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.”
