Page 45 of Orc's Pretend Mate

Barely thinking, I move to the side and forward. I’m drawn to Vapas. I want to know what he says, but every bit as much, I want to see his face when he says it. He lowers his head and his shoulders drop as he unclenches his fists. Slowly his head turns until his eyes are on mine, burning with that fire I’ve seen in them before.

“Her,” he says.

The word has weight no single utterance should ever be able to convey but it’s there. Landing on not my ears, but my heart. It’s an admission. A claiming. And more. It’s a universe of loveforced into a single syllable. Tears fill my eyes as my heart races and my breath catches in my chest.

“I see,” the other Urr’ki says, his voice breaking the moment. “Good.”

Vapas tears his eyes away, leaving an emptiness. It’s as if my skin is cooling from the lack of his gaze. But he reaches his hand over and takes my hand in his.

“Good?” Vapas asks.

The stranger nods, rolls his shoulders and his head. Several loud cracks fill the room and then he sighs and rubs the back of his head.

“There is much happening,” he says. “But first things first. I am Virodah. I am something of a leader in the so-called resistance.”

“Good,” Vapas says. “We need help. The Maulavi continue to threaten her. I do not think it will be long before they try to take her. That cannot happen.”

Virodah nods but narrows his eyes as he does, a deep frown on his face.

“Come, sit,” he says, motioning past himself.

There’s a crude table that doesn’t sit level with four mismatched chairs. He takes a seat at the far end and grabs bottle which he pours into three chipped mugs, setting one before each of us as we sit.

“Can you help?” Vapas presses.

“We will try,” Virodah says.

“Try?” Vapas growls, slapping one hand loudly on the table. “I need more than trying. I am trying and I know it’s not enough. What point is a resistance if you can’t help?”

He stands, knocking his chair over in the process, and leans onto the table, glaring into Virodah’s eyes. Virodah doesn’t react with any obvious emotion. He raises his mug, takes a sip, then sets it on the table.

“Sit down, Vapas,” he says, speaking softly.

There’s no hint of a threat in his voice. He exudes a calm certainty while meeting Vapas’ angry glare. Vapas holds the glare for a moment longer before grunting. I reach behind and pull the chair back upright right as he drops heavily onto it.

“What help can you give?” Vapas asks.

“We will help,” Virodah says, “but we need help back. As I said many things are happening. More than you can possibly imagine but I believe they are why the Maulavi have increased their interest in her.”

His eyes shift to me. It makes me uncomfortable, this feeling that I’m on the spot for something I don’t even know. I didn’t do anything. Well, not true, I am here to spy, but only kind of casually.

Virodah’s statement hangs in the air, heavy and unyielding. He stands and moves to the corner of the room. He picks up something then returns to the table and spreads out a worn map of the city etched into something resembling parchment. He uses our cups to keep it flat on the uneven table, the edges curling with age.

“You’ll stay here,” he says, tapping a spot on the map. I don’t think it’s far from where we are but I’m not sure. “This building is abandoned, secure, and far from the Maulavi’s usual patrol routes. For now, it’s the safest place we can offer.”

“And then what?” Vapas asks, his voice tight with frustration. “We hide while they hunt us? That’s not a plan—it’s surrender.”

Virodah’s gaze hardens, his sharp features illuminated by the flickering torchlight.

“It’s survival,” he counters. “If you’re caught, it does nothing to help our cause. And ifshefalls into their hands—” He doesn’t finish the thought, but the implication sends a shiver through me.

I lean forward, my voice shaking as I ask, “What do they want with me?”

“They fear you,” Virodah says simply. “Or what you represent. That fear makes them dangerous. The Shaman is losing control and he knows it. As I said there is more happening then I can explain right now, but know this, desperation is making him reckless.”

Before I can respond, the door is jerked loudly aside. An Urr’ki rushes inside, his chest heaving. His eyes dart to Virodah.

“They’re coming,” he gasps. “The Maulavi know you’re harboring them. They’re sending a unit—heavily armed.”

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