Page 13 of The Passionate Orc
The news hit me like a war hammer to the gut. My secret was out.
"They know about your paintings, Nar," Emryn said, her blue eyes wide with concern as she stood in the doorway of my studio apartment. "The Black Iron Orcs are talking about it all over town."
I dropped my paintbrush, watching as a blob of crimson paint splattered across the wooden floor. My carefully guarded secret spilled out just like that, messy and impossible to contain.
"How?" I growled, my tusks clenching tight against my lower lip.
Emryn stepped inside, closing the door behind her. The morning light caught in her curly brown hair, turning it into a halo around her delicate face. Even in my panic, I couldn't help but notice how beautiful she looked in her paint-splattered overalls.
"Someone from your clan must have talked. They're saying an orc warrior who paints..." she hesitated, wincing slightly, "...isn't a real orc at all."
I slammed my fist against the wall, leaving a small dent in the plaster. "Perfect. Just perfect."
"Is it really that bad?" Emryn approached cautiously, her small hand coming to rest on my massive forearm. The contrast of her soft pale skin against my green roughness never failed to stir something primal in me.
"You don't understand clan politics," I sighed, trying to control my temper. "The Black Iron Orcs have been looking for any excuse to challenge Red Blade's dominance. This is exactly what they wanted, proof that we're going soft."
"There's nothing soft about expressing yourself through art," Emryn argued, her voice fierce despite her small stature. "Some of the greatest warriors in history were also artists."
I smiled down at her, amazed at how she could always see the best in things. In me. "Try telling that to Grommak Skullsplitter, leader of the Black Iron Orcs." I ran a hand through my spiky brown hair. "He once challenged another orc to death combat for using a napkin at dinner."
"That's ridiculous!"
"That's orc culture for you. At least, the parts I've been trying to move beyond."
Emryn squeezed my arm. "So what now? We just let them mock you?"
I looked down into her determined face and felt that familiar heat in my chest. Since meeting this tiny human artist three weeks ago, my world had turned upside down. She made me want to be both more orc and less orc stronger in my convictions, but gentler in my approach.
"No," I decided. "We have that joint art exhibition next week. We're not backing down."
Her smile lit up the room. "That's my orc."
My orc. The possessive made my heart pound. "But we need to be careful. The Black Iron Orcs don't just mock their enemies. They destroy them."
The sabotage shouldn't have surprisedme when it started the very next day. We arrived at the gallery space we'd rented for our exhibition to find the locks changed and a notice declaring the building condemned.
"This is their work," I growled, sniffing the paper. "I can smell Grommak's second-in-command, Durzol. Like rotting meat and cheap cologne."
Emryn snatched the notice and examined it. "This is obviously fake. The letterhead isn't even spelled correctly."
"Doesn't matter. The locks are still changed."
She looked up at me with that mischievous spark I adored. "So we break in?"
"We do what now?" I blinked down at her.
"It's our space, Nar. We paid for it. We're just... reclaiming it."
I couldn't help the grin spreading across my face. "You're a bad influence, Emryn Lister."
"You love it," she teased, then immediately blushed at her choice of words.
My heart skipped. We hadn't said that word yet, love, though I'd been feeling it since our second date when she'd defended me against a group of humans making orc jokes at a restaurant.
"I do," I answered, my voice deeper than I intended.
Our eyes locked, and for a moment, I thought about forgetting the exhibition entirely and carrying her back to my apartment. But the sound of approaching footsteps broke the moment.
