Page 39 of Orc's Pretend Mate

“Oh,” she says, biting her lip, then she slowly nods. “I see. I’m sorry… I didn’—”

“Phoebe,” I say, cutting her off. “She is… gone. We did not… that was not… I would never…”

Now I can’t seem to finish a sentence.

“Oh. Gods… no, I’m so sorry Vapas,” she says, cupping my face in her hands. “Are you… are you okay?”

Am I? There is no time for this.

“I must be,” I say, reaching into the trunk, grabbing my knife, and then closing the lid.

Most anyone else would protest, insist I say more, or try to pry open the seal I’m putting on my emotions. Not Phoebe. She seems to intuitively know that isn’t the thing I need.

We stand and I grab the cloak she used before, placing it over her shoulders. I adjust it the best I can. It is too large for her, flowing incorrectly and hanging loose in all the wrong places.

Even so, wearing it, she reminds me again of my dragoste. Every passing moment it becomes more clear to me. Whether she is my dragoste returned or not, my feelings for her will not be denied. Satisfied at last, I nod. She shimmies, making the cloak billow and flow.

“Good?” she asks.

“Beautiful,” I say without thinking.

The hood shades her face but even so I see the color flushing her cheeks.

“Thanks,” she says in a whisper.

I clear my throat, embarrassed I said it yet also glad I did. It’s not as if it isn’t true but it dances to that edge of things we do not have the time to discuss or work out. I give her one more look over, making sure I’ve done all I can to hide that she’s not an Urr’ki.

“Let’s go,” I say.

Go before I say or do something else I shouldn’t.

Taking the lead, I open the door and lead us to what I hope will be salvation and not speeding up our impending doom.

24

PHOEBE

He was married. Or… whatever Urr’ki do. They had a child. What am I doing? How can I think…

“Careful,” he growls, his hand tightening on my shoulder and pulling me out of my tumbling thoughts.

I stumble over a raised section of the stone path but he keeps me upright.

“Sorry,” I murmur, acutely aware of the stares.

I keep my own eyes downcast, the way Vapas told me to. Don’t draw attention, he said. Walk with purpose, but don’t look too confident.

Every step feels like a test I’m bound to fail. The uneven stones beneath my feet shift, making me stumble again. His hand on my shoulder is steady, grounding me, but it also feels like a leash.

“Stay close,” he whispers, his voice low and sharp. “We’re being watched.”

I don’t need him to tell me. The sensation of eyes boring into me makes my skin crawl. The shifting figures in the shadows blur together, each one a potential ally or an enemy waiting to strike. My chest tightens, the air feels heavy, and a cold knot twists in my stomach as if danger could pounce at any moment.

Ahead, a faint glow spills into the street from an open door. The sign above it sways in the faint breeze, painted with the image of a creature I don’t recognize. Vapas slows, his grip on my shoulder tightening briefly before he lets go.

“The Fallen Beetle,” he says, his tone unreadable.

“What is that?” I ask softly.

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