Page 22 of Romancing the Orc

“I read everything I could get my hands on, devoured all the Harry Potter books and movies, back before the author got problematic. When I got a little older, I read The Hunger Games trilogy, and that changed everything again by adding more romance.”

“I liked those,” Brokk says.

“The movies?”

“And the books.”

“You read them?”

“The entire trilogy.” He grins up at me. “You mentioned them in an interview. I’d already read all of your books and wanted to see what inspired you.”

He actually readallof my books? And then read a whole other series simply because I like it? That’s absolutely the sweetest thing a guy’s ever told me.

“But I like your books best. I enjoy all the magic in them.” He smirks up at me again. “And of course, I love that they’re about orcs.”

I suck in a breath, my heart tripping with shock. His words give meallthe feels.

Being a writer’s not simply a job—it’s who I am. It’s the very heart of me. I want to entertain, to offer people an escape into magical worlds full of adventure and love. For Brokk to value my work…

Tears prickle my eyes, a lump of emotion lodging in my throat. I cling to him as he wades upstream, wishing he held me in a bridal carry instead, because then I could kiss him and finally see what those tusks feel like.

We continue on in comfortable silence.

Bright-red parrots startle from a tree as we get near, launching up into the sky with complaining calls and flashes of blue and yellow painted wings. The branches overhanging the water bob from their movement, rustling clumps of thick, green leaves. The rushing river flows on in a constant murmur, swifter in the middle we already passed through. Here, closer to the shore, it’s calmer, and small dark shapes dart through the water.

All of it quiets my busy brain, letting me simplybe. No worries about the future—getting off this island or my career or that sticky plot point in my next book. I even stop worrying about falling, relaxing into the surety of Brokk’s strong grip on my thighs.

This is really, really nice. I can’t think of the last time I was quiet with someone like this. Usually, I’m a ball of nerves around new people, so worried about being an introvert that I start babbling.

The riverbank angles back sharply, forming a little cove around a small pond. Brokk continues right by it.

“Why don’t we get out there? The bank looked easier to climb.”

“Which is exactly why we’re not going to use it,” he says. “It’ll be one of the places they’ll check carefully once they realize we didn’t come out downriver.”

“Oh, good point.” I add it to my list. These kinds of details will work great in my next adventure plot.

Brokk walks for at least another hour, pushing constantly against the water without flagging. I get tired, my stomach muscles complaining at doing all this unusual work to keep meupright without back support. But his steps never falter. His grip on my thighs never slips. He’s as strong and steady as any orc warrior I ever imagined.

When he finally climbs out onto the bank and sinks to his knees, I lift the tied shoes from my chest and let them drop to the ground, my neck giving a twinge of relief. Then I slide off him with a groan, my legs aching when I straighten them.

Brokk stands and whirls, his hands clasping my shoulders as his eyes roam over me. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” My cheeks heat. God, it’s embarrassing. He did all the work, but I’m the one who’s sore.

Then I get a look at his stomach and gasp. “Oh, god! What the hell are those?”

He makes a questioning noise and looks down at the six-inch long eel-things hanging from his stomach. They’re dark blue, and I could swear little flickers of blue light flash around their heads.

“Oh, those are lampreys.” He pinches the head of one between his thumb and index finger and pulls. It releases from him with a pop, leaving a circular welt. The long body lashes in the air, and more flickers of blue zap out of its round mouth like tiny bolts of lightning.

“Are you sure it’s not some kind of electric eel?” That would explain what I’m seeing, right? But even as I think it, I know I’m grasping at straws. “What’s with the blue lightning?”

“It’s not electricity. It’s magic.” He tosses it back into the water. “It’s a magical lamprey. It was feeding on my magic.”

I lean forward and squint as he rubs over the spot where the lamprey attached. It’s true there’s no blood or visible wound. But magic?

He plucks off the rest and turns toward the jungle. “We should get moving.”

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