling fast.

I twist instinctively, shielding Emerson with my back. The beam clips my shoulder, hard enough to send a sharp, wet burst of pain through muscle and bone.

I grit my teeth, stagger, but do not fall.

“Move,” I snarl at myself. “Move.”

The next breath burns, but I push forward—storm be damned.

We emerge into the open. Emerson coughs, gasping.

“There,” I say, setting him down beneath a sturdier awning. “Stay.”

He grips my arm. “Thank you, son.”

I nod once, then glance at my shoulder.

Blood.

A long gash slices from bicep to forearm, shirt and skin torn alike. Rain washes crimson down my fingers.

I curse under my breath. Not life-threatening. But inconvenient.

Around me, the storm still rages. Shouts echo from farther down the boardwalk. People need help. But the world swims slightly now—edges blurring.

I start to move anyway.

“Drokhaz!”

The voice cuts through the wind—sharp, urgent.

I turn.

Rowan.

She’s running toward me, rain plastering her hair to her face. Eyes wild, scanning me top to toe.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demands, skidding to a stop. “You’re bleeding!”

“I am aware.”

She glares, breathless. “Sit. Now.”

“I am fine.”

“Bullshit.”