Chapter 5 #2
"I mean it." I cradle her face between my hands. "I've spent my whole life trying to fit without losing myself. Here, with you, I don't have to choose. I can be orc and belong. That's worth fighting for."
She kisses me. Hard and desperate. When put distance between us, her voice shakes. "We'll fight together."
"Together," I echo.
That evening, I walk Lacy home. The city glows around us, streetlights flickering on. She leans against my arm, exhausted but smiling.
"Today was good," she murmurs. "Despite everything."
"The kids were great. You were great."
"You were great." She bumps my hip. "Stop deflecting compliments."
"It's a character flaw. I'm working on it."
At her door, she turns. Loops arms around my neck. "Stay tonight?"
Warmth floods me. "You sure? Big day tomorrow."
"Exactly. I want you here."
I kiss her slow. Thorough. "Then I'm here."
Inside, we collapse on her couch. She curls into my side. I stroke her hair, mind churning. Tomorrow's review looms. Blair's machinations. The grant. The festival. So many ways this could fall apart.
But Lacy's breathing evens out. Trust in every line of her body. She chose me. Messy, clumsy, earnest me.
I'll be damned if I let Blair or anyone else take this away from us. Not after everything we've built together, not after the laughter we've shared and the quiet moments of understanding that have knitted themselves between us like threads in a tapestry.
My phone goes off against my thigh, the vibration breaking through my thoughts. Another text from Darius, glowing in the dimness of Lacy's living room.
Good luck tomorrow. You'll need it.
I shift carefully, trying not to disturb Lacy's position tucked against me, and type back one-handed, my thumb moving slowly across the screen.
Thanks. But I've got something better than luck.
The three dots appear almost immediately, Darius already typing.
What's that?
I glance down at Lacy, at the peaceful expression on her face, the way her fingers curl loosely against my chest, and smile as I respond.
A librarian who believes in me. And really good jam.
His response comes fast, practically instantaneous.
You're an idiot.
The best kind, I reply, grinning wider now.
Lacy stirs against me, shifting slightly, her voice drowsy and warm. "Who're you texting?"
"Darius. Being supportive in his characteristically grumpy way," I say, setting the phone down on the arm of the couch.
She hums softly, a sound of contentment, and presses closer against my side, her warmth seeping through my shirt. "Tell him I said thanks."
"For what?" I ask, genuinely curious.
"Not scaring you off when you first got here," she murmurs, her breath tickling my collarbone.
I kiss the top of her head. "It would take more than Darius to scare me. Maybe a herd of angry librarians. With overdue notice cannons."
Her laugh vibrates against my ribs. "That's a terrifying image."
"You inspired it."
We fall quiet. Outside, the city murmurs. Inside, warmth wraps us. Tomorrow brings challenges. Reviews and councilwomen and grants hanging by threads.
But tonight, I hold Lacy Ellis. Small warrior of books and brews. The woman who saw past green skin and crushed awnings to something worth keeping.
Tomorrow, I'll prove I'm worth the fight.
Tonight, I'm just hers.
I wake to sunlight and the smell of coffee. Lacy's already up, moving quietly around the kitchen. I stretch, joints popping, and pad over in bare feet.
"Morning," I rumble, wrapping arms around her waist from behind.
She leans back into me. "Coffee's almost ready. You snore, by the way."
"Lies and slander."
"Like a chainsaw cutting through concrete." But she's smiling, tilting her head so I can kiss her neck.
My phone vibrates next to me. Multiple notifications lighting up the screen. I frown, reaching for it.
Darius sent a link with three exclamation points.
CHECK THIS. NOW.
I tap it. The page loads. A blog post, garish pink header screaming "CITY WATCH: Your Source for Local Tea!"
The headline punches me in the gut.
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST: Librarian's "Weird Attraction" to Orc Helper Raises Eyebrows
Lacy goes rigid against me. "What is it?"
I can't speak. Can't move. Just stare at the words crawling across the screen like insects.
While some applaud the cultural exchange program, others question whether romantic entanglements between species cross a line.
Yesterday's cozy photos of Ellis and her orc volunteer sparked heated debate.
"It's unnatural," commented one concerned citizen.
"What's next, legitimizing these relationships in our schools? "
The article includes photos. Me reading to the kids. Lacy's hand in mine. A zoomed-in shot of us standing close, her looking up at me with that soft expression I treasure.
Now it looks tainted. Wrong. Like evidence in some case I didn't know was being built.
