Page 4 of The Orc and the Innkeeper

“Thorak,” I say as he draws closer. His name tastes like week-old coffee on my tongue. It’s blunt, a little bitter. My hands clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms. “Surprised to see you here.”

The words drip with honeyed venom, my eyes narrowing just enough to let him know I haven’t forgotten or forgiven. He flinches, so fast I almost miss it, before schooling his face back into something neutral.

Thorak gets my implication—here, a business owned by a dirty human.Here, a place run by the woman he used to bully relentlessly.

“Mariah.” His voice is a deep, earthy rumble that resonates in the space between us. Thorak’s gaze moves to my own and holds it. Despite my resolve, heat creeps up my neck. Infuriating. “Been a while. How have you been?”

I lean back against the front desk and cross my arms in front of me, trying not to let his presence affect me. Trying not to feel just how much bigger he is than me. He’s filled out in annoyingly delicious ways—no longer a bratty, mean teenager, but a man.

Probably a bratty, mean man. Even if he’s being annoyingly gentlemanly right now.

“Why would you care?” I spit back at him. His mouth flattens into a tight line around his sharp white tusks. Good, he knows that I’m not willing to brush our history under the rug for the sake of seeming polite. “What are you doing here, Thorak?”

“Business,” he grunts.

I can’t help but scoff. “Business? Seriously?”

Thorak glances around the lobby of the inn, clearly looking for someone. “Yeah, a potential investor in my brewery is staying here.” He looks back toward me. “Sorry. I’m sure you don’t want me here. I wouldn’t have come if he hadn’t requested it.”

I blink in surprise at his self-awareness. The Thorak I knew in high school never would’ve apologized to me, for anything.

“I’m looking for Robert Kingsley,” he continues, running one of those big hands through his hair again. “Can you point me in the direction of the cafe?”

“Kingsley?” My eyebrows shoot up.

Now that’s a plot twist I didn’t see coming. I fight back an uncharitable smile. If Kingsley couldn’t handle the flapping of wings in the room above him, he’s going to have an interesting reaction to this business meeting with a giant green orc.

Maybe Thorak will get a taste of his own medicine.

“Down the hallway, second door on your left.” I wave vaguely toward the cafe.

Thorak nods and turns to leave, and I can’t help but notice how that well-tailored suit hugs his broad shoulders, the way his strides are confident yet measured.

I bite my lip—a nervous tick I thought I’d outgrown—and force my gaze away, concentrating on the soft crackle of the fireplace.

That’s always been the problem with Thorak; his presence is like the pull of the moon on the tides, undeniable and powerful. And heat? That’s one thing he’s never lacked—in any sense of the word. Even when he was being awful, even when he made my blood boil with frustration, he was so undeniably...hot.

A fact that irritates me more than I care to admit.

No sooner do I steel myself for the mountain of paperwork on my desk than the front door creaks open again, and in stompsBrorik, the most cantankerous exterminator this side of the Enchanted Forest.

Brorik’s beard is an unruly thicket of wiry gray, and his eyes are sharp as he surveys the quiet charm of the Moonflower Inn.

“Brorik,” I call out, stepping forward to greet the dwarf. “Glad you could make it.”

He grunts in response. “Show me to these pests.”

I lead him up the creaking stairs to room 4A. The door swings open to reveal a shimmering haze suspended in the center of the room, like a disco ball had exploded but forgot to fall down.

“Contained them with an enchantment,” I explain, my voice a touch too high, betraying my nerves. “But they’re still here.”

Brorik unpacks his tools without a word, each one more peculiar than the last: a crystal-tipped wand, a pair of goggles that glow faintly with runes, and a small box that hums ominously. He waves the wand over the contained mites, then slips on the goggles and stares at the walls.

“Strange,” he mutters. “Very strange.”

“Strange how?” I ask, crossing my arms. His head shaking does nothing for my already frazzled nerves.

“Inside the walls,” he says brusquely. “They’ve burrowed deep. Gonna be a tough job.” He pulls away a panel near the floorboard, revealing a network of tunnels glinting with residual magic.

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