It was a shocking question, an impossible unanswerable demand — and one that was made worse, damnably so, by the orc taking a swift, graceful step backwards, and reaching for the bottom of his tunic. And as Rosa stared, stunned, struck still and silent, he drew the tunic off over his head, and dropped it to the floor.
And. His chest was broad, grey, muscled — but unlike his untouched face, it was marked by many scars. They were deep, ragged, ugly claw-marks, and combined with the huge breadth of him, they made him look dark, dangerous, deadly. And then — Rosa stifled a hoarse, inexplicable groan — the orc seemed to shake out his big form, easy and graceful, while his claws almost seemed to snap out even further than before, sharp and black and gleaming.
And then, one of those claws came up to his thick black braid. Yanking hard upon it, enough to jerk his head sideways — but then he was shaking his hair out too, tumbling it loose and shining over his muscled chest and shoulders. And Rosa very nearly whimpered at the sight, her entire body aching and choked and yearning, both hands come up to press against her powerfully surging heartbeat.
The orc was looking back at her, sweeping those suddenly blazing black eyes up and down her form, and his smooth step toward her was a flare, a blow, a terrifying, mouthwatering gift from the heavens.
“Well, woman?” he growled, raising a clawed hand before her eyes, and baring those sharp white teeth. “Is this what you wish for?”
Oh gods, itwas, and Rosa’s traitorous, betraying mouth moaned aloud, her body finally giving way to full-blown trembling. While the orc’s eyes flared with triumph, and that clawed hand came back to its familiar place on her throat, circling close, dangerous, beautiful,everything.
“Speak this, woman,” ordered the menacing, breathtaking beast before her. “This, for your library.”
Rosa couldn’t think, couldn’t follow, could only stare and choke and breathe. Lost in this moment, in this twirling shouting vision before her sparking eyes. He was going to make it truth, he would, this, for the library —
He’d come even closer, that big hand convulsing against her neck, that scent of him swirling raw and reckless and delicious in her mouth. “Speak, woman,” he commanded, lower this time, those eyes hard and intent on hers. “No falsehoods.”
And in that desperate, hanging moment, there was no thought of falsehood, of dissembling, of searching or secrets or war. Only a craving, furious longing, a promise, a question, a truth. Speak.
And without thought, without intention, Rosa raised her chin, pressed her throat closer into those warm safe fingers, and spoke.
“Yes, my lord,” she whispered. “Frighten me.”
7
Rosa’s words landed like a stone, rippling through the hollow, aching silence. Yes, my lord, yes, my lord, yes.
Frighten me.Frighten me.
It was almost as though she could feel them reverberating, striking against the orc’s bared form. Making his mouth convulse, his head ducking and angling sideways, while those black eyelashes fluttered against his grey cheek. Almost as though Rosahadstruck him, somehow, and there was a strange, inexplicable regret, an impossible urge to take the words back —
And without at all meaning to, Rosa’s shaky hand reached toward him, and slid against that scarred, heaving chest. Her fingers spreading wide, pressing flat against his warm skin, pulsing with the surprising power of his thundering heartbeat beneath.
“I mean,” she whispered, “only if you want to. You don’t have to.”
There was a sudden, grating noise from the orc’s throat — not quite a laugh — and a flex of that huge hand against her neck. “You say this, woman,” he replied, oddly flat, “when I could so simply kill you, before you speak another word.”
Rosa felt her fingers clutch against that warm bare chest, against the furious pounding of his heart. And instead of the fear she should have felt, there was only a strange, lurching awareness. Perhaps even — understanding.
“I know you won’t kill me,” she whispered. “You wouldn’t.”
The words came out sounding fervent, fierce — and even as the orc’s mouth twitched into a brief, wry little smile, his blinking eyes on hers looked lost, bitter, almost bleak.
“You must tell me if I truly alarm you,” his low voice said. “Or if you wish me to stop.”
Rosa nodded, urgent and immediate, almost as though compelled — and that dark head nodded too, those dark eyelashes again fluttering against his cheek. And then he once again seemed to shake out his big body, quiet and fluid and graceful, as if settling it properly into place.
And then — Rosa shivered all over — those eyes lifted again, finding hers with deadly, breathtaking force. Eyes that were black, glittering, hungry.
The eyes of a monster.
They roved up and down her small frame, powerful and greedy and utterly disdainful, almost as though they were undressing her, exposing her — while that huge, looming bulk came a silent, purposeful step closer.
“Foolish woman,” his voice said, hard, a threat. “Do you not know what orcs do to ripe little women like you?”
Rosa blinked, went to take an instinctive step backwards — but there was only the solid, sturdy lending desk behind her, holding her in place. Holding her here, alone in the library, only a hands-breadth away from a vicious, powerful, bare-chested orc.
“Do you not know?” he asked again, and this time he smiled, cold and bitter. And that huge, hand had come up, brandishing its black claws toward her eyes, before turning to trace those claws light, gentle, menacing, down the side of her cheek.
