Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
My freaking crazy day just took a turn to the Twilight Zone. My brain short-circuits. No guy has ever brought me flowers before, let alone a seven-foot brick wall of Orc muscle who looks like he could bench-press my Civic. The bouquet is so big it almost swallows his hand, but he’s holding it with this ridiculous, careful gentleness, like it’s something sacred.
I’m officially knocked on my ass. He shoves them toward me like a challenge.
I take them automatically, because what else does one do when handed a botanical battering ram by a seven-foot warlord?
“Uh,” I say, because words are apparently optional now.
He grunts, looking even greener around the gills. “For you. I am told this is the appropriate… gesture.”
I stare at the flowers, then at him. Oren Arch, heir to the biggest Orc settlement in the country, is sweating over a fistful of plants. He looks anywhere but at my face.
“I—thank you,” I manage, searching for the right script. “They’re… wow. Is this, like, an Orcish tradition, or—?”
He cuts me off, voice low and urgent. “Human mating ritual. According to research, it is customary for a male to bring the female flowers to signify intent.” He glances at the bouquet like it’s a ticking bomb. “I don’t understand the logic. Flowers die quickly. Seems inefficient.”
I clamp my lips together to stop a giggle, but a strangled noise escapes anyway. “You Googled how to court a human, didn’t you?”
His ears turn a darker green, which I suspect is the Orc version of blushing. “I consulted several sources.”
The silence stretches. I realize he’s waiting for a verdict, so I hold the bouquet up to my face and inhale the sweet scent. It’s not just the roses, but there’s something clean and wild about it, like walking into a thunderstorm.
“They’re lovely,” I say.
He nods, visibly relieved, then clears his throat. “Would you like to walk with me? The forest behind the house is—” He pauses, searching for words. “—less crowded.”
I clutch the flowers closer. My first impulse is to jump his bones. There’s something in his eyes I can’t read, and it tugs at me like a loose thread.
“Sure,” I say. “Just let me drop these off and freshen up.”
He nods, and I dash inside. My brain runs wild as I run down to my room. Did I just get asked on a date? Is this a date? I want it to be a date. Damn. I’m losing my freaking mind.
My heart’s pounding like I just sprinted up the mountain, and my brain is short-circuiting. But all I can think about is Oren’s hands, how careful he was with the flowers, and the way his gravelly voice goes soft when he talks to me. My thighs squeeze together as a weird, fluttery heat flows through my body.
Yeah. I want to see what a date with a seven-foot Orc is like. I want to see what happens if I let him get close. I want to tangle those big hands in my hair and see if he kisses as intensely as he stares. I wonder what his tusks will feel like against my lips.
I touch up my lip gloss, fluff my hair, and check the mirror. Screw it. I’m going all in. Bring on the date, the forest, and whatever the hell else Oren Arch thinks is “normal” courting ritual.
I rush up the stairs to find Oren pacing the front hall. His arms are at his sides now, hands unclenched, but there’s a tightness in his jaw like he’s clamping down on an invisible enemy. He glances at my hands, and for a second, I think he’s going to bail, but instead, Oren steps close and offers me his palm, broad and scarred and steady. I drop my hand into his, feeling dwarfed by the sheer size of him, and holy cow, the contrast is enough to make my brain do a backflip. His grip surprises me. It isn’t crushing. More like careful. Like he’s handling glass.
The heat from his skin slides straight up my arm, and I swear my knees threaten to go full noodle mode. I can’t help but stare at his hand wrapped around mine. Who knew a giant Orc warlord could hold a woman like she’s precious?
My stupid heart absolutely loses its mind.
He leads me down the slope behind the house, toward a line of ancient trees. The world here is impossibly green, and the air hums with wet moss and sap. Every few yards, I catch a flash of bioluminescent lichen or the gold of a humming bug that’s three times the size of anything I’ve seen in the human world.
We walk for a while in silence. I’m the one who cracks first. “Where are we going?”
He grunts, but it’s a little less threatening than usual. “My favorite place.”