And gods, Geva could have laughed at the utter absurdity of it, because she’d heard these petty bastards say far worse, multiple times — and that footman, snivelling creep that he was, had even made repeated attempts to grope her in the stairwell. So why was she protecting any of them, why was she still standing here in the damned wardrobe, while this damned infuriating orc just kept pressing into her, breathing against her, his big hand stroking her hair again and again, as a warm, musky scent curled through the too-thick air. And was she inhaling even deeper, or even tilting her head a little into his steady caresses, surely she wasn’t, surely…
“Well, she’s not here,” the butler said, and that was the sound of a drawer opening, and closing again, and then another. And wait, these bastards were looking through herunderclothes, and Geva’s surge of incredulous fury was met by another heavy exhale from the orc, a gentle little shake of that hand still petting her head. A warning. Because gods, what if they came for the wardrobe next, and found her squashed in here withhim?!
“Did you find her?” called another voice, a new voice, further away. It was the other footman, and Geva’s heart thundered in her ears as she waited, straining, listening. Hearing the scrape of the drawer closing… and then footsteps. Movement. Toward the corridor again, please, please…
“Not yet,” called the butler, his voice markedly further away. “Did you check the schoolroom?”
And finally, thank the gods, the footsteps were fading, moving back down the corridor. And Geva’s breath rushed from her lungs, her body sagging with relief, as the orc’s body abruptly relaxed, too. Leaning heavily against her, his head softly thudding against the wardrobe’s wall above her, his breath slow and thick in her ear.
But he didn’t speak, and his big hand didn’t stop petting her, either. Almost as though he hadn’t noticed he was doing it, but in this moment, Geva couldn’t seem to make herself care. She’d almost been found with an orc in a wardrobe — she mightstillbe found with an orc in a wardrobe — and there was no way they could risk moving yet. Not until they were sure those bastards were gone.
The orc hadn’t shown any intention of moving yet either, and if anything, his big body had settled even closer, pinning Geva tighter to the wall. His head lowering a little, his hot breath tickling and shivering against her ear, against the damp skin of her neck. And the hand still petting her had even tilted her head slightly sideways, away from his breath, so he could come closer, draw in deeper…
A strange little shudder rippled up Geva’s back — surely just more tension, more terror — but her own breaths had deepened, too. Drawing in that rich musky scent, now so absurdly potent in the stuffy air. And her eyes, which had been searching vainly in the darkness this entire time, had fluttered closed, and when the orc’s gentle hand nudged her head back against the solid wood behind her, tilting it further sideways, she didn’t fight him. Instead, she felt herself relaxing into his closeness, his touch, while a hard swallow convulsed through her now-exposed throat.
The sound had surely been audible, and she could almost feel the weight of the orc’s eyes, the taut focus of his attention upon her. The way his breath had stuttered, warmer, closer, until…
Oh. A soft, slick, gentle heat, brushing against the skin of Geva’s bared neck. Drawing out her slow, shaky exhale, and then another audible swallow. And in return, there was a low, rumbling hiss from the wet heat on her skin, vibrating deep into her throat as it pressed harder, closer…
And with it, the orc eased even closer, too. His body so big, so solid, enclosing her in such safe heady warmth. His powerful muscles shifting and flexing, his hips slightly rocking, grinding something into her lower belly. Something long and thick and rigid, something that should have been deeply, thoroughly terrifying — but instead, Geva felt her breath catching, her tooth biting her lip, her head arching further against the wall behind her. Almost as if welcoming the provoking press of his big body, that deep shimmering thrill in her belly, that soft slick warmth on her neck.
And in that sweet softness, something slowly, gently sharpened. Something that pricked and scraped in multiple matched points, searching and seeking against her throat. And Geva waited, her eyes fluttering, her heart hammering, as that soft sharpness finally found that fresh stinging slice across the front of her neck, and…
Licked it. Kissed it.Nibbledit.
Geva froze in place, while a swarm of sheer, staggering shock shot down the full length of her body. What the hell. She was trapped in a wardrobe with a thieving, deadly orc, who was currently in the process of destroying herlife— and she was letting him lick her? Pet her?Biteher?!
