Losing myself in drumming was the only outlet I had as a kid who couldn’t quite work out my feelings, much less give a name to them.
I’m a long way from that place now. But some things don’t change.
A couple of decades later, I’m still a long way from anyone that looks like me. Orcs still mostly stick to our own communities in the mountains, and it’s not like I’m Micah, who can pass as an abnormallyattractive human. Or Dorian who just comes off as a douche in his shades. Iri looks like a demon, but he has the uncanny ability not to give a shit what anyone else thinks.
For me, though, I’m always hyper aware of how much space I’m taking up. How most of this world isn’t designed for people who look like me.
I’m six and a half feet tall and built like a brick shithouse. Gray skin. Shaven head. I’m an Orc. You can’t mistake me for anything else.
As we walk through the sleepy streets of Willow Ridge toward the shop where this Saint person works, the back of my neck prickles with awareness. There are eyes on us.
“Is it just me, or are you feeling like the walls have eyes in this place?” Dorian mutters from beside me and I grunt in agreement.
I’m not sure why we were the two selected to persuade this Sinjin woman to join our tour. Probably since Micah and Iri failed to seal the deal last night, Iri wanted to change tack and see if we had better luck.
I can’t see the logic myself. Neither of us are known for our social skills. Sure, Dorian can charm the pants off anyone when he wants to, but he can also be a real ass and he’s taken an instant dislike to this woman.
We tromp inside the shop and I instantly feel too big for the space. The inside of the shop is cramped and cluttered with gadgets and a random array of junk. I’m fairly sure one wrong move and I’ll knock half this shit onto the floor.
There’s no one behind the counter, so Dorian strides over and rings the little bell a bunch of times while I stand as still as possible.
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you and I’m coming,” a feminine voice calls from the back.
My nose twitches as my senses fill with a sharp, rich scent. Bergamot and chocolate, bitter and sweet mixed into one. My mouth waters and I swallow hard.
And then I catch sight of her.
Saint is right. A rogue ray of sunlight catches right at the moment she steps into the room, lighting up the back of her head. Two dark eyes flick my way and take me in before scanning over Dorian’s form.
She gives a little half smirk as her attention flicks back to me and my heart tumbles over itself.
It’s a weird feeling, like I can’t quite catch my breath.
“Are you looking to purchase a clock, by any chance? We have a selection,” she says, waving her hand toward the wall covered in them.
“This is where you work?” Dorian asks.
I don’t speak. I’m not sure I could if I wanted to. It’s like my tongue has crawled to the back of my mouth, waiting to see how this plays out.
“We didn’t get properly introduced yesterday,” she says to Dorian, that half smirk still on her face. “I’m Sin.”
“When you assaulted me with your magic in the elevator, you mean,” Dorian snipes back.
“When you were a presumptuous asshole and forced me to ride the elevator down when I was already heading up, you mean?” she replies.
Huh, he missed that part when he was describing their meeting.
“Dude,” I grunt at him. His mom would tan his fucking hide if she found out that’s how he’s been acting. And Dorian’s mom is scary as hell. She’s not someone you want to get on the bad side of.
“It can’t have lasted longer than ten minutes,” Sin adds, but Dorian folds his arms over his chest, unimpressed.
“That’s not the point. You can’t just make people feel random emotions when you feel like it. That’s messed up.”
Sin looks chagrined for a moment. “Yeah, I know. It’s not something I make a habit of.” She shrugs. “But you really pissed me off.”
I try to fight a smile at that, but she must catch the quirk of my lips as she shoots me a conspiratorial look and I find my cheeks going warm.
“I’m Cal,” I grunt. “This is Dorian. We’re both part of Orpheus Underground.”
