Sarah's Fight (Orcs of the Appalachia #3)

Chapter 1

Sarah

"Shut up!"

The words exploded from my mouth before I could stop them, sharp enough to cut through the gentle strains of music that had been playing moments before. My heels clicking against the stone pathway like gunshots as I moved forward, each step deliberate, controlled, claiming space.

Around us, wedding guests froze mid-sip, their eyes wide as they took in the scene unfolding in the orc village amid Tori and Argon's wedding. The music died mid-note. Someone's champagne glass stopped halfway to their lips. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

The irony wasn't lost on me that I was causing a scene in what had to be the most beautiful wedding venue I'd ever seen.

The Orcs had transformed their village into something straight out of a fairy tale.

Garlands of autumn leaves—brilliant crimson, burnt orange, and golden yellow—draped between the stone and log buildings, catching the early November light.

Zuhra, the village manager, had woven branches of mountain laurel and wild asters through the archway where Tori and Argon exchanged their vows just an hour ago.

The surrounding mountains blazed with fall color, creating a natural amphitheater of reds and golds that no human decorator could ever hope to replicate.

Even the rough-hewn tables were adorned with centerpieces of acorns, pinecones, and more of those stunning leaves that seemed to glow in the afternoon sun.

I would have physically put my foot in Kael's mouth if I thought it would fit, but knowing him, he'd probably just eat my shoe.

And these were Louboutins. Granted, I'd scored them at a consignment shop, but they'd still cost me a week's worth of billable hours.

I was not about to sacrifice them to an Orc's oversized ego and even more oversized mouth.

Not to mention the skirt to my emerald green bridesmaid dress was rather tight, and I couldn't figure out how to get my foot up that high without thoroughly embarrassing myself.

Sheriff Randall Dawson stood ten feet away, his hand resting on his belt with the smug authority of a man who'd been waiting for this exact moment.

The late afternoon sun caught the silver of his badge, making it gleam like a promise—or a threat.

His weathered face wore an expression of barely concealed satisfaction.

Franklin, North Carolina was a small town.

I'd dealt with Dawson many times, and I'd never seen him look quite as pleased as he did now.

I closed the distance between us in four strides, my bridesmaid dress swishing with each step, the tight skirt forcing me to move with precision rather than speed. But precision was enough. Precision was everything.

I positioned myself directly between Kael and Dawson, my spine straightening, my shoulders squaring. Power stance—legs shoulder-width apart, one hand extended back toward Kael in a clear gesture: Stay back. The other hand went to my hip, fingers splayed, claiming territory.

I wasn't getting out of the way. I was blocking Dawson from his prey.

"He's not saying another word," I announced, my voice carrying across the suddenly silent clearing. Clear. Sharp. Absolute.

Then I turned to face Kael, and the look in his eyes nearly undid me.

Surprise. Respect. And something deeper—something that made heat flash through my body despite the cool evening air. He'd been about to speak, his mouth already forming the words that would destroy him, and I'd thankfully silenced him.

A human woman. Five-foot-six in heels. Commanding a seven-foot Orc warrior.

And he was listening.

My hand shot out and clamped over his mouth before he could recover, before that reckless determination could override his surprise. My palm pressed against those full lips that had smiled and flirted with half the women in Franklin but never—not once—at me.

The contact sent electricity racing up my arm.

His breath was hot against my skin, coming fast and surprised.

His lips were softer than I'd expected, warm and yielding beneath my palm, a contrast to the smooth coolness of his tusks.

For one insane moment all I could focus on was how warm he was, how solid, how utterly male.

The scent of him—pine and leather and spice—filled my lungs.

Then my lawyer brain kicked back into gear, and I wanted to strangle him myself.

His hand came up—not to push me away, but to circle my wrist. The touch was gentle despite his size, despite the fact that he could snap my bones like twigs if he wanted to. His fingers were warm, careful, and they sent another jolt through me that I absolutely did not have time to process.

Behind us, I heard Dawson's boots crunching on gravel, moving closer. The sound grated against my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

"Too late, Ms. Potter." Dawson's voice dripped with satisfaction, smug and certain. "He just confessed. I heard him myself."

I didn't turn around. Didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me react. I kept my eyes locked on Kael's, pouring every ounce of command I possessed into my stare. Trust me, I tried to telegraph. Trust me and shut up.

"My client made a statement under duress at a public event," I said, my voice sharp and clear, every syllable precisely enunciated. "Any halfway competent defense attorney would have that thrown out before the ink dried on the arrest report."

Only then did I pivot to face Dawson, my hand still on Kael's mouth, my body still positioned between them.

"And Sheriff, I am far better than halfway competent. As you well know."

Dawson's smug expression faltered, just slightly. Good.

The wedding guests had given up any pretense of celebration and gathered near, waiting to see what happened.

The human guests—mostly Tori's friends and a few locals—had pressed themselves toward the edges of the gathering, their eyes wide with the kind of respect that came from suddenly remembering they were surrounded by beings who could snap them like twigs should the standoff with Dawson and his deputies escalate.

But the Orcs weren't looking at the humans. They were looking at me.

At the human woman who'd just physically inserted herself between their warrior and a corrupt sheriff. At the human woman who'd silenced Kael Ironforge with nothing but her hand and her voice. At the human woman who was standing her ground despite being outsized, outmuscled, and outnumbered.

I saw it in their faces—surprise, respect, and something that looked almost like approval.

"Sarah—" Kael began, his voice muffled against my palm.

"I swear to God, Kael, keep your mouth shut." My voice shook—not with fear, but with fury at his stupidity, at his reckless nobility, at the fact that he'd been about to throw his life away. "Do not say another word."

I felt his jaw clench beneath my hand, felt the tension coiling through his massive frame. Something shifted in his expression—surprise deepening into something that looked like aggravation.

I dropped my hand from his mouth but caught his wrist instead, my fingers wrapping around the thick muscle and tendon. My hand looked impossibly small against his green skin, my fingers barely circling halfway around his wrist, but I held on with every ounce of strength I possessed.

"Do." I stepped closer, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet those amber eyes that had gone wide.

"You." My voice dropped lower, harder, colder—the voice I used in courtrooms when I was about to destroy someone's case.

"Understand." Each word landed like a physical blow, separated by silence that felt heavier than stone. "Me."

The clearing went absolutely still. Even the wind died. The autumn leaves stopped rustling. The distant sound of the stream faded to nothing.

Kael's amber eyes locked on mine, and I watched something fundamental shift behind them.

The reckless determination was still there, but it was tempered now—controlled, leashed.

His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking beneath that green-tinged skin.

His massive chest rose and fell with deep, controlled breaths.

"Yes," Kael said quietly, and I would swear there was something like respect in his gaze. Something like wonder. Something that made heat pool low in my belly despite this being the completely wrong moment for those types of feelings.

The weight of that moment settled over us like a physical thing. I felt it in the air, in the way the wedding guests exhaled in collective relief.

Then Dawson's voice cut through the moment like a blade. "Step away from him, Ms. Potter."

I released Kael's wrist slowly, deliberately, my fingers trailing across his skin in a way that made his breath catch. Then I stepped to the side—not away, but to the side, maintaining my position between them even as I gave Dawson access.

I held Kael's gaze, pouring every ounce of command I possessed into my stare. "Trust me," I whispered.

His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking beneath that green-tinged skin, but—miracle of miracles—he stayed silent.

Dawson moved in quickly, pulling Kael's arms behind his back with more force than necessary. The metallic click of handcuffs seemed to echo across the wedding venue, cutting through the murmur of shocked guests.

"Kael Ironforge," Dawson began, his voice dripping with satisfaction, "you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney—"