Page 62 of Orc's Pretend Mate

The Urr’ki gurgles, his weapon clattering to the ground as he collapses in a lifeless heap. The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the ragged sound of our breathing.

I drop the rock, my hands trembling as I stare at the fallen Urr’ki. My stomach churns, nausea rising as the reality of what I’ve done crashes down on me.

When did I become a killer?

Vapas steps toward me, his expression unreadable. Blood stains his side, and his breathing is labored.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says, his voice low and rough.

“I couldn’t let him kill you,” I whisper, my throat tight with emotion.

His gaze softens, just for a moment, before he turns toward the cavern exit.

“Come,” he says. “We have to keep moving.”

I follow, my legs unsteady but driven by the knowledge that this isn’t over. Not yet.

39

PHOEBE

We’ve been walking in an oppressive, heavy silence since our escape from the Urr’ki city. The cavern tunnels he leads us through seem natural. Rough walls with spotty growths of the different bioluminescent fungi in various colors. Stalactites and stalagmites that we have to make our way around. Vapas looks back often enough that I know he knows I’m here. Yet, not once does he speak. I’m left alone in my head, wrestling with all my concerns and fears.

I should have told him, but when?

It’s a dog chasing its tail in my head. Round and round with no resolution because in the end, I can’t change the past. Can’t change that I was wrestling with all my fears and concerns. Fighting my way free of my past and honestly never thought about telling him. How does one say ‘hey, I’m here to spy on your people’?

Which, now, seems stupid. Once I trusted him, why didn’t I tell him? My only excuse is that I was too busy trying to sort out my feelings for him.

He keeps us moving without slowing down. The one thing about exhaustion is that once it gets deep enough, I lose the free attention to spend on worries. It becomes all I can do to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I stumble along after him, using the walls to keep myself up.

“Water?” Vapas asks. Numb and barely aware that we’ve stopped, I nod, accepting the cold drink gratefully. It washes over my tongue and down my parched throat. “Rest. Here, take food.”

He hands me some dried meat and a cheese-like thing that the Urr’ki make. I slide down the cavern wall and force myself to eat. I know I’m hungry, but I don’t feel like I am. I’m too tired for even that. Vapas stands over me, looking down. I don’t know if he’s waiting for something or what, but all I can do is chew the tough meat.

Vapas moves next to me and slides down the wall. Sitting at my side, still silent, he too chews on his food. The tension is less than it has been, if for no other reason than we’re both too tired to keep it up, but it’s not gone. Nothing has been handled between us.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter once I swallow.

“For?”

“I should have told you,” I say.

He grunts, chewing loudly, but doesn’t say anything more. I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wall. I think I doze, but I’m not sure. A sound startles me and when I open my eyes, Vapas is standing over me and holding his hand out. I take it, groaning as I force myself to my feet, grateful for his help.

“Thanks,” I murmur.

He grunts, shrugs, and then we’re walking. Again. The tunnels are mostly dark. The soft glow of the different funguses the only source of light. They’re natural tunnels, so they are wider at some points than others. Sometimes the walls are so close he has to turn sideways to get through. Other points we could walk side-by-side but don’t.

My discomfort goes beyond the physical. There is a gulf between us that I desperately want to cross, but I don’t know how. Several times I try to speak, say something, but even though I have words when I begin, when I go to say them, I see his stiff back, tense shoulders, and they die.

Nothing I can think of seems good enough. Seems as if it has a chance of fixing any of this. He marches ahead in silent solitude. I might as well not be here. There is the weight of resignation in his steps and I imagine that he feels he is marching to his death.

And what else is he to believe? We’ve never even discussed the Zmaj or anything really. Our relationship, such as it is, has been built while moving from one crisis, external or emotional, to the next.

Now, without an immediate threat looming there is only the two of us. And all the words left unspoken weigh like an anchor. What do I say? In this moment words seem too pale and thin, too ephemeral to fix anything.

Every step becomes harder. Heavier. The emotions building behind with every motion. In no time I won’t be able to lift my feet at all. And what then? Collapse to the floor and wait? For what? For someone else to fix this?

---