Page 92 of The Orc's Thief
He sobers, regarding me seriously. “Aye, but I was muddled by your perfect scent. I was only thinking about how to get to you, so I lowered my guard. Any warrior worth their salt would be much more vigilant. Don’t grow complacent, all right? It might cost you your life.”
The words settle between us like a heavy weight. I want to protest, to tell him I’m capable of protecting myself, but I know he’s right.
“Do you understand, Tessa?” Arlon presses, taking my hand between his palms. “I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you. Play to your strengths. You’re quiet, which is good, but don’t take on a target that’s too big. And don’t judge orcs by human standards. I’m bigger than you, but also quicker. A human my size might be awkward and slow, but especially here, orcs train from a young age to become perfect weapons.”
I squeeze his fingers, surprised by the ferocity of his words. “I’ll be careful, I promise. But what do you mean, especially here?You’rea warrior, aren’t you?”
“Aye, but I chose to become one. Our clan has cooks and blacksmiths, hunters and teachers, and all are valued the same.” He lifts his gaze to the mountains beyond, as if he could see the Stonefrost Fortress from here. “When we left, I’d already been training to become a warrior, but so waseveryoneelse. They were never given the chance to choose differently.”
“That must have been rough.” I think about my childhood, where I had every comfort, and yet no real choices either. “I think I would’ve liked warrior training.”
Arlon chuckles. “You would. There was climbing involved. Sheer rock faces, ropes, and scary cliffs. Your kind of fun.”
I grin up at him. “Exactly. I’d make a great fighter.”
He leans in to kiss me, and I lift my chin, meeting him eagerly. He tastes like apples and feels like home, and I don’t want to fight this anymore.
We tangle together, effortless passion sparking between us. I’m halfway into his lap by the time he pulls away, breathing hard.
“We shouldn’t linger,” he rumbles. He cups my face in both hands and kisses me again, then releases me with a sigh. “We need to find shelter before nightfall. The nights will get colder the higher we climb.”
I stand on wobbly legs and dust myself off. “Give me a minute. I’ll be right back.”
Arlon groans as I bend to tie my boot, and I grin, tossing him a naughty wink over my shoulder. Then I hurry into the bushes downstream, rounding one shrub, then another. This high up, most of the leaves have already fallen, and I curse softly as I descend the slope, searching for better cover. Not only can Arlon see better than I can, but his hearing and sense of smell are also exceptional, and I want to keep at least this part of my life private.
I’m washing my hands in the stream a few minutes later when a distant shout has me looking up. Was that…?
Another yell. Then a gust of wind carries the sound of low voices, arguing, and my stomach twists with fear.
They’ve found us.
Chapter
Thirty-One
ARLON
A fist slams into my gut, as big as a mace and no less painful. I bite back a groan, my ribs screaming in pain, and swing around to block the hit from the second attacker. His fist flies past my head. The momentum of the swing carries the orc soldier forward, and I kick him in the back of the knee, sending him sprawling.
I snatch my hatchet from my weapons belt, but a well-aimed kick knocks it into the underbrush, out of reach. Someone grabs my shoulder to spin me around, and I turn with the motion, arms already up for another strike. Just in time—the broad-shouldered bastard who gut-punched me lunges forward to headbutt me, but stops short, instincts sharp as mine. I curse, grab his tunic, and slam him down over my knee, using his own weight to drive the blow.
Where is Tessa?
The second I caught movement in the forest at the edge of my vision, I knew we were in trouble. We’d been careless. So fucking stupid.
A fist cracks into my jaw—another soldier, a third, blindsides me. My vision dances with dark spots, but I shake it off. If I go down now, she’ll be unprotected. Alone with these soldiers.
Some part of my brain is screaming. I’m missing something—but what?
I duck under the third man’s guard and slam a fist into his face, answering pain with pain. He reels back, blood streaming from his nose. The one I kneed has recovered and charges again, fists flying with brutal speed.
His fists.
These orcs should be armed to the teeth, yet they’re not using their weapons. I should be dead already, given their numbers.
The second man kicks me in the thigh, and my leg goes out from under me, the pain threatening to overwhelm me. I stagger, then right myself, grab a dagger from my boot, and put my arms up again, my training taking over.
I didn’t sweat in the training rings every day for years just to be bested by these common assholes. My mate is somewhere out there, all alone, and I won’t let them take her. Not while I’m still alive.
