Chapter 10 #2
We kept walking, the crowd pressing close around us, music and laughter filling the air. Sarah pointed out costumes she found funny, laughed at a group of kids dressed as superheroes, stopped to watch a street performer juggling fire.
And I watched her.
Memorized the way her eyes lit up when she smiled. The sound of her laughter. The way she unconsciously leaned into me when the crowd got too thick.
Stolen moments in a night that would end too soon.
But for now, it was ours.
We were halfway down the main strip when a scent stopped me in my tracks.
Grain. Yeast. The sharp, clean bite of alcohol cutting through the sugar-smoke chaos of the street. It was familiar in a way that made my chest tighten—not quite the same as the ale Thalmuk brewed in the village, but close enough to make me turn my head.
"Sugarland's Distilling Company," Sarah read from the sign, following my gaze. The building was lit up like everything else, warm light spilling from the windows, people flowing in and out with small bottles clutched in their hands. "You want to check it out?"
I nodded, already moving toward the entrance. "It smells like how we make Orc ale."
"Really?" She sounded surprised. "I didn't know you were into distilling."
"I'm not. Not really." I held the door open for her, and we stepped into a space that was part store, part tasting room, all wood and copper and the overwhelming scent of a hundred different spirits.
"But I've helped Thalmuk a few times. The village brewer.
He's been trying to perfect a new recipe for years. "
Sarah's eyes lit up with interest. "What kind of recipe?"
"Something with honey and spices. He won't tell anyone the full list of ingredients." I grinned at the memory of Thalmuk's paranoid secrecy, the way he'd shoo anyone away from his workspace when he was working on the recipe. "He's convinced someone's going to steal it."
"Smart Orc." She moved toward the tasting bar, where a young human woman was pouring samples into tiny glasses. "Want to do a tasting?"
I looked at the rows of bottles behind the bar—labels promising flavors I'd never heard of, colors ranging from clear to pale blue. My curiosity won out over caution.
"Yeah," I said. "Let's try it."
The woman behind the bar was enthusiastic, her smile bright as she lined up small glasses in front of us.
"Okay, so we'll start with our Blackberry Moonshine," she said, pouring a dark purple liquid into the first glass. "Then move to Salted Caramel, Amaretto, Pumpkin Spice, Rye Whiskey, Smoke and Spice, Apple Cider, Coconut Rum, and finish with our Birthday Cake flavor."
Sarah picked up the first glass, sniffing it cautiously. I did the same, and the scent hit me immediately—sweet and tart, the blackberry so strong it almost masked the alcohol underneath. Almost.
I tossed it back.
The flavor exploded across my tongue—fruit and sugar and a burn that was pleasant but nowhere near as intense as orc ale. It was good, though. Really good. The blackberry was ripe and jammy, with just enough tartness to keep it from being cloying.
"Wow," Sarah said, her eyes widening. "That's... actually amazing."
"It is," I agreed, setting the glass down. "But it's not very strong."
She laughed. "Kael, this is moonshine. It's like sixty percent alcohol."
I shrugged. "Orc ale is closer to ninety. This is like... drinking juice."
The woman behind the bar appeared impressed. "You've had ninety-proof alcohol?"
"Regularly," I said, and her eyebrows shot up.
Sarah was already reaching for the second glass—the salted caramel. "Show-off."
"Just stating facts—"
"You're bragging."
"Is there a difference?"
She shot me a look over the rim of her glass. "For you, probably not."
I followed her lead with the salted caramel, and this one was even better than the first. The sweetness was rich and buttery, with a hint of salt that made the whole thing taste like liquid candy.
It coated my tongue, warm and indulgent, and I found myself savoring it instead of just tossing it back.
"This one's dangerous," Sarah said, her voice slightly breathless. "I could drink a whole bottle of this."
"You probably shouldn't," I said, amused.
She shot me a look. "I'm a grown woman, Kael. I can handle my liquor."
"Uh-huh." I watched as she picked up the third glass—amaretto—and drank it without hesitation. Her cheeks were already flushed, her movements just a little looser than they'd been when we walked in. "How many is that now?"
"Three—"
"And you weigh what, a hundred and twenty pounds?"
"That's rude—"
"It's math."
"It's rude math." But she was smiling as she reached for the fourth glass. The pumpkin spice.
I tried it too, and it tasted exactly like autumn—warm spices and sweetness with just enough bite to remind you it was alcohol. Sarah made a small sound of pleasure that went straight to my head.
"Good?" I asked.
