CHAPTER TWO
Brokk
The woman’s scent strikes me before her body even touches mine, sweet and intoxicating. I catch her to me before she can fall, my eager arms wrapping around her.
I know beyond a doubt it’s her scent that’s haunted me these past few months, her scent that lingered in the photographer’s studio.
I was new to this world and did not yet understand its ways or how to explain why I needed to know the name and address of every woman who’d ever entered that studio. People grew more upset the more times I said, “I must claim her. She is mine.”
I almost lost my new job that day until one of the publishing interns chuckled and complimented me for staying “in character” as a possessive orc. Everyone laughed, and I let the matter drop.
But I never forgot her intoxicating scent, and I’ve learned much since then about how humans woo in this strange new world.
“Lara Jade,” I growl, recognizing her from her publicity photo. Of course my perfect woman is her, the author whose books might be fiction but which capture the true warrior spirit of orcs.
She blinks up at me, all big brown eyes and a stunned expression on her lovely face. Then her light-tan skin flushes almost as pink as her clothing.
It’s delightful.
I wonder what it would take to get her to turn such a rosy color due to pleasure.
Her hands on my chest make me want to rip my shirt off so I can feel her touch on my skin. Other human women certainly like it when I take off my shirt … sometimes.
Humans are puzzling and contradictory. They don’t have communal baths and forbid full nudity in public. Yet at the same time, whenever I meet several of them at a romance gathering, they always demand I take off my shirt. Male, female, or gender fluid, it matters little which—they all join in and chant for me to do it, with the women always the loudest.
So which is actually correct? Public nudity or not?
And which does Lara prefer?
Sherrie asked me to keep my shirt on, but does any of that matter now that I’ve found my mate?
The crowd that fell silent when Lara tripped now roars to life, hundreds of flashes flickering across the room as they capture our image with their phones.
“Oh, my god. Can you believe it?” Chelsea yells into her microphone. The interviewer is a tiny, tanned blonde who vibrates with so much energy I wonder if she has any sprite in her ancestry. “Brokk to the rescue, just like Grinthar come to life! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone move that fast!”
It’s true. I used my full strength to dash onto the stage. Normally, I keep it hidden, the better to blend in.
But I couldn’t let Lara fall. Even before I caught her scent, I admired her for her storyteller abilities. Her orc books have felt like a tiny piece of home in this strange human world.
“Can you believe it, Lara? Did you ever expect to be swept off your feet by an orc just like one of your heroines?” Chelsea steps closer and shoves the microphone into Lara’s face.
Lara flinches, and I spin to put my body between her and the interviewer as I raise us both up to standing. “Are you all right?”
“None of this was on my list,” she whispers to herself.
“What’s that?”
Her startled eyes snap to mine. I probably wasn’t supposed to hear what she said, but orc senses are more acute than any human’s.
“Nothing. I’m fine. Thanks.” Lara takes a step back, allowing me to get my first real look at her. Her clothing is alluring in that way some human garments have. It covers her from shoulders to ankles, hiding away her skin, yet is so tight I can see every lovely curve. The contrast of the two is even more enticing than if she were naked.
The cloth is the deep pink of the most brightly colored flowers, and it sparkles as she moves as if someone scooped a thousand tiny stars from the sky and wove them into the surface. In Faerie, such fabric would drape royalty.
It suits Lara well and is nothing less than she deserves.
My mate.
Mine.
This must be the reason the Moon Goddess flung me into the middle of New York City on my first day on Earth. Because she knew it would lead me to Lara.
I was on a mission to protect my king when the door between Earth and Faerie ripped open, sucking me through in a whirlwind. I landed in a place I now know is called Times Square. Everything was bright flashing lights and roaring mechanical carriages using an unfamiliar form of magic. And humans. So many humans, of all colors, shapes, and sizes, though none came near my height and muscular build. They weren’t scared of me—quite the opposite. They stood beside me to take pictures, and many pressed money into my hands. I exchanged the green pieces of paper for pizza and lived for several days like this before being spotted by a talent agent.
Which led me here, to Lara.
“Okay!” Chelsea bellows into the microphone. “Let’s get this interview started!”
The stools they give us are annoying heights—too short for me, too tall for Lara. She struggles to get up onto hers, her strange human shoes not helping. There are many things I don’t understand about this world, but high heels might be the worst of them. What’s the point? The wearer can’t run or fight in them. Unless… that’s exactly the point. Is it to make their women easier to catch?
Lara’s foot slips off the stool rung, and she tips over, her arms flying out.
Warrior reflexes spur me toward my mate, and I catch her, holding her close for several seconds.
The crowd goes wild, and the announcer yells something.
But none of it matters, not compared to the soft parting of Lara’s lips and the way she stares up at me, pupils wide. She feels our connection. She wants me, too.
I grin, flashing my tusks, as I set her on her stool, my hands lingering until she gets her balance.
Chelsea starts the interview, asking Lara question after question about her books, and I sit mesmerized, watching my mate come alive as she talks about something she clearly loves.
Then I get asked about being an orc, what makeup I use, etc. I answer honestly—that I really am an orc and need no cosmetics. The crowd laughs appreciatively. I get told regularly that the readers love that I “stay in character,” little realizing I simply speak the truth.
When the interview starts to wind down, the tiny blonde leans forward, the look in her eyes turning predatory. “So Lara, I know our time’s almost up, but I have to ask. Why monsters? Why aren’t human men good enough love interests for the women in your books?”
Lara’s eyes go wide, and she squirms on her stool. “I… I don’t—”
Rustles and murmurs go through the auditorium as the audience gets restless, which only makes my mate more uneasy.
No. I cannot allow it.
I leap to my feet and push my stool back out of the way. Sherrie’s words buzz in the back of my mind like an annoying pixie, and I bat them away. My mate needs the audience to turn their attention elsewhere, and there’s one thing that always works to distract romance readers.
“Who wants me to take off my shirt?”