Page 30 of His Orc Warrior

We paid our admission and started at my most frequent place—the bathroom. Currently, our little orkling was sitting right on my bladder, having a kick time down there.

It was not fun.

And “little” was not the most accurate statement. He’d be little if this were a human birth. But as an orc? Yeah. Little wasn’t the word I’d use to describe him.

It was one of the reasons I was advised not to go to a regular paternity doctor—because they would think something was wrong with our child simply because they were huge. And boy, were they going to be huge.

Not that I wanted to think about that now.

Even if the doctor told us they were going to be tiny, there would still be a whole lot of nerves about how to get the baby out.

Getting them in? That had been a whole lot easier. At least in our case.

Thrain and I wandered around the field, looking at the vendors. Some had really cool merch, and others spent so much time hard selling that their ideal customer had passed them by. And, of course, because this was D&D there were a ton of really cool artisans.

We watched people playing games, admired the costumes, were stopped multiple times to take pictures with people’s kids.

And then we sat in the food-truck court. You could get caught in there for hours.

It was like the epitome of being a couple—only without the hiding that we always had to do. It was the absolute perfect date for what we needed.

“There’s a blacksmith demonstration in ten minutes,” I said. “Did you want to go?”

“I’d love to.”

Thrain’s eyes lit up. “I want to see if they’re open for commissions.”

I didn’t think too much of it.

Not until Thrain actually sat down with the guy as he sketched the piece he was potentially going to make—or find—for him.

Only to find out: It wasn’t for him at all. He’d commissioned a matching bracelet for our newborn so he’d always remember where he came from.

He was going to be such an amazing father, and somehow I got to call him mine.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Thrain

“Nobody should be this big. When my omega dad was pregnant with my younger brother, albeit I was pretty young, I don’t remember him being unable to fit behind the steering wheel to drive.”

After his first mentions about getting his figure back after the baby, he’d seemed content with how his body was changing and adapting to the baby’s growth within him, but even I had to agree that his belly looked…strained. The skin was so tight, even with all the lotions we’d applied, I just wasn’t sure it could take it.

So far, all our visits had been to the human healer in the village. With so many other human mates, it was a necessity to have such a professional. They shared an office suite with the orc healer because there was often overlap of care…or so I had heard.

But I’d never personally experienced this until we showed up for our appointment with the human healer on that particular morning.

“Welcome.” The healers shared a receptionist/assistant as well as a suite. She was an elderly orc who had sat at that desk for my whole life and I had no idea for how many years before that. “How are you, Thrain? Here to see the healer?”

“Not me, Hildagarde,” I said. “Lucas, my mate, has an appointment with Healer Fred.”

She studied the open calendar in front of her then smiled up at us both. “Oh, how silly of me. But Healer Fred”—the human healer—“has redirected you to Healer Otis for today.”

“But I’m not an orc,” whispered Lucas to me. “Do you think she’s gotten that mixed up too?”

“I hear you, young man. No, I am not mixed up. For your particular complaint, Healer Otis is the one you need to see. Now, take a seat, and I will let you know when he’s ready for you.”

We both plopped down on the sofa in the reception area with no more discussion. Maybe Hildagarde was confused from time to time, like thinking the appointment was for me, but she was also a respected elder and knew her stuff.

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