Chapter Two

Raisa

I was raised six blocks from here and as an adult, I still live nearby. Even though we’re close to the Zone, I was never allowed to walk near there as a kid and haven’t explored it as an adult. I’ve seen pictures of the Others, though, and even in the dim moonlight, with him mostly hidden in the trees, there’s no mistaking he’s an orc.

I come here at night to think, or when I can’t sleep, or both—like tonight. Despite being in a shitty part of town, I’ve never had a problem here. I’m not stupid, though. I have pepper spray and an eight-inch kitchen knife in my backpack.

Although he’s dwarfed by the trees, it’s clear he’s bigger than any man I’ve ever known. Not just tall, but built like a linebacker—a big linebacker. It’s hard to see his features, but they have the hard lines and angles of his species.

Even in the dim light, his dark brown hair is lustrous and pulled back in braids. Beaded necklaces adorn his naked chest, and tribal tats cover both arms. Fear lances through me when moonlight glints off his long, ivory tusks.

He rears his head and begins his retreat. By the amount of whites showing around his irises, I wonder if he’s more frightened of me than I am of him.

“Don’t go!” The words are out of my mouth before I think them through.

It’s two in the morning. I’m a denizen of the night and come here often to think—and worry. Tonight, it’s money and rent and the hella-expensive software I need but can’t afford.

I seldom encounter people here, other than couples who do their hurried business in a little plastic culvert meant for kids to play in, but used at night for drug deals and furtive sex. Who was the genius who thought that was the perfect thing to put on a kids’ playground?

No one is there now. It’s just me and the orc, who looks unsure as he makes a “who, me?” gesture when I tell him not to go. When I wave him over a second time, he eases forward, edging toward me sideways as if he’s trying to make himself a smaller target.

I pull my little backpack off the ground and place it on my lap. If I need the pepper spray or the knife, all I need to do is pull them from the outer pouch.

“Are you lost?” His voice is so deep it seems to seep inside my skin and rumble through me. “Running away from your parents? I can walk you home or,” he gulps nervously, “get you to the police.”

“You think I’m a child?”

His head tilts. I’ve stumped him, which means he definitely thinks I’m a kid.

“I’m a grown woman. Not in need of saving.” Although how sweet that rescuing a child in distress was his first thought.

“Never seen a human child in person. You just seem so… small, and,” he gestures at the swingset, “you’re on a swing.”

Suddenly, I want to know more about this man—this orc—who’s never seen a human child.

Why have I never researched much about the Zone when it’s only a few blocks away? I want to rectify that and this seems like the perfect opportunity.

I’m not sure which of us is in the most danger. A five-foot-nothing female in a shady part of town, or a humongous orc who most humans would agree has no business outside the Zone at this time of night.

“I come here when I can’t sleep.”

He nods in understanding. “I come here to… breathe.”

He’s seen so few humans, he had no idea of my age. I could say much the same about my lack of knowledge of Others. This male might be eighteen or thirty-five for all I know. Suddenly I’m filled with questions.

“Have a seat. I won’t bite.” I take a good look at his ivory tusks as they flash in the moonlight and chuckle at my inadvertent joke.

It’s only when he eases onto the swing next to me and the chains creak under his weight that I realize how massive this male is. It’s awkward conversing on swings in the first place since they all face the same direction. But to look at his face, I not only have to twist in my seat, but the back of my head almost rests on my shoulder.

I jump off and get back on the swing, facing the opposite direction, making it easier to converse.

“You’re so tiny.” His chin is tipped almost to his chest so he can look at me.

“Maybe it’s not that I’m so tiny. Maybe it’s that you’re so big.”

We laugh. It breaks the ice.

Perhaps it’s that we’re on a children’s playground and my serious mood has vanished, but I place my hand toward him in a high-five position. He immediately responds, placing his palm against mine.

We’re both fascinated by our size difference as our palms meet. I can’t hold back an astonished giggle as my doll-sized hand rests against his, which is almost the size of a dinner plate. When our palms are laid flat against each other, the tips of my fingers barely make it past his palm.

Just like that, we start a conversation. No. Conversation doesn’t describe what happens between us.

A conversation implies social niceties, little verbal games people play as we dance around platitudes and white lies and generalities and deceptions.

What this orc and I do is dive deep into a baring of souls.

