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“I don’t know. She says it calms people down and helps them to deal with their problems.”
The single laugh falls from my lips. “No problems are solved with talk.”
“We try it. Just start by telling me what the clothes are for. And the flowers.”
Mol stares at me, and it’s clear he’s not going to back down. I might be working with Cardan more these days, but Mol is still the leader of our clan. Unless I want a fight, I’m going to have to give him something. And I don’t have time for a fight, not with Ivy all alone.
I consider my words, eyeing him with suspicion, then grunt out, “Does Raven like flowers?”
His eyes narrow. “You’re bringing flowers for my mate?”
“No.” The word rumbles from my lips. I start to go past him. This therapy thing is bullshit. It’s going to get one of us killed.
“She likes flowers,” Mol growls. “Humans like flowers. Theybrighten up the place. Apparently.”
“Like a fire?”
He shrugs. “They just look at them. And smell them. Who are these flowers for?”
“Nobody. A human.”
“What human? A human female? Oran…”
“Nobody,” I repeat, and this time I grab his arm and pull it out of the way, storming out of the hut.
“Oran, if you have a mate I should know.” His words trail after me as I stomp through the camp. “I am Mol. I am leader. Oran!”
“No mate,” I grunt, then see Athaan coming out of our mother’s tent. She looks me up and down then starts to grin.
“What’s this about a mate? And why do you have flowers? And female clothes…? Wait, are thosemyclothes?”
“I will get you more,” I growl, and hurry my steps as I head for the edge of the camp.
* * *
The scream cutsthrough me like a knife, and I feel my heart start to speed. The woods are suddenly too large, too encroaching. Before I know it, I’m dropping into a crouch as I start to run forward, heading towards the sound, but I already know who it was.
Ivy.
I’d recognize her voice underwater from a mile away. She doesn’t sound terrified. She sounds furious. And that might be worse.
As I break from the woods, I see the shitty building we use as a prison cell and my stomach turns. What was I doing? Mol is right, Cardan and Vlog—especially Vlog—are psychos. They do this sort of thing for fun. And I’ve been helping them.
The modified Bentley, made larger for orc use, is still warm as I vault over the hood, unwilling to take the time to go around. She needs me.
I rip the tarp from the doorway, tossing it aside, and drop the bundle of orc clothes and flowers on the ground as I head inside. And her voice nearly makes my ears bleed with rage.
“Do your fucking worst, you ugly bastard. You think I’m scared of you?Youshould be the one scared. I’m going to kill you. Both of you. Just wait.”
Vlog’s maniac laugh as I hustle down the corridor makes me growl. “Smile for this camera, human sweetheart. Photograph for your grandfather. He sells, or we do worse to you.”
“Fuck you!”
I come around the corner just in time to see her leg fly up between Vlog’s thighs, the shackle broken on the ground as she strikes him hard in the crotch. They have her tied to a chair by the wrists, while Naarsh stands by with a camera taking picture of her wounds.
Her fresh wounds.
They’ve beaten her. There’s a dark bruise on her cheek, her lip swollen and cut. The only salvation of the moment is she is not naked like I left her. Vlog is unclothed besides his pants and she is wearing what must be his shirt as it hangs down nearly to her ankles, the sleeves rolled up to her wrists. For a moment I’m so overcome with rage I just stall, staring, every muscle tense as I try to decide whether to rip Vlog’s head from his shoulders first or shove that camera right up his fucking ass.