There was a sudden, frantic flurry of flailing, from both Geva and the orc — and then they were spilling out of the wardrobe together, stumbling into the cool, open air of Geva’s bedroom. And with the flood of fresh air, there was even more swarming shock, and chagrin, and disbelief. What thehellhad she been thinking, letting him lick her?Him?!
The orc was grimacing too, and even wiping at his mouth with a furious-looking hand. As if he, too, was thoroughly regretting this harrowing, horrifying little incident. Which he damn well should, damn the devious fiend, so why was Geva’s stomach plunging, her eyes prickling, as if she somehowcared?
“What the hell, orc,” she hissed at him, as quietly as she could, despite the frenzied alarm still screeching through her skull. “Were you trying to — to —”
To seduce me, she might well have said,to bite me and drink my blood, like the orcs in all those horrible tales— but the orc was still grimacing, and again wiped his clawed hand at his mouth.
“Forget this, woman,” he hissed back. “I seeknaughtfrom you. I have not the slightest wish for a mate, or a son! Most of all —”
He broke off there, grimacing again, but his contemptuous eyes swept up and down Geva’s body, all the same. Saying, with dismissive, devastating clarity, that he would never actuallydesireher. Not even after he’d pressed into her like that, petted her like that, and maybe — maybe evenkissedher like that.
Geva’s trembling hand fluttered to her neck, to where the pain left by his sword-blade had entirely vanished, fully replaced by the painful, plunging misery. And gods, what washappeningto her? She’d long ago learned to keep going, keep looking forward, keep her cool in the face of the worst the world had to offer. So why was this obnoxious thief affecting her like this, why was she nearly weeping like this,again?!
And before she could betray anything else, she whirled away from him, back toward the wardrobe. Groping inside for her satchel, which had clearly been trod upon during the proceedings, but was luckily still in one piece. And once she’d also found her precious bag of coins — she’d somehow dropped that, too — she began yanking items from the wardrobe, and packing them into the satchel as neatly as she could. All while desperately fighting to focus her thoughts on travelling, what she would most need, how much she could realistically carry on foot…
“Ach, woman,” came the orc’s voice from behind her, near enough to make her jump. “What is the meaning of this?”
Geva shook her head and kept packing, not looking, not speaking — but she could feel him shifting behind her, perhaps moving closer. “You do not truly wish torun away?” he demanded. “Now?”
Geva fought back the all-consuming urge to spin around and scream in his face, and instead kept packing, though her hands were trembling even worse than before. “Yes, I damn well wish it,” she gulped. “I’m leaving here. Today.”
The orc fell silent, and Geva again fought to focus on her packing, on how the satchel was almost already full. On how — her wet eyes glared back up at all the clothes still left in the closet — she surely couldn’t afford to leave a single item behind. She needed every possible advantage if she was going to survive this, and perhaps she could sell some of them, perhaps…
So she shoved up to her feet, and kept her back to the orc as her shaky hands unbuttoned her overdress, and tossed it on the bed. And next she yanked off her underdress, too, and then her stockings and shoes, leaving her only in her thin white shift. And without meeting the orc’s eyes, she shoved past him to her small chest of drawers, and then pulled off the shift, too. Meaning that her back and ample arse were fully bared to him, fully exposed for his judgement, and his contempt.
And gods, she couldfeelhim watching her, his gaze prickling on her bare skin, but she sought to ignore it as she yanked out more stockings from the drawer, and again began to dress. This time putting on layer after layer, starting with her closest-fitting underthings, and then working her way back up to dresses again. Piling on pieces without any of her usual regard for fit or style, and knowing very well that she looked completely, utterly absurd.
But it didn’t matter. Just like being undressed in front of a horrible judgemental orc didn’t matter, because it was only running that mattered now. Only the next thing. Only surviving.
But the damned orc was still here, still standing in the middle of the room as Geva bustled around him. Just watching in silence as she repacked her satchel, fitting in nearly everything this time, even the silk scarf she wore over her hair to sleep, and the small bottle of oil she used on her hair and skin. Now leaving only — she couldn’t help an unhappy sigh as she glanced toward them — the stack of books beside her bed. The uppermost one was her favourite childhood book of tales, entirely written in Eziran, the language of her family’s home across the sea.
