Page 9 of One Stolen Night with Her Orc

“You threw the fit. Tossed beer in the judges’ faces after I won. Said it was rigged. Or that I coerced the judges.Big, scary, manipulative orc. Isn’t that right? And yet, here you are. In my brewery. Looking for yourstep-daughter. The one who stole my trophy and the recipe from the competition last night. She said she was taking care of her sister. Whatever could she mean?”

Hand on the door to block him, I keep it there to avoid putting hands on him. The last thing I need is my ugly mug in the paper for assaulting some sleazy asshole. Though gods, it would be so satisfying.

“Like I said, she’s been in trouble. I made her a deal. She did this one thing for me, and I’d make sure Addy, her sister, made it to university.”

“And if she didn’t? What happens to Addy?”

“Well, you know. Economy is in the toilet right now. Things are tight. And not being blood related, I can’t guarantee that I can keep helping. Those girls have been so expensive to raise.” He shrugs again, that limp shrug, like it’s no big deal to not care for one’s young, regardless of whether or not they are blood related. My grandmother would roll over in her grave to hear of such selfishness and cruelness.

“Let me get this straight. My prize-winning recipe, that I developed, tested, and won fair and square because my brewing methods are superior, and your daughter gets to go to university? And if not? What? You throw them both on the street? Make them both do your dirty work?”

My nostrils flare. I wish I breathed fire right now, because I would barbeque this less than human man. This creature is not even worthy of the gum stuck to the bottom of Poppy’s shoe. And yet, he wields power over her and her sister. I crack my knuckles, one by one, enjoying him watching, and wondering what’s coming.

“I think you might be exaggerating a bit.” He’s really sweating now. His hand trembles as he wipes his brow with a dirty handkerchief. “Girls are so...what’s the word? So flippant. I’m trying to ground them in the real world. What the future holds for them. Especially Poppy.” Her name on his lips makes me want to roar in anger. How dare he tarnish her name with his lips?

“Marcus. I’m going to do you a favor. Two, in fact. Currently, my trophy is at the bottom of Burnt Owl Creek. If you don’t want to join it there, you’ll do exactly as I say.”

Chapter 7

Poppy

The pounding on thedoor makes my heart pound in echo. I look across the table at August, Bjorn’s girlfriend, then we both look at Bjorn, who is stirring some “world famous” stew he’s cooking up for lunch. At least, I hope it’s for lunch, because it smells amazing, and my stomach is rumbling. I don’t know if all orcs are this good in the kitchen, but these brothers have now addedguy who cookswell to my fantasy list. Neither Bjorn nor August seem concerned by whoever is on the other side of the door.

Not going to lie, it was weird entering this apartment and meeting August after the doozy of the day and night I’d had. But August has been chill and welcoming. I could see us becoming friends, as long as I don’t admit I’ve already catalogued everything of worth in her apartment.

I need to find some new hobbies, fast.

The only stressful moment was when I wanted to leave after breakfast and Bjorn wouldn’t let me. Hands on her hips, face red, mouth a thin, angry line, I thought August was going to go full warrior chick on him. I was ready to make popcorn. Eventually, though, she calmed down and after we talked, I relented. Bjorn’s logic made sense. Dumb sexy and smart orcs.

“Koru’s angry. But he won’t stay angry. Not when he gets his head on straight. Plus, where you gonna go? Not back to your evil stepdad. Stop that idiotic thinking right now. I’m an orc, and part of Search and Rescue. It’s in my bones to protect, and sending you away is not protecting.” I hated how right he was, at least about not going back to Marcus. Time will only tell with Koru, I suppose. But that doesn’t change the fact that I need a place to live, and a way to feed myself. Somehow, I don’t think Moonfang Haven is a haven for me.

So, we’ve been playing cribbage and watching Bjorn cook. Trapped by the brother of the orc I stole from and also crave, is a weird title for a book. Watching him kiss August, touch her, laugh and be sweet with her twists a knife in my gut. I have no idea what I’m going to do tomorrow, but I can’t stay here.

Except now, we’re staring at Bjorn while he whistles jauntily and slowly—so slowly—wipes his hands off on a towel, then saunters over to the door, as if there isn’t an upset orc on the other side of the door getting more and more impatient by the second.

“OPEN THE DOOR,” Koru finally roars, right as Bjorn’s hand touches the lock. His back bounces a bit as he stares at the door.

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