As he snapped out orders, Ris took the opportunity to look him over. Half of his dark hair was pulled into a haphazard topknot on the side of his head, while the other half had been fashioned into an intricate plait, the sort she herself might get for a special occasion, requiring a salon visit to accomplish. The effect, coupled with the way he was dressed, was the least intimidating thing she could imagine, a far cry from the way he’d looked standing before the group of towering orcs only minutes earlier.Still, she thought, averting her eyes lest he meet them again, he was still vibrating in fury and Ris had no doubt that he yet might decide to swallow them all whole.
"Ains, are you on my payroll?" Ris realized her protector was the target of the snapped question, felt the hand that had dropped to her hip squeeze lightly before nudging her gently. "Oh, absolutely not."
"Then take her," he gritted out, fists balling again, "andgo."
"Tate," her punkish protector paused, nodding meaningfully at her drink, and she quickly tipped it back, "you sure you’re okay? Because you don’t really seem okay."
The slim orc dragged a hand over his face, huffing out a hard breath. "Justgo, Ains."
The alcohol burned and her head spun as the tall orc scooped her up like a bride. Ris threw her arms around his neck, holding on for dear life as he swung her away from the bar, feeling like she was several stories in the air, not having appreciated his height or the way he’d been bent over until that moment.
"Thank you for protecting my customers, Ainsley. I appreciate you helping to prevent a lawsuit, Ainsley. I’m sorry I blew you off and ignored all of your texts, Ainley. You’re a good friend, Ainsley."
"Goodbye, Ainsley." The slim orc rolled his eyes dramatically before turning away, carefully stepping around the broken glass that glittered across the floor to disappear through the doorway once more as the barkeep let two young goblins in, armed with brooms and dustpans, quickly setting to work on the mess of the floor.
The breeze had a chilly bite as they stepped out into the black night, and she was thankful for the heat his body provided her. If the fight hadn’t broken out, he would have had to work quite a bit harder to get this close, she thought, as he smirked down at her.Guess that’s part of the game, lovely . . . the finding out.She wondered if itwasthe same orc from the first trip, and her stomach swooped at the thought. The roar of motorcycle engines moving up the block, the sound reverberating between the buildings on the narrow street made conversation impossible, and they had made it all the way to the corner before the night had quieted once more. She was still held aloft in his arms, her own arms wrapped around his neck, and the curve of his lips was tantalizingly close as he paused before the building on the corner. There were people milling about, strolling beneath the twinkle lights strung across the lane, but all Ris could focus on was the devilish sparkle in his eyes; the overhead streetlight catching on the silver bands around his tusks as he grinned. Coming to the little bar had been a good plan after all.Ainsley.
"The night is young, Nanaya. Fancy a proper drink?"
♥ ♥ ♥
Silva
She woke that morningto his nose bumping her own, wide awake as she blinked blearily. Silva wasn’t sure how they always managed to wind up sharing the same pillow when the bed was heaped with them, but she’d not found a reason to complain — she would unfailingly be pressed to the long line of his body, his knee pushed through her legs and his arm around her, warm and close, exactly the way she liked. She suspected it was her own nocturnal doing anyway, as it was usually his pillow she shared. Her body would be in the middle of the bed, crowding him on his side, but he’d never once disentangled them, forcing her to wake up cold and lonely in her own far corner, and when she woke up in the middle of the night to tiptoe to the bathroom, which she always did, his arm would open for her return, his eyes never even opening. The fact that she even had aher sideof his bed thrilled her, one of the tiny, insignificant things she had begun counting.
When she’d woken sometime the night before to find herself pinned beneath his arm, her pea-sized bladder demanding she get up, his breath was a steady exhalation on the pillow beside her. Detangling herself carefully so as not to wake him, tiptoeing to the kitchen after using the restroom to refill her water glass, she’d discovered the unopened gallon of apple cider, pressed by one of the shops in the resort hamlet.
She’d told him about the cider thief in her office several weeks earlier, sitting across his lap with her arms around his neck, lamenting that she counted on the half-gallon jug she purchased from a local farm to last the whole week, and he’d clucked his tongue in annoyance on her behalf. His eyes had lit as he told her about the end-of-season press made by the local shop, one made from bitter apples, insisting it was delicious when she’d pulled a face.
"Youwouldlike something made from sour apples. Those are the garbage apples! That’s probably why they press it at the very end of the season when all the delicious sweet ones are gone."
"What’s wrong with sour apples? Garbage apples deserve to have their cider dreams realized, same as the perfect little pageant apples, dove. Didn’t realize I’d been bewitched by a fruit snob. Didn’t you just say you pour it into water? I don’t think you get to have an opinion on the worthiness of any apple, sour or not."
She’d called him a garbage fruit apologist, pealing in laughter when he’d surged to his feet, throwing her over his shoulder as if she herself was a sack of apples, striding down the hallway and flipping her down to the bed. She’d continued to shriek when her panties were pulled down her legs and discarded, squealed when he’d elbowed her legs open, hitching her knees over his shoulders.
"I’llbe the judge of sweetness around here, thank you very much."
