Page 25 of The Orc and the Innkeeper

Gods, can she read my mind?

I shoot her a look, trying to summon up my usual sarcasm, but the words die on my lips. Because deep down, I know she’s right. I want Thorak to see me in this dress. I want to take his breath away, to make his pulse race the way mine does every time he’s near.

Before I can second-guess myself, I snatch the dress from the rack and head for the fitting room. As I slide the silk over my skin, I imagine Thorak’s reaction. The way his eyes would darken with desire, the way his hands would skim over my curves, pulling me close against his broad, muscular chest...

I emerge from the fitting room in a daze, my cheeks flushed and my pulse pounding. Ecco takes one look at me and grins, her expression equal parts knowing and delighted.

“Oh, honey,” she breathes. “You look absolutely stunning. Thorak won’t know what hit him.”

I glance at my reflection in the nearby mirror, hardly recognizing the woman staring back at me. The dress clings to my body like a second skin.

But it’s the look in my own eyes that takes my breath away. It’s raw, unbridled desire.

As I turn back to Ecco, my heart racing and my mind spinning, I know that everything is about to change. For better or for worse, Thorak has gotten under my skin in a way I never could have predicted.

And now, there’s no turning back.

12

THORAK

My taproom buzzes with electricity as I survey the staff preparing for a big night. We usually do decent business on Wednesday nights, but I’m hoping that tonight’s crowd mimics a weekend. We need that kind of energy if I’m going to impress Robert.

Beside me, Gruna zips between the tables, issuing rapid-fire instructions. “Double check those glasses, Blonk! And Asha, we need more ale on tap, stat!” She wants this deal to go through as badly as I do.

Gruna could’ve easily taken over our parents’ business instead of me when I ventured out on my own. They would’ve handed it to her. But instead, she showed up at Orc Anvil’s door one day, a bag of specialty hops slung over her shoulders.

“Where you go, I go, brother,” she told me, assertively pushing past me into the brewery. That was the end of the discussion for her. We’ve always been the closest of the siblings. We’re only a year apart in age and our parents practically treated us like twins. Now, the business is as much her baby as it is mine.

And I feel awful about the anxiety I know I’m causing her.

As the teams scramble to complete final preparations, Gruna tugs me aside, brow furrowed with concern.

“Are yousureabout this, brother?” Her voice is low and urgent. “This ruse you and Mariah are attempting with the distributor...it’s really risky.”

My chest tightens and I run a hand through my short hair. Gruna’s right, of course—she usually is. But what choice do I have?

Especially now that things have gotten this far. We’re so close to having the deal done, I think. And, honestly, I like having an excuse to be near Mariah for as long as possible…

“I know, Gruna,” I rumble, hoping my voice doesn’t betray the heat pulsing through my veins at just the thought of Mariah. “But Robert’s nearly there. We can’t back out now.”

Gruna sighs. “Okay. I’ll trust that you know what you’re doing. How else can I help tonight, now that we’re almost ready?”

I clasp Gruna’s shoulder. “I need you to keep Ma and Da away tonight, Gruna. Can you do that for me? Please?” Even though they’re disappointed that I’m not working for them, my parents like to pop by the taproom every so often. We’ve never discussed it, but I think it’s their roundabout way of being supportive without actually saying that they support my decision.

Gruna hesitates, conflicting loyalties warring in her expression. Even though she works with me, she’s closer to our parents than I am. And she knows Ma and Da would be upset by the Mariah relationship.

A familiar knot of frustration twists in my gut. For all my parents’ many strengths, their distrust of humans is deep and unshakeable. It’s why my father has never once considered expanding his own brewing conglomerate into the human lands, despite the potential.

After a long beat, Gruna nods, her features softening with a sigh. “I’ll do my best, Thorak. But please, be careful. I don’t want to lose this deal. And…I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I will.” The words rasp in my throat. “I promise.”

Gruna darts off to head out to our parents’ place, and the evening quickly unfolds in a blur of activity. The taproom fills up with a boisterous mix of orcs, elves, dwarves, witches, fae folk and more, all eager to sample my latest brews.

I work the bar with quick, efficient movements, pouring pints and trading friendly barbs with the regulars.

“Quite a crowd tonight, eh?” Finnian sidles up to me as I finish pulling a pint of my newest IPA. He flashes his trademark grin at a cluster of giggling pixies, their iridescent wings casting shimmering reflections in their glasses. “I spread the word far and wide—figured we should show this Robert fellow just how beloved Orc’s Anvil is among the locals.”

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