Page 20 of The Orc's Thief
“Oh, gods.” I shake his shoulder. “Hey. Hey! Wake up!”
He doesn’t move, and in the half-light, I notice the wound on his temple.
“No,” I groan. “Come on, wake up!”
I was aiming for hisback, not his fucking head. I only wanted to incapacitate him long enough to stop him from following me, but he was too fast and shifted his entire stance mid-swing to fend off my attack.
I push on his shoulder, but he’s heavy, definitely too heavy for me to lift on my own. I picked this space because it’s hidden, and if I was being followed by Damen’s crew, it would have made the perfect hiding spot, dark and secluded, with a back exit I could escape through.
My gaze flits toward the other room, the one that leads to what used to be a kitchen, where the door to the other side of the street waits for me. This stranger surprised me, chased me, and is undoubtedly angry at me for stealing from him.
The smart thing—the only thing—to do would be to leave him here while he’s unconscious and run. I don’t know how he followed me this far, but he’s faster than I expected for his size and clearly determined to catch me.
Guilt gnaws at me as I watch the trickle of blood run down his cheek and drip slowly onto the floor. I know head wounds bleed a lot, but what if I seriously hurt him? I put a lot of force into that swing. What if he bleeds out here? Could I live with that?
In all my years living on the street and working my job, I haven’t killed anyone. I’ve hurt quite a few, mostly men who thought I was easy prey because of my gender and size, and I’ve permanently maimed one or two who deserved it.
Leaving this man here could mean signing him over to the gods. Even if he doesn’t bleed out, it’s only a matter of time before someone else comes in here, looking for a dry place to sleep. Some people living on the streets of Ultrup would kill him first and empty his pockets after. Or perhaps rats would find him, drawn to the scent of his blood…
Stop thinking about rats!
I grit my teeth, trying to make my legs move, but I just can’t leave him here. There are lines I won’t cross, it seems, and this is one of them.
“Ugh, wake up, you big lump!”
I nudge his shoulder again, and he lets out a low groan, his eyelids fluttering.
I scramble back, out of his reach. Well, he’s clearly not dead. But neither is he fully awake yet.
A thought insinuates itself into my mind, one that feels mighty evil in light of what I just did to him, but he’s righthere, and I need answers. Biting my lip, I waver for a moment, weighing my options, then quickly pull the length of rope from around my waist and cut it in two. I use the first half to tie the man’s hands behind his back and fasten the other half around his ankles. If I could move him, I’d tie him to the wall somehow, but there’s no shifting his dead weight.
My hand hurts worse than before, so I’m not as fast as I should be, and each time the still-damp rope scrapes against the blisters, I wince, stifling a whimper.
Why am I doing this?
I keep glancing at him, because the last thing I want is to be caught unprepared. One good kick from him, and he could injure me far worse than I did him.
My work complete, I move back and survey his prone form. His breathing is even, and his eyelids flutter from time to time, but he’s still unconscious. That wound is still bleeding too, the nasty cut already swelling.
His face is smushed against the floor, and the guilt intensifies. He’s breathing in dirt—and gods only know what else. I heave a sigh, then unwrap my scarf and tuck it under his cheek. It doesn’t do much, but it makes me feel better.
What a mess.
His eyelids flutter once more, nearly opening before closing again. He’ll wake soon, I think, which is a relief. At least I haven’t accidentally killed him. Whether I’ve caused lasting harm is still uncertain, though I hope his skull is tougher than a human’s, since the rest of him certainly is.
I let myself study his figure, comparing it to mine. When we faced off on the roof, he stood at least a head taller than me. But it’s more than that. His shoulders are broader than any man’s I’ve ever seen, which was why he couldn’t follow me through the narrow window. Despite his size, he’s quick and nimble enough to catch me, something I didn’t anticipate.
If he got his big hands on me…
Something squirms low in my belly at the thought. I blink, and heat rushes into my face.
If he got his hands on me, he’d break me in half, that’s what would happen. He’s angry I stole from him, so he stalked me, but I got the better of him, didn’t I? He’s the one lying on the floor, unconscious and trussed up.
My gaze falls on his face. I note the straight line of the one visible eyebrow and the tusk poking up from the right side of his mouth. It’s white and sharp, and my fingers itch with the need to touch it.
I jerk my hand back, horrified at myself. No, that’s just my injured skin twinging with pain. I don’t want to touch the man, I need answers from him.
Carefully, I reach over and shove him again. “Hey, wake up.”