"Really good." She was already moving to the fifth. The rye whiskey.
"Sarah—"
"I'm fine."
"You're getting tipsy."
"I am not." She lifted her chin, indignant, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the way she had to steady herself against the bar. "I'm just... relaxed."
The woman behind the bar was trying not to smile as she poured the next samples. Sarah worked her way through the smoke and spice, the apple cider, the coconut rum, each one making her cheeks pinker and her movements looser.
By the time we got to the birthday cake flavor, she was definitely tipsy.
"Last one," the woman said, pouring the pale liquid.
I picked it up, skeptical. How the hell did you make alcohol taste like cake?
But when I drank it, I understood. It was sweet and creamy, with hints of vanilla and something that tasted almost like frosting. It shouldn't have worked, but it did—playful and indulgent and completely ridiculous in the best way.
Sarah finished hers and set the glass down with a soft clink, her smile wide and unguarded. "Okay, that was fun."
"It was," I agreed. And it had been. Not because of the alcohol—I could barely feel it, my Orc metabolism burning through it almost as fast as I drank it—but because of her. The way she'd relaxed with each sip, her usual careful control slipping just enough to let me see the woman underneath.
Her scent had shifted too. Still vanilla and steel, but warmer now, softer. The edge of arousal that had been simmering all night was stronger, more pronounced.
"We should get a bottle," she said, pointing at the salted caramel. "For the cabin."
"You want to drink more?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Maybe." She grinned at me, and there was something mischievous in her expression that I'd never seen before. "Or maybe I just want to have it. You know, for emergencies."
"What kind of emergencies require salted caramel moonshine?"
"The kind where I'm stuck in a cabin with a seven-foot Orc who won't stop teasing me."
I laughed, and the woman behind the bar handed her a bottle with a knowing smile.
We stepped back out into the chaos of the street, and Sarah immediately stumbled on the curb.
I caught her elbow, steadying her. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," she said, but her words were just slightly slurred, her balance just slightly off. "It's these stupid heels. I should've worn boots."
"You're tipsy," I said, and couldn't help the fondness that crept into my voice. She was adorable like this—all indignant denial and stubborn pride.
"I am not." She lifted her chin, trying for dignity, but the effect was ruined by the way she swayed into me. "I only had a few shots. That's nothing."
"Nine shots," I corrected, grinning. "Nine shots of sixty-proof alcohol on an empty stomach."
"We had dinner—"
"Hours ago."
She waved a hand dismissively, nearly smacking me in the chest. "I'm fine. Let's keep walking."
I didn't argue. Instead, I kept my hand on her elbow, guiding her through the crowd as she pointed out more costumes and laughed at things that probably weren't that funny but made me smile anyway.
Her usual sharp edges were softened, her movements looser, and she kept leaning into me—her shoulder brushing my arm, her hand finding my bicep when the crowd pressed too close.
It was intoxicating in a way the moonshine hadn't been.
Every time she touched me, every time her scent spiked with arousal, every time she laughed—it made something in my chest tighten and ache. And the way she kept looking up at me with those bright, slightly unfocused eyes, like I was the only person in the crowd...
"You're staring again," she said, poking my chest with one finger.
"You're swaying."
"The ground is uneven—"
"The ground is perfectly flat."
"Then you're making me dizzy." She grinned up at me, and the playfulness in her expression was so unlike her usual careful control that I wanted to memorize it. "With your... your face."
I laughed. "My face?"
"It's very distracting." She was definitely slurring now, her words running together slightly. "All... chiseled and Orc-y."
"Orc-y?"
"You know what I mean." She waved her hand vaguely. "Handsome. Stupidly handsome. It's not fair."
My chest tightened. "Sarah—"
"I'm just saying." She stumbled again, and I caught her around the waist, pulling her close. She looked up at me, her pupils dilated, her lips parted. "You should come with a warning label."
This was dangerous. More dangerous than Dawson, more dangerous than the threat of prison.
Because there was no way this ended clean, not anymore.
But I couldn't stop. Couldn't pull away. Couldn't do anything except follow her through the Halloween crowds and memorize every second of this borrowed time.
We were passing a group of street musicians when the blonde woman appeared.
She was dressed in a flimsy white dress that left little to the imagination, with red lips and platinum curls styled in perfect waves. She stepped directly into my path with a smile that was all teeth and confidence, her body language deliberately provocative.
"Oh my God," she said, her voice high and breathy as her eyes raked over me. "That is the hottest Orc costume I have ever seen."
I blinked. "Uh—"