Perhaps it’s because we both assume we live in different worlds, that we’ll never see each other again. There’s something safe about telling my private thoughts to this gentle giant, this male whose first thought upon meeting me was that he had to save me somehow.

After just a few interchanges, I jump into the deep end. I tell him how odd it was having a white mom, yet growing up not knowing what bubble to fill in when it asked for my race, and how I begged her to just tell me who my father was.

She only answered with lies. It was only a few years ago she admitted she didn’t know who my father was because there were several choices. And by several, I think she meant many.

He shared how it felt to be an outsider his whole life and how hard it was to lose his mother a few years ago. My heart pangs with sympathy and guilt. Was I really moaning about my circumstances to a male who isn’t even supposed to be on this planet? An orc straight out of a fairytale who’s been fenced inside the Zone his whole life?

“Sorry. I was insensitive.”

He shrugs as though he has no idea why I’m apologizing.

As we talk and I spill thoughts and emotions I’ve never shared with a soul, I find myself forgetting about our differences and paying attention to our similarities.

And then I notice how handsome he is. The Others are hidden away and rarely mentioned except by the Purists, the Peoples’ Purity Party, with their ubiquitous rhetoric about how the “abominations” don’t belong on Earth and should be exterminated.

This explains why I’ve seen few pictures of orcs. Unlike the rugged and fearsome appearance of the single picture in my history book, this male is a breathtaking masterpiece who could rival a divine being.

At first glance, my eyes are drawn to his powerful brow with a subtle arch that frames his eyes with regal elegance. Beneath that probrow, a pair of mesmerizing amber eyes gleam like rare gemstones, capturing the essence of both earth and fire.

His strong, chiseled cheekbones suggest a warrior”s prowess with a hint of refinement. Maybe it’s his eyes, or maybe the way he stood at the edge of the trees, ready to retreat at my request that imbues him with a touch of vulnerability, as if he bears the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Beneath his distinguished nose is a generous mouth, made more interesting by the way it easily works around those brutish tusks.

The way his braids are pulled back accentuates his pointed, yet oddly graceful, orcish ears.

I forgot I’d read that orcs’ tongues were black, but when I catch a glimpse of it in the watery moonlight, my thoughts become fixated on what it would feel like pressing between my lips. A moment later, I wonder what it would feel like exploring between my legs.

“When the laws changed, allowing us to have jobs, to police ourselves inside the Zone, to work at our own firehouse, I jumped at the chance to be a firefighter. Brokka, the Fire Chief, is like a father to me. It’s like a brotherhood; I have so many friends on the force. I felt like it was what I was meant to—”

It’s only when he stops mid-sentence, eyes wide, that I realize I was barely listening. I’d been wondering what his tusks would feel like against my tender skin if he ate me out.

“What are you thinking?” This isn’t the tone he’s been using since we met, hushed, like you’d speak to a frightened child. This is a demand.

We’ve been talking for what, an hour? Two? I haven’t heard this timbre in his voice before. It’s an octave lower.

“Hmm?”

A different person, perhaps a person I’d been having a conversation with instead of vomiting out the deepest secrets of my soul, would say nothing to my pretend-innocent question. This male, whose name I don’t know because we skipped the surface pleasantries, says, “Orcs’ sense of smell is ten times more acute than humans. You’re thinking about sex.”

Busted. So fucking busted.

Fuck the baring of souls. I want to run home. I don’t want to admit I was thinking about him eating me out. Shit! Does thinking the words “eating me out” intensify my scent?

I want to act offended and challenge his observation. To jump off my swing and snatch my bag off the ground where I let it drop an hour ago when I realized I didn’t need my knife. But running away without a word would dishonor the amazing talk we’ve been having. I can’t do that.

“Hey, I should probably go.” I slide to my feet and grip my bag as though it will shield his nose from my horny pheromones.

Right now, he should rise, pretend he didn’t mention my scent, and say goodnight.

“I shouldn’t have said that. Even though I grew up on Earth, I’ve never really talked to a human before, not one my age. I thought this was how it’s done. Honesty, you know?”

He’s apologizing. It’s sincere. Yet the words slap me because he’s right. Honesty, you know? Yeah, we were doing that, weren’t we? Until I got scared.

“Don’t apologize. I’m not used to anyone knowing when I’m… and then when you mentioned it…” I wave my hand randomly, hoping I made my point.