Her Orc Husband

I gape up at the orc, my hands clutched around my damp umbrella. His harsh features crease into a frown, and his nostrils flare wide as he inhales. Mrs. Pimms rattles out a greeting to him and tries to nudge me out the door without actually touching me—clearly trying to get rid of me—but I can’t move.

I’m pinned in place by this male’s black glare.

He’s completely silent, but the tension between us grows until he takes one step forward and growls, “This one. I want this one.”

I stumble back, terrified. Beside me, Mrs. Pimms lets out a shocked gasp, her hand flying to her ample bosom. The orc follows us into the office and closes the door behind him, trapping us inside. Suddenly, the room seems much smaller. His head nearly brushes the roofbeams—he has to be nearly seven feet tall—and his broad shoulders are wider than any human man’s. His skin is a rich, mossy green, and the scent of him… Gods, he smells like deep forests in summertime, and I can’t help taking a deep whiff of the delicious aroma, even though my breaths are coming too fast.

“Mr. Marut,” Mrs. Pimms yelps, “this, uh, this is a misunderstanding. Miss Violet was just leaving, please, you’re standing in the way.”

The large male shakes his head slowly, never taking his gaze off me. “No.”

From the corner of my eye, I see the matchmaker puff up.

“What do you mean, no? This is my office, and I won’t have my decisions questioned here.”

I still haven’t found my voice, though I wonder what she could do to banish the orc from her office. She barely comes up to the middle of his chest, and he could likely lift her with one hand and remove her bodily from the room. For some reason, the thought fills me with glee, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

The orc finally wrenches his gaze from me and focuses on the matchmaker. Mrs. Pimms quakes under his stare—until the orc bows to her, bending deep from his waist.

“Thank you, madam,” he says, “for helping me find my mate.”

He straightens, takes Mrs. Pimms’ hand, and kisses her knuckles. Then he leads her back toward her desk and urges her to sit in her chair. She follows, looking flustered, her cheeks pinkening. Without pause, he pulls out a leather purse and sets it on the desktop with a heavy chink.

“The rest of my fee,” he rumbles. “As promised.”

The sound of coins rattling in the pouch is what finally snaps me out of my stupor.

“Wait,” I say, “what are you talking about?”

The orc turns and walks toward me with slow, deliberate steps. “Don’t be afraid, human. I will not hurt you.”

I raise my umbrella between us to stop him. “Don’t come any closer.”

He halts in the middle of the room, his expression turning from intense to confused. “What’s the matter?”

I gape at him. “How can you ask that? You barge in here, declare I’m the one you want, and expect me to—what? Leave with you?”

He only says, “Yes.”

There’s no question in his answer, no doubt in his mind that I would be anything but thrilled to be chosen by an orc.

“No,” I exclaim, retreating another step. “That’s—that’s not how it works.”

From behind the orc’s back, Mrs. Pimms squeaks, “If I may?”

“Don’t you feel it?” The orc advances on me, ignoring the matchmaker.

He comes so close I have to crane my neck to look him in the eyes.

“Feel what?” I shuffle away from him, but my heel hits the door, and I know I’m trapped. My umbrella hangs from my hands, ineffectual. If I hit him with it, I’d probably break the delicate spokes anyway, and besides, I can’t get my arms to work.

He raises his hand, reaching for my face. My gaze follows the path of his green fingers, coming too close to me, and my heartbeat goes wild, blood rushing in my ears. I turn my face away from him and scrunch my eyes shut, wishing I could disappear, but there’s nowhere to go. He’s about to touch me, and I don’t think I can bear it without being sick.

Suddenly, the orc huffs out a breath, then his footsteps recede, and the warmth of him that radiated onto me is gone.

“Fuck,” he curses, his voice ragged and low.

I open my eyes again and peek at him. He’s standing several feet from me, staring down at his hands. Then he glances at me, and though I can’t read his expression, the sheer intensity of it is subdued, as if he’d shaken off some spell.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you, little bird. I will not hurt you. You have my word.”

Breaths sawing out of me, I stand at the door, still clutching my umbrella in my gloved hands. I haven’t been this close to a man in ages—I even scheduled this meeting at the earliest possible hour to avoid the crush of people rushing to the market every day through the streets of Ultrup.

Mrs. Pimms clears her throat, and we turn to her. She is standing behind her desk now, both hands splayed on top of her notes.

“If you would allow me a moment,” she says, her voice tight with tension, “I can explain what is going on.”

“Please,” I breathe.

The matchmaker indicates the chair I’d sat in before, and I skirt around the orc to take it. I don’t like having the large male at my back, but the matchmaker’s stern glare has me thinking he won’t try anything just now. And I’m right—he positions himself several steps away from me, by the window, and remains standing, a massive boulder of a person.

“Now,” the matchmaker says, “I don’t know how to begin this, except to say that the two of you are the least suitable match I could ever have predicted. You will not work. Not at all.”

