Page 104 of That’s My Orc, Tusk Off

The scribe carefully lifted a cookie from the container and turned it every which way, examining it before lifting it to his nose for a sniff.

“Smells sweet.” He took a bite. His eyes widened as he chewed, and he spoke around the food. “This is wonderful.”

“She makes the best cookies,” Traig said with a hint of a grin.

“I…” The scribe seemed to realize that he’d slipped from his stoic demeanor, because he finished the cookie, brushed crumbs off his robe, and lifted his pen, holding it over the ledger. None of the pleasure that had shown on his face remained.

“What else has she written in her notebook?” he asked Traig.

He could make things up, though the scribe might ask to view my notebook himself to verify it.

“She once wrote, Traig listened when I said the bloombacks were bonded,” Traig said. “He changed his mind. He learned to trust me.”

I’d written those entries to reinforce my belief that there was good in every moment. We just had to find it. I’d written them thinking no one would see them unless I chose to share them.

But I had chosen. Hadn’t I? I’d brought the notebook here and set it on his kitchen table. Told him to write in it. Used it as proof of our bond when nothing else would work.

I’d opened the door. He’d just walked through it further than I’d expected.

The scribe made another note. Longer this time.

Part of me wanted to be angry. To tell him that reading someone’s private thoughts without permission crossed a line we couldn’t uncross. But the part of me that had written his name over and over, that had noticed every small kindness and gentle touch, was relieved he knew.

Pretending was exhausting.

And maybe I’d left the notebook on the table, in plain sight, hoping he’d pick it up. Hoping he’d see what I couldn’t say out loud.

Fred grumbled, softer now. Amanda’s crown shifted to pale orange. Even the creatures knew something had cracked open.

Traig had seen past every defense I’d built. He knew how much space he’d taken up in my chest.

Instead of using that knowledge to hurt me or dismiss me or make me feel foolish, Traig had told the scribe. He’d claimed my words as proof.

“One more question,” the scribe said, setting his pen down. “Show me your mating marks.”

My blood turned to ice.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

WILLA

We didn’t have mating marks. We’d never even discussed it.

“We haven’t completed the ritual yet,” Traig said, his voice steady despite the panic in his eyes.

“Why not?”

Silence crashed through the room.

“We’re waiting,” I said.

The scribe’s gaze pinned me in place. “Waiting for what?”

“Until we’re married.” The words tumbled out fast. “Humans have their own traditions. We—I wanted both. The orc bonding and a human ceremony. That’s quite common.”

The scribe didn’t comment, just picked up his pen and made another note.

Fred bumped into my shoulder, grumbling low in his throat. Amanda’s crown flickered between yellow and orange.