Page 2 of Saved By the Mountain Man Orc
The silence presses against my eardrums until I want to scream just to break it. Even the insects have gone silent.
Then I hear it.
A sound behind me. Heavy. Deliberate. The kind of sound that makes your prey instincts screamrun, even when you can't.
Not a deer stepping carefully through the underbrush. Not a fox padding on silent paws. Not even a bear lumbering through the trees.
This is something else entirely.
I turn my head slowly, my neck muscles protesting every inch of movement. My heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Through the trees, I see a figure moving with purpose. Large. Broad. Covered in dark leather that looks hand-stitched, and... green?
My breath catches in my throat. My heart doesn't just skip. It stops entirely for a beat before slamming back to life.
I don't move.Can'tmove. All I can do is watch as the figure comes closer, stepping through the brush like it belongs here. Like it's as much a part of the forest as the ancient pines themselves.
It's shaped like a man. And it moves like one.
But it’s much bigger than a man. Wilder, too. And definitelynot human.
Green skin stretches over muscles that look carved from stone. His broad chest rises and falls with each measured breath. And he has dark hair tied back with what looks like a strip of leather. What stands out the most, though, are the tusks—pale, curved, and protruding from his bottom lip, catching the fading light.
No. No, this can't be real.This is shock. Blood loss. A concussion making me hallucinate.
I try to crawl backward, ignoring the screaming protest from my ankle, but pain lances up my leg like fire, and I cry out. The sharp, involuntary sound echoes through the trees.
The creature stops.
He turns toward me slowly, golden eyes scanning my crumpled form with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. His gaze lingers on my swollen ankle, and something flickers across his face.Concern?His nostrils flare slightly, as if he's scenting the air.
Then he looks up, and our eyes meet.
His eyes are golden, deep, and luminous. Not angry or threatening. Just... watchful.Knowing.
I open my mouth to speak—to scream, to plead, to say something—but my vision blurs at the edges. Black spots dance across my field of view like gnats.
"Help," I whisper, though I don't know if I mean it or if the word just fell out of my mouth.
Then everything goes dark.
Chapter 2
Drak
Shesmellslikesunshineand wildflowers.
That's the first thing I notice as I crouch beside her crumpled form.
Not pine sap or the copper tang of blood from her scraped palms. Not the sharp bite of fear that usually clings to humans like smoke.Sunshine.
The second thing I notice is that she's broken.
Her injuries aren’t life-threatening. But she’s hurt enough to make it impossible for her to hike out on her own.
She's curled at the base of a moss-covered slope near the southern ridge, her ankle already swelling against the confines of her hiking boot. There's blood on her wrist where her skin scraped against the rocks, and her lower lip is split from her fall. Her backpack lies half-torn open beside her, and its contents are scattered across the forest floor. There’s trail mix, a water bottle, something that might be emergency flares, and the camera she’d been clutching.
I’ve never understood the point of cameras. I’ve often seen humans with them in the forest, always looking through them but never reallyseeingwhat’s around them.
