Page 17 of The Orc's Thief
Oh, fuck.
My time has run out. I throw caution to the wind, hoping the noise of Damen’s arrival will mask my footsteps on the stairs. I sprint up to the top floor and down the hallway, past Lindie’s room, to the window I entered through. A gust of wind slaps raindrops into my face just as shouts echo from downstairs. The guards must have found the wrecked study, and since I didn’t leave any windows open, they’ll know the culprit didn’t escape that way.
I curse myself for not laying a false trail, but I’ve been reacting poorly because of the pain. It’s all I can do not to give myself away.
The pain in my hand sharpens to a constant, pulsing throb, but I need both hands to tie the rope around my waist. I climb out onto the window ledge. I don’t bother closing the window latch. The rain has already splattered the floorboards, and there will be no hiding the path I took once they reach this floor.
Will they figure out it was me because of the entry point? There aren’t many cat burglars in the city capable of pulling this off, and I should have thought of that sooner. But I didn’t count on an exploding lockbox. I couldn’t have prepared for that.
I brace my legs against the wet wall and grip the rope, wincing as pain shoots through my hand. This will be so much harder than lowering myself, but I can’t stay here, dangling like an apple, waiting to be plucked.
Hand over hand, I climb higher toward the eaves of the roof. Blisters burst on my right palm, and I whimper, then bite my lip to keep from making a sound. In the inner courtyard, the guards are already searching every nook and cranny. It’s only a matter of time before their gazes turn upward.
The rain is my only cover now, but it won’t help if I give myself away.
A shuffling sound from the roof has me looking up. Rain pelts my face, and I blink the water away, unable to spare a hand to wipe my eyes.
Then my vision clears, and my heart stutters to a stop.
There’s someone on the roof, and they’re staring right down at me.
Chapter
Eight
ARLON
The thief is climbing up, but from the whimper I just heard, they’re not doing too well. I squint through the rain, trying to make out their form. They’re small, possibly a young man, but the more probable explanation is that it’s a human woman. I can’t tell for sure because the bottom half of her face is hidden by a scarf or perhaps a mask to conceal her identity.
She looks up at me and freezes, her eyes going wide despite the raindrops streaking her face. She slips in her panic and lets out a soft cry, another sound of pain that cuts straight into me.
“Hold on,” I murmur.
Whatever she was doing downstairs, the guards have caught on to it. She looks down toward the courtyard, and for the briefest moment, I know what she’s thinking—whether she should take her chances with the gang downstairs or with me. They’re the known entity to her. She must know what they’ll do to her. But I’m a stranger, possibly an even bigger threat.
So I make the decision for her. I won’t hurt her, though I want my letters and my gold back. Those men are out for blood.
I lie flat on my stomach and reach over the edge of the roof. Then I grab the wet rope and pull, lifting her a foot higher. Her gasp draws my gaze—and sure enough, she’s noticed the green skin of my hands and face. Her eyes flare wide, and she goes as if to tug the rope away from me, then thinks better of it.
“There’s nowhere to go but up,” I whisper, hoping she can hear me. “Let me help.”
She wouldn’t survive a fall from this height. Not even an orc would, since the courtyard below is cobbled in stone. For some reason, the thought of her plummeting sends terror coursing through me, so I work faster, pulling her up hand by hand.
The thief releases the rope with one hand, reaches into her satchel, and pulls out a knife—no, a dagger—the blade glinting in the darkness. For a wild moment, I think she might try to cut herself free, but she’s just preparing to fight me.
I’d laugh at the idea any other day, but on this slick, sloped roof in the dark, I can’t risk either of us slipping. One misstep and it’s over. I’m not keen on climbing down this damn roof with a stab wound if she’s any good with that thing.
I grin, then jerk the rope, letting it loose just enough to drop her a few inches before tightening my hold again. She lets out a sharp scream and fumbles for the rope. The dagger slips from her fingers and tumbles, turning end over end until it hits the cobblestones below. Luck spares us from the guards’ notice. In the dark, they heard the noise, but none are looking up yet.
This is too dangerous. My arms strain in the awkward position as I haul the thief higher, then step back as she reaches the roof’s edge and clambers over, huffing with exertion and fear.
But now that she’s here, my mind locks onto something else. I watch her push herself to her knees, wary eyes fixed on me. I take a deep breath through my nose, pulling in her scent.
Cherries. Cherries and sweet peas. A fragrance so delicate I lean forward, craving another whiff.
The thief scrambles to her knees. She’s smaller than me by a head, human, and smells like the first breath of summer. There’s a hint of sugar too, like she’s carrying freshly baked goods, and my mouth waters at the thought of tasting her.
Without thinking, I step toward her, every sense focused on her. “It’s you.”
