Page 43 of Orc's Pretend Mate

The scarred Urr’ki steps aside, dipping their head slightly, a gesture of respect. The smaller one, however, stands their ground, though their posture is less confrontational now.

“You’re late,” the smaller Urr’ki says, their tone bordering on insolence.

“And you’re reckless,” the man with the crutches replies coolly. “I assume there’s an explanation for this mess.”

His gaze shifts to Vapas and me. He shifts his weight onto his good leg, the polished crutch tapping the ground for emphasis as he points toward us.

“We were… I’m looking for news,” Vapas says.

“You said as much out there in front of dozens of witnesses over half of whom have already run to tell the nearest Maulavi.”

Vapas steps forward squaring his shoulders.

“We had no way to know who to trust. You clearly know who we are, so why didn’t you approach us yourself?”

The man’s lips curl into a sardonic smile.

“Because I don’t trust easily. Trust is earned, not given freely to every stranger wandering off the streets with grand claims of rebellion.” He leans forward on his crutches, his scarred face mere inches from Vapas’s. “Tell me, Vapas, why should I believe you?”

Vapas meets his gaze without flinching.

“You think to startle me by knowing my name?” Vapas asks, defying the man. They glare at one another until Vapas backs down and answers. “Because we’ve risked everything to be here. The Shaman and the Maulavi have destroyed everything that we Urr’ki were. And they’re coming for her,” he glances at me, his voice softening for just a moment before hardening again, “and she deserves a world where she doesn’t have to live in fear.”

The crippled Urr’ki studies him, his expression unreadable, before shifting his attention to me.

“And you? Is this your fight too, or are you just along for the ride?”

I swallow hard, meeting his piercing stare.

“It’s my fight. I’m not a soldier, but I’ll do whatever it takes to help. If that means resisting the Maulavi, then yes, it’s my fight too.”

A tense silence falls over the room. Finally, he exhales, a short, sharp sound like he’s amused by something we’ve said.

“Maybe you’re not complete fools after all,” he says, straightening. “When I saw you in the tavern, I figured you’d get yourselves killed before sundown. The only reason you’re still breathing is because I sent these two to clean up your mess.”

He gestures toward the scarred Urr’ki and the shorter one. Vapas tenses, his jaw working like he’s biting back a retort, but he stays silent.

“Consider this your first and only warning,” the cripple continues. “If you want to join the resistance, you’ll follow my lead. That means no more reckless questions in public places. No more getting caught. And no more bringing trouble to my doorstep.” He pauses, his gaze hardening. “Understood?”

“Understood,” Vapas replies evenly.

The man nods, then turns to the two who rescued us.

“We’ll take them to the safehouse. Keep them out of sight until we figure out what to do with them.”

The scarred Urr’ki inclines his head, motioning for us to follow.

“This way.”

The cripple doesn’t spare us another glance as we’re ushered out of the room. But the sound of his crutches behind us lingers in my ears, a rhythmic reminder of just how close we came to disaster—and how precarious our position remains.

27

PHOEBE

Stepping through a barely visible door, we emerge into an alley behind the Fallen Beetle. The stench is so bad that I retch, covering my nose and mouth but it does no good.

“Gross,” I mutter.

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