Page 22 of The Orc's Thief
Hurt flashes in his eyes, there one second and gone the next. I cock my head to the side. He’s an expert at hiding his emotions, this one. I shouldn’t lower my guard just because he appears calm and friendly.
“Say, you couldn’t help me sit up, could you?” he asks, shuffling awkwardly on the floor. “My mind seems to be a little fuzzy.”
“Perhaps it’s better that you remain down, then,” I snipe. “Wouldn’t want you to faint again.”
He heaves a sigh and rolls to his side, then sits in one fluid motion. I scramble back, a flash of fear spiking inside me. But he simply makes himself comfortable and extends his long legs, pointing his still-tied feet toward me.
Now that he’s upright, I study his face up close for the first time. He’s bled quite a lot from the wound on his temple, and at the sight of the blood drying on his cheek, a queasysensation settles in my stomach. I’ve never been missish around injuries, but for some reason, seeing him bleed is uncomfortable, especially since I caused it.
He watches me just as closely, then nods toward me. “That looks painful. Your hand. What happened?”
I think of lying or simply remaining silent, but I need him to answer my questions, too. Besides, he already knows I broke into the Ravens’ mansion.
“I broke into Damen’s safe. He’s the leader?—”
“Of the gang, aye.” He lifts one dark eyebrow. “You broke into his office and his safe in the short time you were down there?”
He looks almost impressed. I resist the urge to preen and simply jerk my chin down. “The safe was rigged with some kind of alchemical solution. Burned my hand.” I lift the injured thing, wincing as the movement pulls at the wrecked skin. “I was lucky, though. If my face had been in front of it, I’d be dead.”
A shiver goes through me when I say the words. I haven’t had time to process what happened, but it’s true. If the dust hadn’t killed me, Damen or his guards would have.
The stranger’s gaze sharpens. “What were you after? What was worth the risk?”
I purse my lips. “None of your business. What I want to know is why you’ve been watching their mansion. I saw you in the street and at the temple. You switched out with some human guards. Why does the city watch have the Ravens under surveillance?”
He leans back slightly, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “There’s a pot of healing salve in my satchel. Use it on your hand, and I’ll tell you.”
“What?” I pull my hand closer to my chest, cradling it with my left.
He rolls his eyes at me. “Don’t pretend you didn’t search my bag.” He shrugs as if trying to bring the satchel closer to him.“If I were you, I’d steal the money, but the salve is actually more valuable. Made by our clan healer. She’s got a touch of magic in her, you know. You’ll feel better immediately.”
I don’t trust this man. I shouldn’t trust him, anyway. But if what he’s saying is true…can I really afford to ignore his offer? I’d need to visit a healer first thing in the morning and hope they weren’t connected to the largest gang in Ultrup. Or I could snatch the balm from the satchel and see if he’s telling the truth, then get the answers from him.
I palm the knife I stole from him, smirking when a muscle twitches in his jaw at the sight of it.
“You’ll sit still while I get it,” I threaten, “or you’ll be bleeding some more tonight.”
He grins, and I freeze, arrested by the sight of him. He’s uncommonly handsome, I have to admit that much to myself. I didn’t expect it, and I don’t like it one bit.
“Aye, I’ll behave, little thief,” he rumbles. “I won’t move a muscle.”
Damn. There’s nothing for it. I’ll try to grab the pot from the satchel, and if he tries anything, I’ll stick the knife in his neck. What could he do, really? Roll onto me?
The thought bolsters my courage, and I inch closer, keeping a wary eye on him.
The orc sits perfectly still, only his chest rises and falls with each breath. I crouch beside him, shifting the knife to my right hand despite the sting in my palm, and reach for the satchel with my left. I’d seen the pot earlier while rummaging, so I know what I’m after. The moment my fingers close around the cool glass, I draw it out and freeze. His head has turned toward me, eyes still shut.
He inhales deeply through his nose. He’ssniffingme.
My first instinct is to jerk back and put distance between us, because that can’t be good. Then his eyes open, and our gazeslock, so close I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. And there it is, the scent I remember from his room. Cedar, sharp and clean, with something tart layered beneath—lemons, maybe. Just a whiff, and my mouth waters, as if expecting a buttery pastry filled with sour jam. There’s soap, too, faint but not the kind I swiped from his room.
That thought cuts through the haze I’ve slipped into. I ease back, keeping my eyes on his. He swallows thickly, then slips on that smile, the one that makes my belly flutter with something that isn’t fear.
“Smear it on thick,” he says. “You’ll feel better right away.”
I glance down at the pot in my hand. I’d nearly forgotten I was holding it, and heat creeps into my cheeks. I duck my head to hide the flush. He already knows he’s handsome and doesn’t mind using it. The last thing I want is for him to realize he has any sway over me.
Still, the fact that he’s pushing me to use the balm puts me on edge. I set the stolen knife aside, uncork the pot, and dip my left pinky into the salve. Then I smear a small amount onto the back of my hand and wait.
