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“Move,” he said, attempting to thrust his way inside.
“Oh my, my!” I say, holding my hands up but not moving an inch. “Can we talk about this first, gentlemen? I don’t know what it is you're looking for. Perhaps I can help?”
An orc standing behind the leader gazes at my breasts, and his tongue falls out of his mouth like a mutt waiting for mealtime. It takes everything within my power to keep from gagging.
“There are rumors your homestead is harboring a dark elf,” the leader grunts again at me, his breath reeking of something sour and dead. “Move away at once or risk violent action!”
Although it seems like my femaleness is doing nothing to help, I continue to lay it on thick, even if it's just to give Verrin time to get his shit together.
“Oh my goodness,” I emphasize, sticking my chest out further. “I haven’t the foggiest idea about what it is you mean.”
My attempts at acting like a well-trained concubine fail, at least when it comes to the leader of this orc squad. He looks down at my breasts one final time, then proceeds to push me out of the way while the rest of his clan trails inside.
It wasn’t a hard shove, but my anger returned like a vehement flood. I have to keep it together, though, if I want to keep my head and the head of this mystical man I decided to bring back to my family’s farm.
I raised my voice, hoping Verrin was either hiding, gone, or perhaps, done something else that would aid us in this harrowing situation.
“Have a look around, of course,” I bellow.
The living room is by no means luxurious, but I try to keep it neat for my own sanity and the comfort of Carmen. But the orcs aren’t exactly a respectful or delicate kind, so they flip the cushions of the couch, rip the drawers out of the coffee and side tables, and even whip up a rug in the center of the kitchen as if a dark elf could hide in any of those spaces.
I cross my arms over my chest, squeezing my elbows, the nails digging in and leaving indents. Once they’d managed to ruin most of the main living area, they began to move down the hallway. I skip ahead, pinning my body against the wall again and posing to distract them.
“There’s nothing you could possibly need to see in there,” I say again in my high-pitched tone, smiling wide so my cheeks hurt. “We can sit down with some tea and chat to figure all of this out.”
I lean forward and shake my breasts, which seems to catch the dead eyes of a few of the orcs. One even opens its mouth and nods along, my chest acting as the pendulum in this sad, hypnotic act.
But the leader is having none of it. He grunts again and reaches out a hand to push me aside once more when I hear the click of the bedroom door.
My heart leapt into my throat, and an image of my death cut in front of my eyes … my head severed from my body, plopping onto the ground like a wet loaf of bread. And for some reason, I know that my last thought will be that I never got a single good fucking in my entire life.
Verrin comes out of the room, but he isn’t entirely the Verrin I saved. He comes out with his head tilted, still towering over me, with a grin on his face resembling that of a game show host.
“Afternoon, lads,” he said proudly.
The dark glossy skin has disappeared into a human suit, his lightning-white hair remaining, pushed back on his head like any man who grayed early. He wraps an arm around my shoulders, and I feel his skin, that undeniable human flesh, touching my own.
Not only does it make me quiver, but it thrills me. He has disguised himself with magic, looking similar with the same identifying features but softer in a human way.
I glance upward briefly and notice the blood-red eyes have been snuffed out, looking nearly as black as the orcs themselves.
“Who are you?” the leader grumbles. “What are you doing here?”
He lets out a laugh that could have been categorized as psychotic in a different context. He looks down at me briefly, then squeezes my shoulders with feigned affection.
“I’m a new transfer,” he confesses, though I doubt the orcs know who is actually in the encampment. “Is there a problem with my being here?”
The orcs look at each other, dumbfounded, while I, too, stand there, completely flabbergasted by his quick work. The idea of the implications of Verrin coming out of my room, even in a cover-up, sends that burning sensation right up my thighs again.
“What is your name?” the leader snorts.
“Hugh Mann,” Verrin said without missing a beat. “Lovely to make your acquaintance.”
My eyes widened, afraid that the more intelligent of the orcs would pick up his quip, but alas, it passed right over their heads.
They all turn away, grunting and groaning about the waste of time, when the leader whips back with a deranged look on his face.
I don’t know why, but it makes me shudder.
