Page 7 of Her Orc Blacksmiths

Four

A beat of silence follows his loud challenge.

Then the younger orc surges from his seat. “What did you just say?”

“Oh, fuck,” Sarrai breathes from the other side of the table.

The older orc leans right in. “She’s mine, Morg. Get away from her now.”

The male standing by my side, Morg, puffs up in outrage. “She’s not. She’s my mate. I can scent her clear as day, pears and?—”

“Honeysuckle,” the other one, whose name must be Torren, supplies.

They both stare at each other, shocked, before Torren growls, “I don’t give a fuck what you think. If you don’t step away from her, I’ll make you.”

Morg lets out a nasty laugh. “I’d like to see you try.”

That’s when the hall explodes into chaos. Torren leaps right on the table, grabs Morg by his collar, and drags him to the side, away from me. It’s a good thing, too, because Morg sends a fist flying so fast, I can barely track it with my gaze. A hit that strong might kill me if it hit me, so I cower away from them as they roll to the floor, exchanging punches and cursing at each other.

“Stop!”

Ritta and Sarrai both jump to their feet and rush at them, trying to pry them apart. Three orc males join the fray, and slowly, they manage to pull Morg and Torren to opposite sides of the table, though both are still straining for more, flinging abuse at each other.

“Will you stop, you idiots,” Ritta bellows suddenly. “You’re scaring your mate.”

Her voice cuts through the noise, and Torren goes limp, his face turning toward me. He’s bleeding from his nose, which looks as if might be broken, and he’s even dirtier than before. His long hair is disheveled, his tunic torn.

Morg, on the other side, struggles against Sarrai and another male holding him. “Let me go, I will tell her it’s all right. Just get him away from her.”

He’s disheveled, too, his lower lip split by his left tusk, his clothes even more ruffled than Torren’s. Sarrai and the male don’t pay him any mind and keep him restrained, the same as Ritta and two other orcs do for Torren.

“Do we need to wake Gorvor for this?” the male next to Sarrai asks. He strains to keep Morg back, the muscles in his arms flexed. “Or will you calm your fucking senses and stop fighting me?”

He seems familiar now that I can study him more closely—and after a moment, I recognize him as Uram, Rose’s mate. I glance around to search for my friend, and there she is, keeping well back, probably as aware as I am that humans have no place in an orc fight.

Now that the two soot-covered males are restrained, however, she rushes forward and wraps me in a tight embrace. “Gods, Jasmine,” she cries, “what are you doing here?”

I clutch her back, desperate for some support. “Um, I’ll tell you everything later.” I have no wish to explain my failed wedding or my decision to come here in front of so many people. “But it’s so good to see you.”

She releases me but grabs my upper arms, her gaze appraising me. “Are you all right?”

We hadn’t been friends for long before she was forced to leave my father’s inn, but she did always possess a certain uncanny ability to see through my mask.

“No,” I whisper. “What on earth is going on?”

She glances over her shoulder at the gathered orcs. We’ve drawn a lot of attention with the commotion, of course, and curious orcs from other tables have gravitated toward us to see what the fuss is all about.

Rose clears her throat. “Well, it seems you have found yourself a mate. Or rather two, if they can really both scent you.”

“I can,” Torren snarls. “He’s lying.”

“You old ass.” Morg struggles once more against Sarrai’s and Uram’s grip. “She smells incredible. Exactly like I thought my mate would smell.”

I sniff at myself covertly and cringe. I definitely smell like I’ve spent the better part of my day on top of a horse. If they’re scenting…was it pears and honeysuckle? I don’t know much about orcs apart from what Ritta and Sarrai told me on the road here. But the reaction from Morg and Torren is much the same as Uram had when he’d first met Rose. He’d broken a man’s hand to save her and later killed him and his friends, all because they’d tried to take Rose away from him.

“You two need to get a hold of yourselves,” Ritta decides. “We will take Jasmine to the baths, and then she will sleep in my room for the night, because she’s tired and it’s late. You two will not cause more issues, and I suggest you retire to your rooms as well. Tomorrow, we will sort this out, aye? We’ll get the king involved if we need to. But you will not squabble over her tonight.”

I don’t comment, because I think this is a very smart option, but when she looks at me for confirmation, I give her a firm nod.

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