Also, you're quitting your job today. We'll discuss your new position as Horde Tech's Director of Corporate Operations over lunch.
This is not a request.
—T
I see the note, torn between outrage at his high-handed arrogance and a dangerous flutter of something that might be hope.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I grab it and find a calendar invitation for 12pm today: "Employment Negotiations & Lunch."
The audacity. The absolute nerve.
I'm grinning like an idiot as I reach for my tablet to start reviewing his offer.
CHAPTER 8
THRALL
Ileave Romee tangled in my sheets because if I stay one more minute, I'm canceling the entire retreat and keeping her locked in that cabin for the next three days. My instincts are roaring at me to mark her again, to make absolutely certain every creature within a fifty-mile radius understands she's claimed, but I walk away because she needs rest and I need to think.
Except thinking proves impossible when my whole body is still humming with the memory of her coming apart under my hands, her voice breaking on my name, the perfect way her smaller frame fits against mine like she was designed specifically for this purpose.
I've had lovers before. Orc women who understood the physicality, who matched my strength with their own. This is different. This is a fragile human who stood toe-to-chest with me and demanded compliance, who trusted me with her body despite the very real logistical concerns, who yielded and fought and surrendered all at once in a way that's currently making it difficult to focus on basic motor functions.
I make it back to my cabin, shower in water cold enough to hurt, and dress in fresh clothes that immediately feel wrongbecause they don't smell like her citrus and espresso scent. My Orc hindbrain is actively complaining about the separation, which is both unprecedented and deeply irritating.
I have a company to run. Investors to appease. A mandatory corporate retreat to endure for exactly forty-eight more hours before I can return to my properly climate-controlled office and remember how to function like a modern, civilized businessman instead of a territorial nightmare.
Instead, I'm writing a note that reads like a ransom demand and leaving a pen worth three thousand dollars on her pillow like some kind of deranged courting gift.
I scrub my hands over my face, feel the unfamiliar smoothness where I trimmed my tusks years ago to fit better into boardrooms, and move. The morning session starts in twenty minutes, which means I need to prevent my executives from staging a full-scale mutiny the second Romee isn't there to enforce compliance with aggressive hand gestures and weaponized scheduling.
The main lodgeis crawling with Orcs when I arrive, all of them looking deeply resentful about the 8am start time and the distinct lack of coffee strong enough to justify consciousness. My VP of Engineering, Garak, is attempting to organize a "sick day" rebellion in the corner, his voice carrying across the space.
"I'm saying we claim food poisoning. All of us. Simultaneously. What's she going to do, take our temperature?"
"She'll know," Vrok from Marketing counters, looking genuinely nervous. "She always knows. Yesterday I tried to skip the meditation session and she appeared out of nowhere with a yoga mat and a deeply threatening smile."
"The smile is worse than the airhorn," someone else mutters, and there's a general murmur of agreement.
I clear my throat.
The entire room goes silent and turns toward me with expressions ranging from apprehension to outright fear, which is gratifying but also mildly concerning given that I theoretically pay these people to challenge my ideas and innovate fearlessly.
"Morning session starts in fifteen minutes," I announce, my voice carrying easily across the space. "Romee has the morning off. I'll be running today's activities."
The relief that floods through the room is palpable and immediately insulting in its transparency. These are supposed to be the brightest technological minds in the sector, yet they're visibly brightening at the prospect of my involvement like I'm somehow a preferable alternative to Romee's meticulously organized itinerary.
"Does that mean we can finally skip the trust exercises and the whole circle-sharing nonsense?" Garak asks hopefully, his scarred face already brightening with premature optimism. "I've got actual code to review, and frankly, my emotional availability is at approximately negative three percent."
I lean against the lodge doorframe, my amber eyes sweeping across the gathered executives with cold amusement.
"No."
The collective deflation is almost audible. Whatever slim hope had kindled in their expressions dies a swift, brutal death.
The collective groan is extremely unprofessional, and I make a mental note to discuss organizational culture in our next board meeting, right before I cancel every single team-building mandate our investors have forced into the corporate bylaws.
I'm about to continue when Vrok's nostrils flare, his head tilting in that particular way Orcs do when they catch an unexpected scent. His eyes widen fractionally, then snap to me with a look of dawning realization that I do not appreciate.
