Page 51 of Romancing the Orc

“Tick tock.” The Englishman taps a fingernail against the crystal of his ludicrously expensive gold watch, tink, tink, tink. “Time’s a wasting.”

A silent snarl curls my lips. By the goddess, I want to pound the annoying little man into a pulp!

Lara starts working on the translated page, making a series of blank lines for the words of the inscription. Then she goes through and fills in the ones she’s admitted to knowing so far.

Edgerton grunts and begins pacing again, manic impatience radiating from him like heat lines wavering over the sun-baked blacktop of Florida.

We’re not going to hold him off for much longer.

Keep working on the riddle of the door, I write. She’s got a better shot at figuring it out than I do with that brilliant and imaginative brain of hers.

Will do, Lara answers.

I focus on what I do best, fighting. Ignoring Edgerton, I carefully map the positions of every armed human in the room, calculating their fields of fire. They’re spread out along the opposite wall at our backs, except for Klaus and Vito, who flank the inscription in front of us. If I could get to a more central location, it might make them hesitate to shoot, since stray bullets could hit their comrades and Edgerton.

Next, my magic spirals outward, searching for plants, but there’s none in this room, not even tiny bits of moss. There must be some form of plant life on the cliff face—not even the power of a waterfall can prevent algae and such from growing—but nothing registers on my senses, even with the entire end of the room open to the outside. This place is indeed magically sealed.

So what else do I have? My hands ghost over my thighs, cataloging the lumps in the various pockets.

I grin as I prepare one of Lara’s lists, cataloging the humans’ several mistakes:

1) They discount my ability to turn almost anything into a weapon.

2) They believe Grey is gone.

3) They have no idea what lengths an orc warrior will go to in order to keep his mate safe.

Lara’s gasp jerks my attention back to her, and brings Elton trotting. He leans over her. “What is it? Did you do it?”

“I think I had a breakthrough. Let me work on it.” Her hand flies across a clean piece of paper, writing in High Fae:I figured out what the door is and why the inscription warns that it’s only one way.

I take another quick glance around the confined space, spotting nothing new.

The fae who built all of this wouldn’t have used a rope ladder. They designed it so there’s only one way out of this room. Lara’s eyes flick to the missing wall, the wide opening that lets out onto the waterfall.

I frown at her.

It has to be the Door of Dreams, she writes.There’s no other option. And if I’m wrong, we’ll land in the pond.

Landing on water from such a great height is almost as injurious as hitting hard ground. The thought of risking my mate… I bare my tusks, protectiveness swamping my chest.

Better than weapons. She uses the general High Fae word, because no word for firearms exists in that language, but I know what she means.

And she’s right. My brilliant and beautiful mate is right. Being shot at point-blank range is riskier than the jump.

I hate it. I hate it with every fiber of my being. And I hate the scum that put us in this position even more.

Elton can still follow us,she writes, worry twisting her mouth.

He thinks he’s going to visit the elves,I write back.Only there are no more elves. There are only dark fae.

That doesn’t sound good.

It definitely won’t be.A smirk curls my lips as I imagine Edgerton getting exactly what’s coming to him. Faerie is like that—one should never use any of the high magicks lightly. They all carry a cost.

What will that cost be for me? Will I be sent back to Faerie? I spent months thinking that’s what I wanted, but it’s no longer true. As difficult and confusing as it is to live on Earth, it’s all worth it to be with Lara.

Before I can ask her what she wants, Edgerton leans forward, almost tipping over her shoulder. “Tell me now!”

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