Page 1 of Secret Twins for the Orc

Chapter 1

Rhokar

Sometimes, I forget how much I hate people.

Then I haul my forty-five-year-old ass from Idaho to Salt Lake City just to spend three full days at the biggest construction convention of the year, with thousands of fae and humans alike swarming through workshops, exhibits, discussions, and networking. Gods, the networking.

If I never have to interact with another person again in my life, I wouldn’t miss it.

My phone rings as I stride out the moment the last keynote speaker is done, and I pull it from my suit pocket to see Olistaire’s name flashing across my screen. “What?”

“What do you mean, what?” His voice holds a definite grin in it, and I power into the streets surrounding the warehouse the convention was in. “Can’t your business partner call to ask how business went?”

“If you wanted to know, you should have come.”

“Hey, hey,” he immediately backpedals, “I’m in real-estate. I’m not the one who owns a construction company with cranes and…other buildy shit. This is your field of expertise.”

I grunt.

“Okay, well, I can see you’re in a sparkling good mood, so I’ll assume everything was peachy and leave you to it. Go get yourself a drink or something, you grumpy orc bastard.”

I grunt again and hang up, although for once in his miserable minotaur life he’s said something worth listening to, and I veer into the next bar I see without paying much attention.

It’s some swanky, hipster place with slick metal tables and those pretentious, exposed ceilings with the pipework on display. But they have beer, which is good enough for me, and I order a draft and drop myself at a corner table.

The good thing about bigger cities is that they actually have size-appropriate facilities to cater for a mix of fae races. I went to a seminar once in Twin Falls and they didn’t have a single cup in town that didn’t feel like a thimble in my hands. Not to mention the size of their beds. Smaller towns are mostly…well, human. The fae community only came out to the humans forty years ago, when the first human-fae Fated Match cropped up in New Zealand between the Prime Minister and his centaur mate. He’d refused to step down from office, she’d been a little difficult to ‘hide’ from the public, and when the rest of the world caught wind, many other fae took it as an opportunity to show themselves and stop living their lives in the shadows.

Life is better for fae now, but the humans have been a little slow to adapt. They still struggle with accepting each other’s mildly varying skin tones, let alone the sudden appearance of countless new species. So I try to stick to big cities, or fae havens like the town I’m from.

“Hey, handsome,” a shapely orc woman saunters over to lean one green arm on my table, talon-red fingernails tapping against the metal top. “I—”

“Not interested.” I barely even look up from my drink, my bottom lip twitching against my tusks in annoyance.

There’s a pause as she stares at me, and I glare down into the last of my drink, before she huffs and turns away with a muttered, “Rude.”

I glare harder. Good. I’m not particularly interested in the company of others in general, but I especially avoid orc females these days.

In one huge swig I finish my drink and stand, intent on getting another—when the entry door directly opposite me swings open. A human female walks in and for some reason, when my gaze sweeps past her, I stop to take in the full length of her figure, top to toe.

Shapely hips encased in tailored black suit pants. Ample bosom behind a silk white button down,which is buttoned downjust far enough to show that she isn’t lacking in that department. I can almost hear the smart clip of her heels as she steps through, and her shiny dark brown hair falls to her shoulders in neat, styled waves.

I blink. Since when do I pay attention to the styling of a women’s hair?

She moves across the room alone, and when her bright blue eyes flick across to make contact with mine, I realize I’ve been standing here like an idiot for several seconds and I quickly look away. But not before I notice the small smile she sends my way.

I frown in annoyance at myself, pushing back a strand of black hair that’s fallen out of my topknot, and stomp towards the bar to order a drink like I’d intended. It isn’t my fault if the bar is small, and I’m big, and I end up standing sort of near her, as she orders a glass of Pinot noir and slides her equally generous ass onto a bar stool.

When the bartender brings the card reader forward to take her payment, on impulse my arm whips across and I tap my card on the machine before she can get hers down to pay.

Surprised blue eyes flash my way, and her lightly painted lips pop open in an ‘o’. My gaze dips to stare at her mouth for a moment, before dashing back to the young, bored looking bartender processing the payment.

“Another draft,” I grunt, dropping my elbows on the bar and leaning forward and great, now I’m flexing at the human. The hell is wrong with me.

When the androgynous, dragonesque wyvern across the bar turns to grab me another over-sized beer mug, my gaze flicks back to the human. She’s smiling that small smile again, her head tilted as she watches me.

“Thanks.” She lifts her glass, and my gaze dips down to watch as the red liquid tips past her lips.

“You’re welcome.”

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