Chapter 7
By late afternoon, the sky had darkened to a bruised gray.
The air had grown heavy and pressed against Orlena’s skin.
The wind rattled the shutters of the shop and sent loose scraps skittering across the street.
She stood by the door, peered out, and took in orcs scurrying past with their cloaks drawn tight.
She even took notice that the market vendors had packed up early.
Everyone sensed what was coming.
Orlena didn’t hesitate to close up the shop sooner than usual. Her hands trembled, and she raced around and made sure everything was in its place. Yambul would grumble about the shop closing early, but she didn’t care. She had to get home.
She stepped outside and was almost knocked over by the strength of the wind gust.
“Oh!” she gasped. She struggled to slip the key in the door, but she finally succeeded. She stepped back and slipped it into her satchel and turned. Disappointment filled her as she glanced down the street.
She lingered for a moment in the hope of seeing a familiar broad-shouldered figure approaching, but there was no sight of Bula. She pushed down her bruised ego and shook her head.
Orlena began making her way home. She pulled her cloak tighter around her and held on to the hood to ensure it didn’t blow off.
She didn’t know you were closing the shop early, she reminded herself.
That made her feel better. The wind picked up once she reached the human quarters.
Rain fell in sharp, sudden drops. By the time she reached her door, the sky finally broke open.
Rain crashed down in sheets so heavy it felt like the world was being washed clean.
Orlena swung open her door and raced across the threshold and had to force the door closed. She leaned back against it and tried to catch her breath. She’d practically run home. The streets had been filled with others who were trying to avoid the storm.
The storm arrived like an omen.
The thunder shook her small home. She turned, barred the door, and rested her forehead on it for a moment longer, stepping back. She peeled her damp cloak off and hung it up on the hook by the door.
Her place was cozy. Wood, stone, and the faint scent of herbs she’d hung to dry greeted her.
She went over to the furnace and stoked the fire, letting it roar to life.
She smiled. Her neighbor, Isha, must have stopped by and started it so it warmed the place.
They had keys to each other’s houses. She would have to go over and thank her friend.
She set water to heat. The chill from the rain burrowed down to her bones. The storm howled, but within these walls, she was safe.
Was Bula?
She wondered where the orc was during this storm. She didn’t even know where Bula stayed while in Soza. Was she at the inn? Was she with other orcs? She mentioned she was here with a companion. Was she with that person? Wherever she was, Orlena prayed she was safe.
She prepared her bath and quickly washed the sawdust, sweat, and grime off her skin.
There was nothing better than dry, comfortable clothes, a good meal, and snuggling with a blanket while Mother Nature raged.
She pulled on a soft sleeping gown; the fabric brushed her skin and offered comfort to her.
Her stomach growled low.
“Okay. It should be time to eat,” she mumbled.
She left her bedroom and went into the main area.
It was an open concept with only her bedroom and bathing room being separate.
It wasn’t much, but it was hers. She had assumed ownership of it when she’d moved out of her foster parents’ home when she was in her early twenties.
She hadn’t spoken to them in solars. She was the last child they had taken in.
They had decided once she’d moved out that they wanted to relocate.
They had left Soza about ten solars ago.
They had been a good family who’d provided a safe space for her while away from her own family.
Her stew had simmered all day while she’d been at work.
It should be good and ready for her to eat.
She went over to the cast-iron pot resting above hot coals.
She lifted the lid and groaned. It was thick with root vegetables and spiced meat.
She stirred it absently and thought of the elderly couple down the lane who always appreciated it when she brought them food.
There was enough here to feed an army. She’d take them some tomorrow. Tonight, the storm was too fierce.
She would pair this with the bread Isha had made and shared with her. It would go perfectly. She stood to her full height and stretched.
A knock sounded at the door, startling her.
Orlena froze.
Who could that be in this weather?
She crept over to the front window and moved the curtain to the side. Her heart all but leaped into her throat as she looked out into the rain-soaked darkness. A tall figure stood just beyond the lantern light. Broad shoulders bowed beneath the downpour.
Could it be?
Her breath caught.
Another knock. This one more firm and unmistakable.
“Orlena,” a familiar voice came through the storm. “It’s me.”
Bula.