"Let me see." Lacy takes the phone. Her face drains of color as she reads. "Oh god."
"It's fine." My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears. "Just a blogger. People with nothing better to do."
"Stone." She scrolls down. "There are comments. Hundreds of them."
I don't want to look. Can't stop myself. The words blur together, vicious and clinical at once.
Gross. Keep that stuff private at least.
I don't care what consenting adults do but do we really need to celebrate this?
My tax dollars funded a program so she could find a boyfriend? Unbelievable.
Orcs are fine but this is taking integration too far. There are boundaries.
My stomach churns. I set the phone down carefully, afraid I'll crush it otherwise. "I should go. Get ready for the review."
"Stone, wait." Lacy grabs my arm. "Don't let this get in your head. It's garbage. Hateful garbage from people who don't even know us."
"They know enough." The words taste bitter. "They see an orc and a human. That's all it takes."
"That's not all we are."
"To them it is." I pull away gently. "I need to shower. Clear my head before the meeting."
In the bathroom, I peer at my reflection. Green skin. Scars mapping my jaw and temple. Eyes that my mother once said were kind but humans see as threatening. I've spent years trying to be unthreatening. Gentle. Useful. Invisible when it mattered.
But love makes you visible. And visibility makes you a target.
The water scalds my shoulders. I stand under the spray until Lacy knocks.
"Tess called," she says through the door. "She's handling it. Putting out a statement."
Tess. Lacy's PR friend who still views me with polite skepticism. Of course she's jumping in. This affects Lacy's business. Her reputation. Everything she's worked for.
I killed that with one public display of affection.
Tess arrives thirty minutes later, laptop under one arm, phone already pressed to her ear. She's compact and sharp, dark hair pulled back severe, blazer crisp despite the early hour.
"No, I'm not commenting on speculation," she says into the phone. "The partnership between Ellis Books and the cultural exchange program is professional and community focused. That's the story."
She hangs up. Looks at me. "You're trending locally. Congratulations."
"Tess." Lacy's voice carries warning.
"What? He should know." Tess drops her bag. "The blog post hit last night. By morning, it spread to three forum groups and a Reddit thread. People have opinions. Strong ones."
"We noticed," I mutter.
Tess pulls up her laptop. "Here's what we're doing. Lacy gives a statement emphasizing the program's community benefits. You stay quiet. Low profile until this blows over."
"I have the review at nine," I say.
"Even better. Go, be professional, keep your head down." Tess types rapidly. "I'm drafting a press release focusing on yesterday's reading event. Kids. Books. Wholesome community engagement. We bury the relationship angle under positive PR."
"Bury it." The phrase sticks in my throat. "Like something shameful."
Tess pauses. Looks into my eyes. "Like something private. That they're trying to make into a circus."
She's not wrong. Doesn't make it hurt less.
Lacy stands beside me. "We're not hiding. But we're also not feeding trolls. It’s not the same."
I nod. Can't quite make myself believe it.
Tess works for the next hour. Drafting statements. Calling contacts at local papers. Building a counter-narrative brick by careful brick. I watch her transform a disaster into something manageable. It's impressive. Exhausting.
My phone rings. The cultural liaison office.
Reminder: Review at 9 AM. Please arrive promptly.
Professional. Neutral. Like a noose tightening.
I leave at eight-thirty. Lacy kisses me at the door, fierce and quick.
"You've got this," she whispers.
"Yeah." I don't feel it.
The liaison office sits in a civic building downtown, all glass and steel. I've been here twice before. Once for initial placement. Once for a welcome orientation where they served tiny sandwiches and everyone smiled too much.
Today the smiles are gone.
The receptionist waves me toward a conference room. Inside, three people wait. Darius, looking grim. A liaison officer I don't recognize. And Councilwoman Blair herself.
She's smaller than I expected. Fifties, silver hair cut sharp, suit immaculate. Eyes like flint.
"Mr. Venn." She gestures to a chair. "Please sit."
I fold myself into the seat, knees bumping the table edge. Everything feels too small. Too fragile.
Blair opens a folder. "Let's get straight to it. Your placement at Ellis Books has generated unexpected attention. Attention that reflects poorly on the program's intended purpose."
"Helping local businesses," I say carefully.
"Cultural exchange," Blair corrects. "Professional cultural exchange. Not personal entanglements that raise questions about program oversight."
Heat rises up my neck. "My personal life doesn't affect my work."