Page 49 of Romancing the Orc

“I literally just got started.” I glare up at him. “Get a grip.”

He snorts and starts pacing behind me, his hard-soled dress shoes tapping against the stone floor.

God, if I really did need to translate the carving, there’s no way I’d be able to think with him around. He throws off more impatient energy than a new father banished to the waiting room while his wife gives birth to his firstborn.

Then I have an idea. “Hey, Elton, you need to let Brokk speak so he can help me.”

“Him?” He snorts with derision. “He’s amodel.”

“I already told you he’s not just a pretty face. He knows a little about the language, too. He’s studied Faerie for years. That’s why he likes pretending he’s an orc,” I lie.

“Fine. Whatever.” Elton points at the wall. “Since you’ve got help, I’ll give you a half hour to finish the translation, or it’s bye-bye for pretty boy.” He makes a finger gun and pretends to shoot Brokk again.

My stomach twists into a knot. I have no doubt he’ll do it.

Brokk settles onto the floor beside me, and my body sways toward him for a second, seeking comfort. I jerk myself upright before we can touch, fighting to remember I’m supposed to be playing it cool.

On a blank piece of paper, I write in High Fae:I don’t know what to do. Do I tell him what the carving says?

Not until you have to, he writes back, his expression grim.He has no reason to keep us alive once we give him what he wants.

So what do we do?

We solve the riddle for ourselves, Brokk writes.If we can find the Door of Dreams, we can use it to escape.

“Oh, that’s interesting,” I say out loud. “I think you’re right! That word is door.” I fill in the next word of the translation, making Elton give a pleased grunt.

But if we go through the door, he can repeat what we do and use it for himself. I don’t like the idea of him getting access to anything with power.I also hate the idea of giving Elton what he wants. The asshole so doesn’t deserve it after putting us through all of this.

Ah, but the tools of Faerie are not easily wielded, especially by greedy humans,Brokk writes.The Door of Dreams will not bend to his will. It will impose its own on him instead.

Relief rushes through me. I imagine he’s right. All the stories of humans and Faerie tend to end with the humans tricked. Hell, look at Caroline. I bet she never imagined her fae lover would take her wish for one night so literally.

So where’s the Door?I ask.I don’t see it anywhere in the room. Do you?

No, and I made sure to take a good look before I sat down.

You were standing beside me. How did you see everything?The end of the room farthest from the opening is too dark for me to make out.

Fae eyesight is much keener than a human’s.

“Of course it is,” I murmur with a grin, adding another word to the translation.

That doesn’t solve our problem, I write.We can’t escape through the door if we can’t find it.

If the cat sith hadn’t abandoned us, maybe he could see something we can’t.

An invisible mass shoves in between us, and fur brushes over the back of my right hand. I suck in a shocked breath and immediately try to turn it into a cough. God, it sounds fake as hell—my acting’s as shit as my poker face.

Brokk’s hand twitches before he starts to write, but he gives no other outward sign he felt Grey.You’re still here. Good. Can you see the Door of Dreams? Tap my arm once for yes or two for no.

I bite my lip and pretend to check something in the family journal while a flicker of hope sparks in my chest, only to be snuffed out when Brokk writes,He says no.

Then a thought strikes. I write quickly,Grey, can you get us out using the shadow roads?

A paw taps my arm once, then twice.

Dammit. I thought for sure that would work.He says no.

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