Orlena scurried over to the door. She unbarred it and pulled it open. Rain flew in, pelting her.
Bula stood drenched to the bone with her dark hair plastered to her face. Her cloak hung heavy with water. Her amber eyes locked in on Orlena. They were fierce but showed relief all at once at the sight of Orlena in her home.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Orlena blurted. She still stepped aside to let her in.
Bula’s larger frame came in, and immediately, her home felt too tiny.
“Someone could have seen you. You shouldn’t—”
“We ate together in the middle of town,” Bula said quietly. She closed the door behind her and stood still, water dripping off her. “This isn’t so different.”
“It is.” Orlena spun on her heels and raced to her linen closet that was in the hall by her bathing room. She brought back thick towels for Bula. “This is my home. Someone is bound to talk.”
“Let them,” Bula growled. A scowl overtook her features.
Orlena went to stand in front of her with a handful of towels.
Bula’s expression softened as she took in Orlena. “Besides, I needed to come tonight.”
Orlena paused at the choice of words.
Needed.
She blinked and looked at Bula who resembled a drowned rat. She shook her head and tsked.
“You need to get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death,” she fussed.
Bula smirked and removed her cloak. She hung it up on the empty hook next to Orlena. She turned, and Orlena thrust one of the towels into her hands. She simply watched Orlena as she ran the towel over her head and face.
“I don’t have clothes your size,” Orlena murmured.
“I don’t need them,” Bula replied softly. She toed off her boots and drenched socks. She shed her soaked tunic and trews without hesitation.
Orlena cheeks warmed. She spun away and placed the other towels down on the chair.
She flew to her room and picked up her robe resting on the edge of her bed.
It wasn’t going to fit Bula perfectly, but it would allow her to be covered.
She went back into the room and found Bula standing with a towel wrapped around her torso.
Her long muscular legs were on display, and a flood of heat spread through Orlena’s center.
“Here. So you don’t have to sit naked. It’s not much, but at least it’s something,” Orlena said.
“Thanks.” Bula took it from her.
Their fingers brushed slightly, and that same zip of electricity rippled up Orlena’s arm. Her eyes widened at the sensation. She averted her eyes as Bula dropped the towels and slipped the robe on. As much as she wanted to peek at the beautiful orc, she resisted.
“I appreciate this.”
Orlena turned back to her and sighed. The robe didn’t hide anything. If anything, it highlighted Bula’s taunt muscles, her broad shoulders, her full breasts, tapered waist, and thick thighs. Orlena swallowed hard, her heart racing.
“Come. We need to hang your clothes near the fire so they can dry.” Orlena motioned to the hearth.
“I need to wring them out. May I go into your bathing room?”
“Of course.” Orlena jerked her head in a nod.
Bula gathered her clothing and disappeared into the small room. Orlena released a sigh. She was sure Bula would be hungry. She grabbed two bowls and spoons then went back to the stew. She lifted the top and gave it another good stir. Her stomach rumbled again.
Good.
She needed a distraction from the sexy female orc.
Orlena didn’t know what was wrong with her.
She’d never had this strong of a reaction to anyone.
She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been intimate with anyone.
The last female was someone who had settled in Soza for a short time before she’d moved on to another town.
Unlike Orlena, Lydia hadn’t been bound to any contracts.
Bula returned shortly just as Orlena was filling their bowls with the delicious stew.
“That smells wonderful,” Bula murmured. She quickly arranged her clothing near the hearth.
“I hope you are hungry,” Orlena said.
“I’m famished. I don’t think I’ve eaten since earlier today,” Bula said.
Orlena handed Bula her bowl then quickly filled her own.
They settled down close to the hearth where their knees brushed.
It allowed the heat from the fire to wash over them and chase away the chill from outside.
Nervousness filled Orlena. She’d had friends and neighbors over to share a meal often, but an orc—never.
“Oh, the bread. I almost forgot.” She jumped up from her seat and went over to the counter where she’d placed the loaf. She snagged a knife and the butter and brought everything back to where they sat.
It was an intimate setting. They ate in a comfortable silence, but soon Orlena couldn’t help but ask the question that was burning in her chest.
“Why? Why come to see me in this storm?”