Page 46 of Secret Twins for the Orc

My heart shoots to my throat, back down again, squeezes intensely, and then falls out the bottom of my stomach at those words, and all I can do is stare at the new addition to our conversation.

Rhokar is…what?

“Well, it would make sense,” a seventh voice adds, and we all turn towards the heavily wrinkled, gray skinned hag who sits a few tables down smiling peacefully at us. “Why else would he react so strongly to you? People always feel most hurt by those they care most about.”

“Who even are you?” I can’t help but cry weakly, but the hag lady’s peaceful smile doesn’t so much as budge.

“Sorry, dear, I couldn’t help but overhear…”

“I COULD HELP OVERHEARING,” the troll adds matter-of-factly, ensuring that people walking outside hear every syllable he shouts. “WAS LISTENING CAREFULLY.”

My eyes dart around, taking in the small community of strangers, friends, and family that’s formed this impromptu counseling session for me. I feel a bit overwhelmed with warmth, despite the unconventional nature of it all. I can’t help but appreciate this eccentric camaraderie of Whispering Pines, where everyone is apparently in everybody’s business. I already feel more at home, more accepted, than I have in a long time back in Utah, even though half these people are strangers to me. I feel as if I’m being folded into their ranks, and it…feels nice. Despite everything, a wry smile begins to form on my lips.

“Alright, so…what do I do?” I ask the group at large.

“Ah, well,” the hag says sagely, before lifting a glass that looks very much like it’s filled with orange juice and worms. “I think it’s time you let that grumpy old orc do the ‘doing’ right about now, don’t you think?”

Chapter 17

Rhokar

I avoid the office again. I’m not even pretending to myself anymore that it’s not to avoid Ella.

I can’t shake the feeling of something beingoffinside me as I drive to the gym in the afternoon, after working from home all day. It’s as if something’s settled into place and torn open in my chest, somehow at the same time. My mother’s words roll through my thoughts once more, repeating her description of Fated Mates.

The tugging heartstring. The irresistible scent. The overwhelming drive to nurture and protect.

I rub at my chest roughly and pull into the parking lot, cutting the engine and swinging my gym bag over my shoulder as I stride in and head for the locker rooms. Olistaire’s already here, on the treadmill, and he nods when I jerk my chin at him in greeting.

Well, my mother was mistaken. I was mistaken. I haven’t felt the urge for the Claiming Chase, to run her down in the Old Ways and prove my strength and worthiness to be her mate, and that’s because what I’m feeling can’t be Fated. A Fated Mate’s pairing is a two-way street, and Ella’s shown she doesn’t feel the same way. So, I’m mistaken.

Maybe she feels something else. Maybe she just needs something physical.

When I was in the car kissing her, scenting her desire, feeling her lush, lithe body pressing into me, I was simply overwhelmed with lust and a pathetic hope for something that I’ll never have. I let my thoughts get ahead of me, convinced of the possibility for a connection that wasn’t really there, and I led myself astray. Led myself into the bitter disappointment I’d felt yesterday morning, when I saw those two precious children. My children.

This is the modern day, after all. Plenty of women raise their young on their own.

At worst, Ella thinks I’m incapable of helping her rear our children, thinks I’m so pathetic as a man that I’ll be a worse influence on them than simply not having a father around.

At best, she…forgot to tell me. Which actually, seems somehow worse.

In reality, it’s probably something in the middle. She really was unsure about my reaction, and thought it was best just to keep me out of the picture. Despite opening up to me. Despite fucking me. Despite hearing my confessed desire to be with her.

It still paints me as a male unworthy or unnecessary to have around to raise her children. Not even good enough to provide financial aid, at the very least. Unless she counts me hiring her, which I absolutely do not.

I breathe roughly through my nose, angrily, as I change into my gym clothes and stalk out, heading for the ring.

They were so…cute. Those toddlers were fucking beautiful.

I want them. I want them in my life so much.

I shove violently at the sadness that wants to claw its way up my throat, pushing it as far beneath my anger as I can. Before Morgatha, I’d had dreams of having a family, of being a father. But those dreams were shelved long ago.

To have them handed to me and ripped away in the same moment…

I wrap my fingers around the boxing ring’s ropes and squeeze, barking out Olistaire’s name and ignoring the way several other male’s gazes flick my way, too.

“You don’t want to warm up?” Olistaire says a few moments later as he jogs over, a towel slung over his shoulder and his chest lifting in a light pant.

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