Page 8 of Till Orc Do Us Part
“Jamie Moore!”
His head whips up, curls bouncing. Drokhaz Vellum—looming behind the desk, green-skinned and sharp-suited—doesn’t flinch. Of course he doesn’t.
Jamie beams. “Hi, Mom!”
“Don’t you ‘Hi, Mom’ me! What are you doing here?” I cross the room in three strides and grab his shoulders. He’s warm, unharmed, delighted with himself.
“I brought his notebook back,” he says. “And he let me draw maps!”
I whirl to Drokhaz, fury barely caged.
“You let my son in here alone?”
He rises slowly, an avalanche in a suit. “Your son entered of his own volition. The door was open.”
“That’s not the point!”
“I ensured his safety.” His voice is calm, almost maddeningly so. “And he proved to be one of the more insightful guests I’ve hosted.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
He gestures to the desk. Jamie’s scrawled map lies beside the real blueprints—curves and sea monsters and bridges blending with sleek towers. A pen, far too expensive for a five-year-old, rests nearby.
Jamie grins. “He says I ask good questions.”
I plant my hands on my hips. “That’s not an invitation to wander into strangers’ offices!”
“He’s not a stranger. He’s Drokhaz.”
God help me. The boy’s charmed the walking wrecking ball.
I shift my glare back to the orc. He meets it evenly, arms folded now, every inch the unflappable businessman.
“Next time, maybe lock your damn door,” I snap.
“Perhaps.” His gaze flicks to Jamie, then back to me. “Though few have the initiative—and courage—your son displays.”
Don’t melt. Don’t melt. He’s playing you.
I take a breath through my nose. “We’re leaving.”
“Bye, Mr. Drokhaz!” Jamie chirps, gathering his notebook. He waves the pen. “Thanks for letting me draw.”
The orc inclines his head. “Thank you for reminding me that buildings, too, deserve names.”
I stare. He’s quoting Jamie. Earnest. Not mocking.
Damn him.
I usher Jamie out, pulse still racing. The door shuts behind us with a hiss. The night air slaps my cheeks cool.
As we walk, I grip Jamie’s hand tighter than necessary.
“Sweetheart, you can’t just wander into places like that.”
“I wasn’t wandering. I was helping.”
My voice softens despite myself. “I know. But people aren’t always safe.”