The orc makes a low sound in his throat that reminds me of a bear’s growl, but Mrs. Pimms holds up her hand to stop him.

“Mr. Marut, I have decades of experience in this sort of thing,” she declares. “You are searching for your one true mate, correct? A woman to satisfy your, uh, various appetites? One you could lavish all your attention on.”

My insides squeeze at the image she paints, and before I can stop myself, my mind goes wild, imagining all the ways a male like that would lavish attention on a willing partner. One who wasn’t so damn afraid.

The orc crosses his thick arms over his chest. “Aye, that is correct.”

To my utmost surprise, a surge of jealousy at this future mate of his spears through me. Whoever she is, I don’t want to know, but the urge to claw her away from Mr. Marut is strong. I shake myself and focus back on the matchmaker.

She points at me. “This particular young woman has a most acute aversion to touch. If you study her more closely, you will see what I mean. She’s covered from head to toe. She nearly fainted just now when she thought you were going to touch her face.” She knocks her knuckles on the tabletop to underscore her point. “I simply cannot allow this union to proceed, knowing how ill-suited you are to each other, regardless of the good standing of your clan.”

I try and fail to fight off a flush that rises from my chest to my neck and spills over to my cheeks. From experience, I know my pale, freckled skin has turned a shocking pink. My face is flaming under the orc’s careful scrutiny, and I tug at the high neckline of my dress, wishing I had more room to breathe. Then I touch the coil of my braid, which does a good job of containing my curls, making sure it’s still in place.

“I see,” the orc says.

I know what will follow. He will clear his throat, make his excuses, and pick up that heavy purse of coin he’d thrown so carelessly on the matchmaker’s table. And then he’ll leave, off to pursue a woman who will be able to satisfy all his needs. A woman other than me.

“Mrs. Pimms.” The orc clasps his hands behind his back. “If I promise you that I will stay well away from Miss Violet here, would you allow us a moment of privacy? I would speak to her alone.”

The matchmaker faces me and lifts her eyebrows. I understand her meaning—it’s my decision whether or not I want to allow this. And I don’t know why I should. Like she said, the sheer idea of a union between me and this massive orc is ridiculous. We would never work.

But I’ve never been looked at quite like this before. Mr. Marut follows every twitch of my hand, every minuscule movement, with a predator’s attention, yet somehow, I don’t feel unsafe. When he tried to touch me earlier, I did nearly faint with fright, but now that he’s standing far enough from me, I don’t feel threatened, even though he’s so much larger than me.

“Please, Miss Violet,” he says, his voice low. “I only ask for a moment of your time.”

That he’s asking so politely could be a ploy. He might ravish me the moment the matchmaker leaves. But somehow, I don’t think he will. If he wanted to, he could throw Mrs. Pimms out of the room without much issue and have his way with me regardless, and instead, he’s being much more considerate than I’d ever have expected from an orc.

Which is why I give the older woman a slight nod. She huffs but moves around her desk and walks away from us.

“I’m leaving the door open a crack.” Her voice is sharp, allowing no argument. “Miss Violet, if you need anything, I’ll only be down the corridor.”

“Thank you,” I say, proud that I don’t stutter.

I’m not usually this timid, but this entire meeting has left me off my guard. I knew, coming here this morning, that it was likely the last time I’d be stepping foot in Mrs. Pimms’ office. I have no delusions about my history of failed marriage attempts.

But just ten minutes ago, I thought I had a plan. The letter of recommendation is still tucked in my pocket, ready to be carried to the woman who will hopefully help me build my own future. The more I think about it, the more I like the appeal of earning my own money. Even if the salary I’d receive as a nurse or a governess wouldn’t allow me to live in luxury, that wouldn’t make much of a difference. The small allowance my brother has been doling out to me from the account set aside for my dowry was barely enough to buy the basic necessities anyway, so anything better than that would be an improvement.

Yet here is Mr. Marut. An orc who claims I’m his mate. Offering me another choice.

He waits for Mrs. Pimms’ clacking footsteps to fade down the corridor, then drags her chair around the desk and sits close to me, facing toward my chair. At first, I hesitate, but it’s strange gazing at him from the side, so I scoot my chair around to face his. For some reason, that makes the corner of his full mouth twitch up. It’s not quite a smile, but it soothes some of my tension.

I appreciate his gesture, though. I don’t have to crane my neck to look him in the eyes anymore, which gives me the impression that we’re on equal footing. Well, it’s more of an illusion because the orc dwarfs the chair he’s sitting in, and the wood creaks ominously under his weight. He seems a tad uncomfortable but sets his elbows on his knees and focuses his black gaze on me.

And stares.

I squirm, uncomfortable under such scrutiny. Half my life, I’ve been stared at by men because of my figure and my hair, and I don’t like being the center of attention. But he’s only studying my face, his gaze bouncing from my eyes to my freckled cheeks, to my mouth and back.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “Well?” I prompt him. “You wanted to talk.”

