Page 6 of One Stolen Night with Her Orc

“That’s a load of bullocks.”

Grev looks between us, a studious look on his face. He scratches the scar on the side of his face. “I’ve never seen you go after a lady before, Koru. And of the three of us, Bjorn now has the most, or only, experience. I’d listen to what he has to say.”

Bjorn’s nodding excitedly, like a dog ready to fetch a bone. “That ache in your chest at the idea she might get hurt? The need to protect her and touch her at all costs? The willingness to throw away everything you’ve worked for to make her happy? Yeah. That’s fated mates, man. And I saw it happen.Instantaneous. As soon as she came through the door.” He points to the door, as if I might not remember what happened.

“Maybe you’re right. There were some—intense emotions—but love isn’t in the cards for me. We all know that. I’m not made for love, or to be loved. Fact.”

“Fact, bruh—you’re wrong.” I want to smash Bjorn’s smug face into next week. Fists clenched; I take a step toward him. He can’t be right.

“Let’s go,” Grev pulls on Bjorn’s arm. At least one of my brothers has a little sense in his head.

“Hold up.” Bjorn holds a hand up to Grev, yanks his other arm out of Grev’s grasp. “You can’t possibly believe that. Look at me. Look at the last five years of my life, and now, look at August. I don’t deserve her, do I? Yet here she is. Being lovely and sassy and sweet. All mine. That same love is for you, too.” He shakes his head like he’s just emerged from the ocean. “Never bring up what I just said, though. Let’s get some peanut butter habanero stout for the road.”

“Wait, you have pb habanero stout? And you let Bjorn taste it, but not me?” The incredulous look on Grev’s face is hilarious. His crooked nose and notched ear adding to the effect that he will also pummel Bjorn’s ass tonight.

“Here,” I growl as I follow them to the bar to fill a growler for them. Whatever it takes to get them and Bjorn’s ‘fated mates’ talk out of here. Something catches my eye, and I freeze, staring at the shelves on the wall. Except, it’s the absence of something that catches my attention. My golden trophy.

And above it, the prize-winning recipe that’s launching me into a whole new level of brewing.

“Where is it? I just watched you dust it earlier tonight.” Bjorn says, quietly assessing me. My hands balled into fists, my breathing heavy to catch the scent of whoever stole it. But all I smell is my disgusting brothers, and the faint lilac and honey scent of Poppy.

Chapter 5

Poppy

Gasping awake, I freeze, trying to figure out where I am. I’m swaddled in a bed full of more blankets than I’ve ever seen. Turning, the pillow next to me smells of leather, wood-smoke, and hops, and my stomach flip-flops as if an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies is trying to emerge. The fire in the stone hearth crackles, just like the one in the brewery. Straining my ears to hear anything besides the drumming of my heart—there. A growl? Snarl? It’s not a human sound. Pained, angry, the sound chills the inside of me. A shame, considering I feel like I’m barely warm—like tepid water.

Sitting up slowly, as my head throbs against my skull, I take in my surroundings. Certainly not home, or the place previously known as home before my mom died. I have no idea where I am, but I think I’m near orcs. Or, an orc. A furious orc with a septum ring and a broken fang. Probably because someone stole his recipe and golden stein. Shit. I have to get out of here.

Biting my lip to avoid whimpering at the idea of getting out of the deliciously warm bed, I push myself. The smooth trodden wooden floor is cold, but thankfully creak-proof. Tiptoeing, I find my clothes in front of the fire. Still damp, I put them on. I focus on Addy’s face in my mind to avoid gagging at the feel of the wet, still-chilled clothes on my skin.I’m doing this for Addy. Remember that.

The stein is at the bottom of the creek, and the recipe is legible but wet and fragile. What a disaster of a mission. I’m glad I never have to do this again.

Dressed, shivering, I look out the window. Snow flurries fly through the moonlight, not a care in the world. I’m on the second floor, and there’s no easy way down. What I wouldn’t give for a fire escape or a good old-fashioned drain pipe right now. Breaking a leg isn’t going to help me escape. Looking down at the frozen ground makes dizzy and lightheaded. Nope.

Still tiptoeing, I make my way to the landing. Low, mumbled voices come from the bar area. But from here, I can’t see anyone, only flickering light from the big fire in the dining area. Hopefully that means they can’t see me either. Carefully, I make my way down the steps. There’s a buzzing in my ears, and the lightheadedness is back. Adrenaline and slight hypothermia don’t go well together. Shaking my head, I try to keep calm.Stay in the game, Poppy.

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