Page 62 of The Orc Chief's Baker
“There are no boars!” There was such desperation in Brovdir’s tone that her shock and dismay faded and mirth threatened to burst from her lips. She pinched them to stop her laughter.
“Have a good night, then. I’ll be sure to let the folks know to get their earplugs ready.” The male was gone before Brovdir could throttle him, but it looked like he wanted to.
“Did you really ask the elders for advice?” Trinia asked as she tried to get all her emotions under control. “No one warned you about them?”
He let out a ragged sigh, squeezing his eyes shut, and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Trinia lost control of her laughter. Tonight had probably been the most horrible, terrifying, and devastating day of her entire life—save the day her mother had died—but this was the hardest she’d laughed in a very long time.
She wiped the wetness from her eyes as she finally got herself back in check. When she looked up, Brovdir was regarding her with a warm, soft expression that made her stomach do flips. Her heart hammered rapidly in her chest, her mouth went dry, and her mind reeled... and blasted burned biscuits...
She was actually going to do this.
She was going to try to bed this orc.
“I’ll... I’ll stay with you tonight, Brovdir. If you’ll still have me.”
He blinked, eyes going wide with surprise.
Then he nodded, far too eagerly. A huge grin spread across his face. He looked like he would have whooped for joy had his injured throat allowed it.
Her guilt mounted so high she was certain it would touch the stars, but this was her best chance to have a new place to live, wasn’t it? A new bakery...
Her eyes prickled with unshed tears, and her skin went clammy. Her heart clenched so hard in her chest it hurt.
She had a storm of emotions brewing inside her and she begged the Fades to help her keep them at bay long enough to become his conquest.
Chapter
Sixteen
BROVDIR
Brovdir could not decide if he was elated or terrified.
Trinia walked quietly beside him, her form completely concealed under Sythcol’s large cloak. It smelled of the conjurer. Salt and floral herbs. He wanted to rip the thing off her and toss it into the woods before it tainted her.
But the instinct to keep her warm and content was stronger than the basal need for her to smell like him.
“Does your throat hurt?”
He blinked at the question. His throat was in agony. Even taking a deep breath was painful, but that was nothing new. He hadn’t expected her to notice.
“You keep rubbing it and grimacing.” She tapped her smooth neck with her perfect finger, leaving a little splotch of mud behind.
He needed to get her into his tub.
“Do you have honey?”
Honey? He did... somewhere. He didn’t much care for sweets, so if he did, it had gotten shoved to the back of a cabinet.
“After I bathe, I can make you something. You do have a bath, right?”
She wanted to make him something? What? He couldn’t wait.
“Please don’t tell me you bathe in the iced springs or something crazy like that.”
He grinned.