He starts, then visibly shakes himself. “Forgive me.” His hand twitches forward, as if he wants to take mine, but he stops himself and jerks it back. “I didn’t expect to meet my mate today.”

I clutch my umbrella tighter on my lap. “You came to Mrs. Pimms to get married, no?”

He inclines his head to the side. “In a way. This is only my first time in the city, and after I asked around where humans go to find their mates, someone recommended her establishment.”

I sit back, studying him. “But humans don’t form mate bonds.”

He mimics my posture, relaxing against the creaking chair. “Aye, I’ve come to realize that. I admit I was confused, because the human women who have mated some of the orcs from my clan certainly seem to be almost as affected as their mates.”

I set my umbrella on the desk, because this conversation will obviously be longer than I anticipated, and I don’t want it soaking through my dress.

“Human women married your orc friends?” I ask. “How does that work?”

“I suppose it works much the same as any other marriage,” he says, and there’s that not-quite-smile again, and a slight crinkling of skin around his eyes.

He’s a serious one, Mr. Marut, but maybe he’s not quite as growly as he’d seemed at first.

When I don’t reply, he says, “I didn’t mean to frighten you earlier. I didn’t know about your…”

“Issue?” I fill in. “It’s all right. You couldn’t have known. But you do see why Mrs. Pimms is so certain that this match would be a terrible one. You could do much better with another bride, I’m sure.”

One who won’t cringe away from you every time you come near. One who would be only too happy to marry a male as large as you, because I’m certain you’re quite proportionate all over.

Oh gods, just thinking about his proportions has blood rushing to my face. I might be a virgin, but I’m not uneducated, nor so innocent as to be ignorant of what couples do together. And if I was, meeting with the prospective suitors would have disabused me of all gentle notions of soft midnight kisses and romance. The men I spoke to told me in no uncertain terms what they expected from a marriage, especially from a woman like me.

“There can be no other bride,” the orc says, his frown returning. “There is only you.”

“Mr. Marut,” I begin.

He shakes his head firmly. “Only Marut. You must call me by my name.”

A shiver passes over me at his firm command. What is it about him that elicits such visceral reactions from me? It must be his low, rumbling voice.

“All right, then, Marut.” I’d thought it was his family name, but apparently not. Using his first name seems too intimate somehow, but now that he’s given me permission, I want to call him that. “You may call me Violet.”

He leans forward and takes another deep inhale through his nose. Then he lets out a noise that can only be called a contented purr and says, “You’re not afraid of me anymore.”

My hand flies to my chest on instinct. “A-are you smelling me?”

“Aye. Your name is very apt. You smell like the first spring flowers.” He sniffs again. “And like blueberry scones. I haven’t had scones in years, and right now, I’d like to eat my fill.”

His words are innocuous enough on the surface, but somehow, I know he means them in a different way—only I’m not sure how. I’ve certainly never experienced anything that would explain them, and there’s only so much one can learn from the books at the public lending library.

I’m about to ask him what he means when he straightens his back and clears his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

He trails off, and his cheeks turn a deeper shade of green. It takes me a moment to realize he’s flushing, clearly mortified at what he’d just said.

My shoulders relax, and I smile for the first time since he barged through the door. “You were saying?”

He glowers at me. “Mrs. Pimms would skin me alive if I uttered aloud what is going through my head right now, little bird.”

Oh.

The thought that he’s imagining things is strangely comforting, because I still haven’t managed to push away the thought of his proportions. But most of all, I like the idea of him being as terrified of Mrs. Pimms’ temper as I am.

“She would,” I say, leaning in conspiratorially. “But I won’t tell if you won’t.”

I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’ve never spoken to a man like this before, and indeed, I’d be afraid to do so—afraid that the man would take my teasing for an open invitation and act on whatever is going on between us. Yet somehow, I know Marut will not.

His gaze sharpens. “If I didn’t think she’d call the city guard on me, I’d bolt that door and have you spread out on her desk. We’d make a mess of all these neat papers.” He motions toward the stack of applications I’d leafed through earlier. “I’d lift those pretty skirts of yours and find out if you taste as good as you smell.”

I gasp in surprise. Not one of the words he’s used is crude, but together, they paint a shocking picture. I glance at the desk, and the image pops into my head, of me spread on top of it, face pink, hair mussed, skirts rucked up to my waist, with the large orc wedged between my soft thighs.

Marut’s rough exhale is more of a growl, and it snaps me back into reality. I should slap him for saying a thing like this. Or I should feign a fainting spell, slump senseless over my chair, and perhaps let out a scream that would send Mrs. Pimms running back to the room.

But I’ve never been farther from fainting. I feel alive, my blood rushing through my veins, my belly squirming with some unknown sensation that crystallizes one thought in my mind.

I want more.

The orc twitches his lips in an expression that’s almost smug. “See, Violet, I don’t need to touch you to make sure you’re taken care of. You’ll see.”