"Appreciating the view? Almost certainly." Delia's voice was gentle despite her obvious enjoyment. "If it helps, orcs don't consider it shameful. Desire is natural to them. Expected, even. They'd find it stranger if you weren't affected."
"That does not help."
Verity pressed her palms against her eyes, as though she could block out the memory of Targesh's gaze finding her across the training yard. The weight of it. The knowing quality of that unhurried acknowledgment.
He had known. The entire time, he had known exactly what she was feeling.
She reached for her pocket. Caught herself. Folded both hands in her lap. She was not going to write this down. This was not archival information. This was a personal catastrophe and it did not need to be documented.
"I need to go back to the archives," she said. "Immediately. And never emerge again."
"That seems excessive."
"I have just learned that I have been scent-signaling attraction to the Warchief of the Mountain Clan. Excessive is the minimum appropriate response."
Delia laughed. "You're not the first human to find an orc attractive, Verity. You won't be the last. And Targesh is—" Shepaused, considering. "He's not going to hold it against you. If anything, he'll pretend he didn't notice."
"Will he?"
"He's very good at pretending not to notice things." Delia's expression turned from amused to thoughtful. "Too good, maybe. Ralvar says he's been alone for as long as anyone can remember. No mate. No... anyone."
Verity had eaten enough solitary dinners at her desk in the Valdaran archives, surrounded by other people's histories, to recognize the shape of that.
"I should go," she said, setting down her half-finished tea. "I've taken enough of your morning."
"You've taken exactly as much as I offered." Delia rose when Verity did. "Come back. Tomorrow, or the day after. I meant what I said about humans needing conversation occasionally."
"I'll try."
"You'll forget." Delia's smile was knowing. "So I'll come find you instead. Someone has to make sure you don't waste away while pursuing your obsession."
"I'm not—"
"You are. It's all right. Obsession can be useful, in the right circumstances." Delia opened the door, and the cold mountain air rushed in, sharp against Verity's flushed cheeks. "Just don't let it consume you entirely. There's more to Northwatch than dusty documents."
The training yard came back to her unbidden. Dark green skin gleaming with sweat. Iron-colored eyes finding her across a crowded space.
"I'm beginning to realize that," she said.
Delia's laugh followed her out into the corridor.
Chapter 7
The human woman had been watching him.
Targesh knew the precise moment she appeared at the courtyard overlook. The back of his neck prickled, and his weight shifted a half-step left, toward the overlook wall, where a figure stood motionless against the stone.
He did not look.
He continued the drill, moving through the forms with Kethrak and Durgan, forcing his focus onto the familiar rhythm of strike and counter. Thirty years he had trained in this yard. He knew every crack in the packed earth, every worn spot where generations of warriors had planted their feet.
He had never been distracted by a woman watching from above.
She was still there. He could feel her gaze like pressure against his skin, and when the wind shifted, he caught—
The scent hit him like a fist to the chest.
Attraction. He identified it automatically, before he could decide whether he wanted the information. Ink and cold paper, her constant undercurrent. Beneath that, the copper-bright note of quickened blood. Skin flushed despite the morning air.
