2. Gracie
Chapter 2
Gracie
A s I stepped out of the Uber, thanking the driver, a cute building identified as Saloon & Hotel stood ahead, the weathered white paint bold against the wide, empty blue sky. The Uber turned around, heading back toward the real town, and the dust it left behind clung to my shoes, something my mother and old producer would chastise me for. When the breeze kicked up, sending a tumbleweed past me and more dust to coat my skirt and blouse, I sighed. I was here, ready to work, and that was all that mattered.
Since I still held a tissue in my hand—well, part of a tissue since I’d shredded it—I stuffed the bits into my pocket. Shredding them when I was stressed wasn’t necessarily a bad habit. I mean, I could be overeating or drinking too much. Chain smoking. Tissue shredding was a relatively cheap habit, and it didn’t cause anyone harm.
A real stagecoach had been drawn up to a building a few doors down from the hotel, and I grinned. A real stagecoach, though it must be motorized because two fake sort-of horse creatures were hitched to the front, their reins “tied” to a post. Sort-of horse creatures because they were as green as the orcs I’d seen on TV and the size of minivans. The mechanical beasts had big curling horns with sharp points jutting past their jawlines like spears and claws in the place of hooves. Spiked tails that looked like they could impale someone if they weren’t paying attention.
And did I see fangs? Talk about making this an authentic experience. I’d heard about sorhoxes, the orc version of horse-cow, though I hadn’t seen one live yet. I assumed I soon would.
Picking my way across the open, packed dirt street, I aimed for the hotel where Tark, the orc who’d hired me, said he’d be waiting. I took in every detail of this newly built, quaint Wild West town with the kind of focus that thankfully came naturally. My InstaPlug and FaceSpace feeds depended on this skill.
The boardwalks of Main Street looked convincingly weathered, the saloon doors hung slightly askew, and the jail a bit to my left had real bars on the windows. If nothing else, the orcs who'd built this tourist town had the aesthetic feel down.
As the Uber disappeared out onto the main road, I started mentally piecing together hashtags.
#orcwest
#sorhoxadventure
And—
The ground beneath me shook, and a flurry of dust swept around me, blocking visibility and making me cough.
My producer would really be pissed if he saw my clothing now. Wait, no. There was no producer in this. I was a one-woman show, and that was the best and only way to be. What a freeing feeling, one I still hadn't gotten used to—and might not if I couldn’t make a career of this and they insisted I go back. Thank goodness I was no longer under the thumb of my parents and the reality show I'd grown up on.
Something snorted to my right, and a shadow swallowed the sun. I looked up.
And up.
The creature stood monstrous and unmoving nearby, its dark green eyes staring at me as though it was trying to decide if I should be the main course for its lunch. It had lighter green, short-furred skin. Cloven hooves ending in claws the length of my forearm that sank into the dirt. And its teeth—definitely fangs —jutted up and down from the sorhox’s powerful jawline. Its horns curled around its ears and stabbed toward me.
A real sorhox. Not a mechanical one. Not pretend and hitched to a fake stagecoach. And definitely not wearing reins tied securely to a post. Nope, this one was loose and maybe wild.
It was going to eat me.
I gulped and jerked backward. The full coffee cup in my hands lurched along with me, spilling piping hot coffee onto my white blouse. I gasped as pain seared through me from the burn.
“Don’t move.” The deep voice echoed from somewhere ahead of me, low and gravelly, like the earth before a quake. I didn’t dare look that way, afraid the slightest twitch would provoke the giant thing breathing smoke on my right.
Smoke, like a freakin’ dragon. Hopefully not fire, also like a dragon.
Holding the coffee cup away from my body, I plucked at my white blouse, dragging it away from my skin while tears smarted in my eyes. Damn, that hurt.
Don't show the pain. Keep your face neutral. Pleasant. Resting bitch face is allowed, but not too often . Words from the producers who'd controlled my every action from the time I'd turned six.
But it hurt. It hurt!
The sound of heavy boots moved closer, and I swore I heard the scrape of a rope dragging over dirt. Slowly, carefully, a figure stepped past me, partly obscured in the still-swirling dust.
An orc. Big and green and with dark hair and a billion muscles.
And with what looked like a raven riding on his right shoulder. I blinked, but it was still a raven. The bird cocked its head, studying me. I wasn’t sure what it decided, but it, strangely enough, meowed. I’d heard of cat-dogs, but never cat-ravens, so this was a first.
Dirt clung to the male’s jeans, and his scuffed leather vest didn’t do much to hide the broad expanse of his bare chest. He towered over me, not only tall but immense, his green skin gleaming in the sunlight. A cowboy hat tipped low on his head cast a shadow over his chiseled features. He was solid, like someone had poured a mountain into a mold shaped like a male.
“Don’t worry, little human,” he said in a calm voice that actually did make me feel better. “Sorhoxes are stubborn, but they only charge if they sense fear.”
Sense? Terror was roaring through me like wildfire. If I wasn't worried about the blisters that must be forming on my skin beneath my blouse, I'd be trembling. Collapsing on the ground. Spinning around and running as fast as my requisite four-inch heels could take me.
The sorhox standing between me and the big red barn to my right looked like it could knock over the building if it got bored.
Slowly lifting the rope, the orc eased between me and the hulking creature, his boots crunching with every step.
“Look at you, you cute beastie,” he said in a low voice. “I bet you're hungry. Let me shoo you back to the pasture.”
