Page 50 of The Orc's Captive Bride
It was the assumption—the acknowledgment that she didn’t actually know, that she was guessing about his physiology—that made him relent.
She was trying to understand him, trying to bridge the gap between their worlds, and he was being an ass.
The food on the table was far more lavish than he was used to. Fresh bread. Butter and honey. Eggs scented with herbs. Fruit that smelled like summer.
He cautiously took a piece of bread and bit into it. Fresh. Warm. Delicious. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had fresh bread. Usually he ate whatever rations were available. Hard tack. Dried meat. Food as fuel, nothing more.
This was different. This was food worth savoring.
“Better?” she asked, a hint of smugness in her tone.
“Adequate.”
“Liar.”
Despite himself, his lips twitched. Almost a smile.Definitely dangerous.But he kept eating anyway.
They sat in silence for several minutes, the only sound the clink of utensils and the morning birds outside the window. It should have been awkward. Uncomfortable.
Instead it felt… peaceful. No, that was wrong. Peace wasn’t for people like him.
“Can I ask you something?” she asked eventually, and he immediately tensed.
“You can ask. I may not answer.”
“Fair enough.” She took a sip of the delicately scented tea, a far cry from the bitter tea the warriors traveled with. “Where did you grow up?”
He’d expected her question to be about her fate, or even his orders. Instead she’d asked where he grew up, as if he were a normal person. Unfortunately the answer would prove the opposite.
“Why do you want to know?” he asked carefully.
“Because I’m curious. About you.” She met his gaze directly. “You’re more than just one of Lasseran’s warriors.”
He looked away. “No I’m not.”
“I think you are.”
She pushed a plate of fruit toward him, and when he didn’t take any, she picked up a small purple fruit and regarded it thoughtfully. “It’s so strange. The apples are exactly the same as the ones we have on Earth, but I don’t recognize this one at all. What is it?”
He didn’t answer, so she took a tentative bite. Her eyes widened.
“Oh, that’s good. Sweet. Kind of like a mix between a grape and a… hmm. Maybe a plum. But it has this hint of spice I can’t place.”
The simple, unbridled joy she took from a piece of fruit made something in his chest ache.
“Try it,” she insisted, holding it out to him. He stared at her fingers so close to his mouth—at the fruit they held—then looked at her eyes.
He shouldn’t. Shouldn’t get any closer. Shouldn’t accept anything from her.
But he was tired of fighting this. Tired of denying the pull.
He leaned forward and took the fruit from her fingers with his mouth, his tusks scraping gently against her skin.
She gasped, her cheeks flushing.
It wasn’t a kiss. But it was intimate, far more intimate than the casual offering should have been.
He pulled back and chewed slowly. The fruit was good, sweet and spicy and bursting with juice, but that wasn’t what he was thinking about. He was thinking about her wide eyes. The hitch in her breath.
