Page 12 of Romancing the Orc

How dare they touch her, let alone manacle her against her will?

A silent snarl curls my lips as my gaze falls upon the man guarding the door. He’s one of the people who took Lara from the convention center. His back is to me. It would make the most sense to walk through the tent and take him out from behind. Yet that would rely upon Lara remaining completely silent, and I have no way to warn her of my actions ahead of time.

No. I’ll do it the hard way. I smirk. I’m more than ready to introduce this man to what an orc warrior considers “the hard way.”

My slow crawl continues, the stretch and pull of using my muscles in real activity refreshing after months of visiting what humans call a gym. I never got to run as quickly as I could on their treadmills or lift any truly challenging weights, because my speed and strength are too far outside human norms. Yet my modeling agent insisted I put in “gym time.”

Once past the opening, I stand. There’s only about a foot of ground between the tent and the edge of the cliff, but that’s plenty. At the corner, I peer out into the camp, timing the humans’ movements until there’s a lull in the pattern.

I bound forward, crossing the length of the tent in three long strides. Without pausing, I pivot at the front corner and leap for the guard. My fist meets his jaw with a satisfying flare of pain across my knuckles.

I allow my motion to continue, falling forward to catch myself on my hands in a push-up pose.

He thumps to the ground, and a flash of disappointment goes through me. As much as I need this rescue to be quick and quiet, I also wanted to hit him some more for daring to harm Lara.

Her gasp jerks me back to my purpose.

I stand and step into the tent, bending to pull the unconscious man all the way inside. Then I quickly close the door flaps and cross over to crouch by her chair.

“Brokk!” Surprise and concern flicker over her face. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m rescuing you.” I rip the first of the ankle ties, snarling as my fingers curl around the nasty little thin plastic that’s ready to cut into her skin.

“But how?” Her tone sounds bewildered. “They told me we’re on an island.”

“We are.” I rip the other one. “I rode the plane.”

“They let you on the plane?”

“Theydidn’t let me do anything.” I smirk up at her. “I rode the landing gear without them knowing.”

Her mouth opens and closes a few times. “But you’re a cover model.”

“No, I’m an orc.” I rip the tie binding her wrist and stand.

Her eyes glaze as she looks at my bare chest, and she murmurs, “Why are you so handsome?”

I grin. “You find me handsome!”

“Oh, my god. You heard that?” Her wide eyes meet mine as her cheeks flush pink.

“Orc hearing.” I pull her to her feet. “Now, come. We must get away before they notice the guard’s missing from his post.”

“No, wait!” Her arm stretches back, reaching for the book. “That’s my family journal.”

I let her go, and she snatches it up, slides several photographs from the table inside, and seals everything in a thick plastic bag. My mate huffs in frustration as her other hand pats at her sequin-covered thighs. “Damned catsuit. No pockets.”

Then she does one of the most fascinating things I’ve ever seen. She lifts the front of the fabric at the lowest part of the V. A pink bra cups her breasts, holding them up for me until my mouth waters. Lara slides the journal inside to rest against her stomach and lets the fabric drop back into place.

“Ha!” She pats her stomach. “The stylist will probably kill me for ruining the lines of the catsuit.”

“Nothing will ever make you look less than lovely,” I say. “Now come.”

She starts toward the front of the tent, but I pull her to the back and help her step out onto the thin strip of ground in front of the cliff edge.

“Umm, I don’t understand why we came this way.” Her hands clutch at my arm as she teeters a little. “Where are we supposed to go?”

Several vines hang from a cluster of trees that cling to the lip of the cliff, their branches growing out into the empty air. My magic unfurls, and I speak to the vines, asking for length and strength.

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