The raven meowed again.
Looking between the orc and the bird, the sorhox huffed, its massive nostrils flaring and its clawed hooves dragging across the ground like it was going to charge.
The orc didn’t flinch. The raven meowed. And the orc moved closer, weaving his rope in the air like he was performing a snake dance. When it seemed he had full control of the situation, his foot caught on the end of the line. He staggered forward, his hat nearly flying off, stumbling into the sorhox's head. The beast snorted and reeled backward. The male groaned, and for some reason, that tiny break in his confident persona made me choke out a laugh.
It echoed in the silence. The male met my eyes briefly, his expression unreadable. The sorhox continued moving, backing away. It spun and galloped past the red barn and toward a pasture beyond.
“Fence is down,” he said. “Need to fix it.”
“Yes, before more of them wander through town.” While scary, the creature had been amazing. This place was going to wow whoever came here. I could already see its potential.
If only my chest wasn't screaming at me in pain. It hurt so bad, I could barely breathe.
“I'm Tark.” His voice came out deep and low, like he tasted each word before letting it leave his mouth. “Tark Bronish.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but the words got lost somewhere between my brain and my tongue.
He took a step toward me, and his boot caught on the trailing loop of his rope again. He stumbled forward, one enormous hand shooting out to catch himself. His palm landed square on my chest, pressing into the spot where the steaming coffee had spilled.
Agony flared through me, and I yelped, the sound escaping before I could bite it back. Tark froze, his wide eyes darting from his hand to my face. His pointy-tipped ears darkened, and his eyes widened in what I took for mortification.
“Oh. Oh,” he muttered, yanking his hand away. “I hurt you. I hurt you!” His words tumbled out in a rush, and he tossed aside the rope.
The raven flapped its wings, one smacking against the back of Tark’s head, sending his cowboy hat flying to land on the dusty ground a few feet away. Tark scooped it up and plunked it back on his head, his horrified gaze never leaving mine.
“I’m fine,” I lied, my voice strangled. Every nerve ending in my chest felt like it was on fire. I tried to wave it off, though, because the pained look on his face somehow managed to melt through my wall of agony.
I told my mouth to hold still, but it trembled anyway. Traitorous thing. My thoughts scattered like dry leaves kicked up by the wind. All I could do was stand there, wondering if being touched again would make it worse or somehow erase it. The pain, the memory, the years of learning how to smile when all I wanted to do was show how I was truly feeling.
“Not fine at all.” Tark shook his head. His hand hovered near me as if he was debating whether or not to touch me again before he dropped it to his side. He let out a grunt. “You're hurt because of me. This is bad. Very bad, and I did it.”
Before I could protest, he swept me off my feet, cradling me against his chest, his enormous arms locking around me. The smell of leather, earth, and something distinctly him enveloped me. My mouth opened, but no words came out. I was too stunned by his actions.
The bird stared down at me and meowed again.
I’d fallen down Alice’s rabbit hole and there was no climbing back out.
“You need to sit,” Tark said with such conviction it might as well have been law. Maybe it was in this created wild western town. What did I know?
“Tark, really, there’s no need—” I squirmed, but his grip tightened. Letting me go didn’t appear to be an option he'd consider.
“You’re in pain.” His jaw clenched as he strode toward the hotel/saloon. “Pain I caused. Again, I…” Scowling, he didn’t finish the statement.
It shouldn’t have meant anything, hearing someone confess blame like that. Not after years being blamed for everything from the wrong camera angle to bad lighting on my mother’s eyeshadow. But hearing him say it, like it mattered, twisted something inside me I didn’t know was loose.
In seconds, he’d carried me through the swinging doors, and he crouched down, gently setting me on a chair at a table near the bar. Despite his size, Tark now moved with a graceful gait, as though he’d once taken ballet.
While I perched on the chair big enough for two of me, he straightened to his full height and stared down at me, his hands fidgeting at his sides. The bird soared off his shoulder to land on the back of a chair on the opposite side of the table.
Tark’s brow furrowed, and he crouched in front of me, which was comical actually. Here he was, settling on his haunches, yet still towering over me.
I gaped at him, unsure what he planned to do next since I was still inside Alice’s rabbit hole, struggling to get out.
Tark tugged the hem of my blouse out of my skirt.
“Oh, wait, um, what are you—” My voice pitched up.
“I must see the wound. It’s bad, isn’t it? I hit you. Harmed you. I’m much too big. So big. Enormous and awkward and bumbling and likely offending everyone I meet.” His words were a rambling mix of concern and guilt.
“No, you, I—” I was a rambling mix of who knows what.
He gently tugged the fabric up and over my head, tossing it aside, leaving me sitting in an orc-sized chair dressed in a bra, my skirt, and my fuck-me heels. My brain didn’t know whether to wince or preen. I missed the script. Missed knowing what face I was supposed to wear. I wasn’t wearing pantyhose. It was too hot for something like that.
But thank heavens I wasn't wearing one of my old, dingy bras. A friend had insisted I buy cute, pink ones with a tiny bow in the front, and I was going to kiss her the next time I saw her.
“Wait, wait,” I gulped as he started running his fingertips across the blisters on my upper chest, his brow furrowing even further.
His jaw dropped open, and he froze, staring at the tops of my breasts scalded by my coffee. “I—I—” His swallow took a long time to go down. “I didn’t cause blisters .” His dark gaze sought mine. “Did I?”