Page 2 of Bound to the Orc Renegade

I bop down the steps, my purple Chuck Taylor high-tops quiet on the gray concrete. Maybe I should hit that little pizza place on Third. I usually can’t afford to eat out, but I deserve a treat after the day I’ve had.

Darkness covers the second-floor landing—the maintenance team still hasn’t fixed the lights—probably because nobody uses the stairs but me.

Visions of butter-drenched garlic bread dance in my head as I hurry across the flat concrete. Should I—

I round the turn and someone surges up from the stairs below. We smack into each other, and I’m the one who bounces backward, which isn’t too surprising considering how small I am.

“Sorry! I didn’t see you.” I pull out my phone and turn on the flashlight, squinting against the sudden glare. As soon as my eyes adjust, I look up.

Julian grins down at me, a nasty glint in his blue eyes that makes me take a half step backward. Steve edges in from the side, looking sweaty and like he might throw up, and somehow his expression is even scarier than the blond man’s. What’s Julian said to him to make him look like that?

“Hey, guys. What’s up?” I try for cheery, then push for a feeling of commonality—a “we’re all gamers, right?” kinda thing. “I’m heading home to play some Warcraft. Got a guild meet up in a half hour.” It’s a little bit of a lie—my guild’s not meeting for another hour.

I try to edge past them.

“Warcraft?” Julian blocks me, his lip curling. “Is that supposed to make you one of us? Do you think you’re a real gamer?”

“Yes.” I lift my chin. This isn’t the first time some guy has played gate keeper. “Anyone who games can call themselves a gamer.”

“That’s not a real answer.”

“Then how about this? I’m in the Swordhold Seven.” My guild is one of the super-invite ones that’s been around for years. We’re all high-scorers with excellent stats and a great reputation, who’ve reached endgame level on all the expansion packs.

Steve whistles in appreciation, but the sound cuts off in an abrupt “oof” when Julian elbows him in the ribs.

“Look, little girl.” Julian steps so close I can smell the cheesy smell of snacks souring his breath.

God, I effing hate that phrase. As if I can help it that I’m short and skinny. As if me being small makes him feel superior. Worse, I love being called “good girl” in the bedroom, and this guy sneering “girl” in a nasty way feels like adding insult to injury.

“We have a good thing here, and we don’t need you messing up our writers’ room,” Julian says. “Find someplace else to flog your girly games.”

Even though I’d already considered doing exactly that, no way am I letting this asshole think he’s won. I try hard to be friendly and treat people well.

But I’m also stubborn as hell.

“It’s not up to you,” I say. “My romantic plots are going into the next game whether you like it or not.”

He steps closer,tooclose. My back hits the concrete wall behind me. A thread of panic weaves through me, making my heart skip. I hate this—hate always being smaller and weaker than everyone else. I throw up my hands, straining to push him away, but he just laughs.

I want him away, away, away. I don’t like strangers this close.

“Hey, man, maybe we shouldn’t do this.” Steve’s voice sounds nervous, and the finger he points at my chest trembles. “She’s got a spy camera on her or something.”

A spot of warmth grows on my chest, and the front of my Zelda T-shirt glows. What the hell? The only thing I have on is a lacy bra and my lucky crystal necklace my Aunt Marge gave me. Supposedly, it belonged to great-grandma.

Julian reaches for my collar, pawing at me, and my skin crawls.

“Get off of me.” I shove harder, but he’s too strong. Why do I get the bully with muscles instead of a gamer who never does anything more strenuous than twiddle a joystick? He spins us around and my phone goes flying, smashing into the concrete floor with a tinkle of glass.

He stops with my back to the stairs leading down, and a jolt of vulnerability shivers along my nerves. My pulse races. Oh, god! Is he gonna throw me down them?

I wish I couldmakehim leave me alone!

Light flicks on overhead, blindingly bright, and music begins to play.

Julian startles and looks up.

I use his distraction to chop down at his elbow, jamming the end of a key into the soft inner part of the joint. Different video games teach you different things. Shooting ones teach hand-eyecoordination. And the really advanced fighting ones teach you all the best places to strike.

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