Page 11 of Resisting the Wicked Orc

“No?” Her amber eyes caught mine, something genuine flickering in their depths. “What word do they use, then?”

The bartender slid our drinks across the counter. I took a sip of whiskey, letting it burn down my throat before answering.

“Depends who you ask.” I shrugged. “Stubborn. Skilled. Particular.”

“Particular?” She raised an eyebrow, taking a delicate sip of her cocktail. The pink liquid left a sheen on her lips that I wanted to taste. “About what?”

Francis glanced our way, irritation flashing across his features before he returned to his drink. Perfect. Nothing more annoying than a loud couple when you’re trying to conduct shady business.

“My work,” I said, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. “The clan specializes in woodworking. I specialize in the details.”

“An artist,” she mused, her fingers tracing patterns on the back of my hand. The casual touch sent sparks up my arm. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“What would you have guessed?”

“Something more... physical.” She tilted her head, studying me with those ember-flecked eyes. “Bouncer. Enforcer. Professional wall-puncher.”

I barked a laugh. “You’d be surprised how physical carving can be.” I flexed my fingers around my glass, letting her watch the movement. “It’s all about knowing exactly how much pressure to apply. When to use firm pressure—” I demonstrated with a squeeze of my glass, “—and when the lightest touch is all you need.”

“A man of many talents.” Her tail brushed against my calf under the bar, a surprising touch that made my breath catch. “I can appreciate that.”

“And what about you?” I leaned closer, inhaling her intoxicating scent. “What brings you to Silvermist Falls?”

A flicker of caution crossed her face before she hid it behind another giggle. “Oh, you know. Taking a break from the corporate grind.” She waved her hand vaguely. “International relations. Very boring stuff.”

She was lying. Or at least not telling the whole truth. But there was something in the way she said ‘international relations’ that rang true. A diplomat, maybe? It would explain her careful way of speaking, the measured responses. The lift of her chin when she acted tough.

“And your family?” I pressed. I wanted to know more. I wanted to know everything. “They’re okay with you taking this... break?”

Her smile tightened at the edges. “My brothers aren’t thrilled.” She took another sip of her drink. “They think I should stick to the family business.”

“How many brothers?”

“Too many.” She laughed, and this time it sounded real. “All older. All think they know what’s best for me.”

I understood that better than she knew. The clan had raised me after my parents died—dozens of aunts and uncles and cousins, all watching, all guiding. Sometimes suffocating. “And what do you think is best for you?”

Her eyes met mine, all pretense falling away for a heartbeat. “Freedom,” she said softly. “The chance to make my own choices.”

Something in her tone shifted the air between us. Even being a child to all didn’t come with the expectations I saw shoveled on Galan by his prick father, or Torain to be the perfect spare to his brother’s role as heir.

But the hunger in her voice… That wasn’t an act. That was someone who’d tasted walls closing in and refused to accept them.

“And you?” she asked, tracing the rim of her glass. “Family?”

“The clan,” I said simply. No need to delve into sad stories of orphaned boys. “Not blood, but close enough.”

Francis shifted in his seat, checking his watch with obvious annoyance. His drink was nearly empty. Our window was closing.

She must have noticed too, because she leaned in close, her lips brushing my ear. “I need you to go to the bathroom,” she whispered, all business now.

I pulled back, searching her face. “And leave you alone with him?”

“I’ll be here when you get back.” Her fingers traced down my chest, the gesture for show but no less affecting. “I promise.”

I didn’t believe her. Not after she’d vanished and left me to deal with Lydia’s muscle. But something in her eyes—a silent plea, a flash of vulnerability—made me nod.

I stood, letting my hand linger on her shoulder before heading toward the restrooms at the back of the bar. Everyinstinct screamed at me to stay, to keep her in sight. The mate bond protested each step that took me farther from her.

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