Page 3 of Orc's Pretend Mate

I haven’t seen the other four girls since we were separated in the first place. For all I know they’re already dead and I just happen to be the last survivor. Or maybe I’m to be the first victim.

My stomach is a churning mess and all I want is to curl up in a corner and hope this all goes away soon. Even though I’m terrified that the ‘going away’ will be as a result of my death. I really hope not. I don’t want to die.

The two Maulavi walk to the door in silence. Vapas doesn’t follow, staying where he was and I do the same, remaining on the floor. I dare to raise my hand and wipe away the blood trickling from the corner of my lip.

They stop at the door, turning in some kind of weird synchronicity that looks like it must be practiced. How else could they do that in such unison?

“Care for her,” the non-violent one says. “She is under your protection.”

“Yes,” Vapas says.

“Until the Shaman wants her,” he finishes as if Vapas hadn’t spoken.

“And he will come for her. Soon,” the Violent one says.

The threat is clear. Hanging in the air like some kind of terrible fart that some jerk passes right before they bounce out of the room, leaving a lingering stench for those who remain.

The Maulavi slam the door behind them.

2

PHOEBE

Vapas doesn’t move, standing in the same place and staring at the closed door. I don’t move either. I’m not sure what to expect. Will he be nice? Apathetic? Or… worse?

When he turns and looks at me, I jerk involuntarily. I don’t mean to but my nerves are wound too tight. He frowns. He has long dark hair bound into strands with metal beads. His tusks are ivory colored. The left one has a ring drilled into the top end which comes up as high as his nose.

He sighs which comes out as a grunt. Shakes his head and then slowly walks over. He extends his hand, holding it in front of me. I stare for a moment, half-expecting him to slap me around.

When nothing happens I close my hand over his and he helps me to my feet. He looks me up and down with a slow, evaluative gaze. My cheeks flush as he studies my body, slowly coming back to my face.

“Heh,” he says, shrugging and shaking his head.

“Heh? What does that mean?”

He doesn’t answer, turning away and walking to the kitchen. He opens cabinets and gets things out while I’m left standing in his living space staring. Before I decide what my next move should be, he has a kettle boiling with water and is pouring two cups of tea. He sets them down on the table, one on each side.

I walk into the kitchen, and despite the apparent evidence to the contrary, I’m still uncertain as to whether or not he’s an ally. It could all be an elaborate ruse. Some trick by the Maulavi to get me to talk or spill secrets. Secrets I don’t have, but they don’t know that and wouldn’t believe me anyway.

The chair scrapes loudly on the stone floor as he pulls it out and takes his seat. He doesn’t even look over. Only picks up his cup, blows on the contents, then takes a sip. He stares silently ahead the entire time.

Frowning, I clench and unclench my hands and then walk over to take the seat opposite. His eyes flicker just enough so that I know he sees me but there’s no other reaction. I pick up my cup and sip.

It’s delightful. Hints of orange and anise blended into a tasty sensation that warms my tongue and throat. As I sip, my tongue is left with a pleasant tingling sensation.

“Hmm, thank you,” I say.

“Heh,” he grunts.

Setting the cup down, I press my hands to the table on either side of it and meet his gaze.

“I know you have more words than that,” I say. “My name is Phoebe.”

He blinks. Sips. Blinks. I wait. Finally he sets the tea down and shakes his head.

“Vapas.”

“I gathered that from the Maulavi. Thank you. For what you did, I mean.”

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