Page 33 of Romancing the Orc

“It’s a great plan.” I grin at her, pleased once again at her brilliance. “We’ll do it with one alteration.”

By the time I hear the men approach, we have everything in place. Lara waits on the far side of the small clearing, wearing a palm-leaf bikini to hide her pink undergarments. I even added an extra leaf across her lower back to hold her family journal.

I give her the signal that the scouts are near.

She nods, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she stands poised, my knife clutched in both hands. I should have expected it. She writes adventures into every one of her novels, so ofcourse she’s eager to have one of her own. Pride fills me that I have such a brave mate.

The catsuit lies on the ground, curled inward like a person sleeping in fetal position, the back facing the direction of our pursuers. It’s stuffed with plants to look like a real body from a distance, and we even placed the high-heeled shoes so their distinctive red soles show.

By the time the men get close enough to realize it’s not Lara, it will be too late.

Especially not with these two. I don’t know who they are, but the loud noises that precede them make one thing clear—they have no forest craft. Their only advantage is guns. All the human television I binged gave me an appreciation for the range and ferocity of such weapons. I will not take them lightly, not when my mate’s in danger.

The crack of a stepped-on stick snaps through the air, followed by a muttered curse.

As soon as the scouts catch sight of the catsuit, they stop and whisper furiously to each other, so audible they might as well speak in regular voices.

Then a different sound makes my blood boil, the metallic click of a gun being cocked.

How dare they! They think they’ve tracked down a defenseless woman, who lies sleeping or unconscious, and they ready deadly weapons! These are not men—they arescumto be scraped from one’s boot.

Goddess, I wish I had my sword, though perhaps it’s for the best I don’t. Humans have too many pesky laws about killing, even villains such as this, who deserve it for kidnapping and hunting Lara.

Then a bigger pang goes through me as I miss my comrades in arms. If I had even one of my fellow guards with me, we wouldmake short work of these two. What I wouldn’t give for Wranth and his strong sword arm right now.

The first human enters the clearing, his gun extended in front of him at the ready, braced by his other hand. He walks cautiously yet still sounds like a lumbering ogre. My lips pull back from my tusks in a snarl. It’s the ruddy-faced blond who carried Lara from the convention center in Miami. I will take special delight in pummeling him for ever daring to touch her.

Moving with true stealth, I slide through the vegetation with nary a whisper of sound.

The other man waits at the edge of the clearing, still within the cover of trees. He’s the scum I knocked out when I rescued Lara from their camp.

I’m only a few feet away when the first man yells, “It’s not her!”

“What do you mean, it’s n—”

I lunge into the open in front of the dark-haired man. The angle’s horrible, but he’s too close to a tree to get a better one.

My fist snaps out, cracking against his jaw with enough force that his head whips around, his left hand flying outward as his body spins.

Fuck. He doesn’t drop the gun. Even if this scum doesn’t know forest craft, he’s clearly a weapons expert. His right hand maintains its grip on the pistol and starts swinging it toward me even before the rest of his body recovers.

“The cover model. It really is you. And here I thought Edgerton was delusional.” He smirks at me and shakes his head, waving the gun up and down to take in my body. “What’s with the getup? Do you think you’re Tarzan, swinging on vines and shit?GreenTarzan?”

“No,” I growl. “Not Tarzan.”

Goddess, I long to pummel him into the ground. Without a gun, this scum wouldn’t last ten seconds against me in a fair fight.

Lara yells.

Goddess, no!

“Lara!” I spin around, worry for my mate driving all other concerns from my mind.

The gun roars behind me.

A sharp flash of pain.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

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