11. Orlagh

ELEVEN

The sun dipsbeneath the skyline, Solstra's final wash of warmth kissing my skin. I lean toward it, fighting the urge to drop this tattered old washrag back into its sanitation bucket, to walk out of Perk Ya Later and bathe myself in that timeless blend of gold and orange and pink, to stretch my arms wide beneath tonight's perfect sunset sky, darkened artfully here and there by dusky little wisps of vibrant lavender clouds—clouds that happen to be the very same color I'd found Rok painting my walls last night.

I squeeze out the rag and get back to washing the shop windows.

Vigorously.

Obviously I appreciate everything Rok did yesterday, and of course I'm grateful for everything he's done since that first night. He saved my ass—literally—when he helped with my stream, and he's been coming to my rescue right and left ever since; my very own hero in a 6XL t-shirt.I know I'd be a bit lost without the orc next door, truly, and that everything with Wolf would be way harder to deal with.

But… sun above, can't I go thirty seconds without thinking of him?

My vigor turns to near violence as I scrub harder, annoyed at myself for even being annoyed at the timing of what seems to be the partner I've always wanted finding his way into my life, someone the exact opposite of Wolf, someone big and strong and sweet bursting out of my dreams and swooping me up into his arms. And I can't deny, if he hadn't been around…

Eventually that unhinged alphahole would have used a couple of those barely sufficient brain cells of his, sparking some semblance of thought. And when he finally finished his tricky calculations, finally put two and two together and realized that he was the one who had gotten unceremoniously dumped, the one who "lost" and was worse-off? All his kiss-ass pack members would have fallen all over each other in the mad rush to line up and soothe the blow, lick his wounded pride. And at some point, all that validation and commiseration would have prompted him to lash out at me someway, somehow.

Would it have been at work with a posse like before we broke up, or would he still have shown up alone and drunk at my door? Would I have opened it, let him in? Fought him with that baseball bat I'd been clutching? Would Rok have heard the commotion and stepped in, or would he have decided it was better not to interfere if I hadn't paid him to spank me and then ridden out an orgasm on his thigh beforehand? Was Wolf always going to be the catalyst that pushed us towards one another, or would we have made our way into each other's hearts regardless?

I'd like to think that Rok and I would have crossed paths on our own at some point, unprompted by any insane and insanely urgent erotic emergencies. Maybe in the hall, at the mailboxes, squashed into that small elevator? I really want to believe we would still have gotten right here, believe that I'd still be feeding off of this intense energy between us and intertwining our lives at this same breakneck speed, teetering on the edge of falling hard and fast again. I desperately, desperately want to believe that I'd still be on the verge of melting into his velvety green arms, staring up at those dangerously sexy tusks and that lopsided grin, three whispered words ready on my lips.

But that's just the thing, isn't it?

I'll never know.

I'll never know if we'd be moving this fast or I'd be feeling these feelings if the circumstances were more normal, and I can't help but wonder: what if?

There's just something off about how perfectly perfect this whole thing is, something strange about how perfectly perfect he is that… frightens me. Nearly as much as it comforts me, sure, but I'm still fucking terrified. Going all in on big feelings? Never has that ever—ever—brought me anything other than pain and shame in the end. This whole thing with Rok feels meaningful, magical, mythical… but is it? Is there any way for me to figure out if it is or if I'm making a mistake before I take that last three-worded dive? And if there is some way to figure it out, can we even slow this interstellar momentum long enough for me to be sure?

I steal another glance at the sunset as I dunk my rag back into the soapy water, lavender clouds catching my eyes yet again, because despite the annoyingly male presumption of it all… Rok was right about the paint.

Three weeks ago I'd gone to Hardware House with the ignorant confidence of someone who has no clue what the hell they're looking for. I was only planning on getting the supplies to finally patch those holes Wolf had put in my walls, but I'd found myself perusing the unfamiliar aisles longer than I needed to, dreaming about renovations as I'd stopped at that very same paint counter with the surly salt-and-pepper minotaur, had looked right at Bugbehr's M570 and said please and thank you as I'd gotten a swatch. Along with a few other shades, sure, but Solstra knows that one had been the standout, the one I loved. I'd thought about how much I loved it as I painted slow, shaky stripes on the wall alongside Rok's strong, steady ones last night, hating the sadness and self doubt I found lurking in his eyes.

Navigating our way through that post-fight awkwardness hadn't been fast, but it had been strangely easy—almost tooeasy—to come back together once we'd both loosened up, to tickle and tease until we were laughing and touching and… well, more, of course.

Much more.

By the end of the night I was scrubbing streaks of lavender sky from Rok's skin, lathering it out of his dark hair, watching the pastel purple ghosts of our conflict circle the drain as his lips and tusks claimed every inch of me. And when he'd lifted me at the waist, when he'd caught my soapy thighs with his strong shoulders and pressed me back against the cold, wet tiles… My foamy fingers never did find purchase on those slick walls, never did manage to tangle long in that unruly hair of his, never did seem able to cease their endless searching and grasping as he'd licked me absolutely everywhere that glorious tongue of his was able to reach, again and again and again…

A few more drops of water splash into the bucket as my hands still, my grip on the rag tightening, because suddenly I can feel him everywhere around me, smell him everywhere around me, on me, the phantom scent of his skin alive and crackling on mine.

I have to brace myself on the window as I breathe in deeper, trying desperately to regain control of myself, nearly losing my balance as that strange electricity jolts me forward, the scent of bonfires and citrus and him intensifying, cracking open a well of desire within me. For a near-delirious moment all I can think of is the work I just undid by streaking up this glass, think of the additional work I'll have to do if this aching, pulsing emptiness at my core doesn't stop and I end up having to mop up a veritable puddle at my feet, to walk home in a soaked, sex-crazed daze.

I bite back a moan, still fighting against this strange sensation that's pulling me forward, threatening to buckle my knees as it slicks my thighs and?—

"You daydreamin' about your beau again?"

And just as suddenly as it had appeared, the scent of woodsmoke and blood orange is gone. Faded into elusiveness once more, hidden beneath the sharp burn of the chemicals wafting up from the bucket at my feet, and nothing but a hot, hollow sensation at my core and a telltale dampness between my thighs to convince me that it had all been real.

I dunk the rag into said bucket and wring it properly as I turn to Brix, clearing my throat, all too aware of the warm flush creeping up my neck and staining my cheeks despite my demure demeanor. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh, I don't know," she sighs exaggeratedly, resting her cheek against her mop handle and batting her long, black lashes at me. "Might be the dreamy, steamy sparkle in your eyes as you were starin' off at that sunset just now, or maybe something about the way you've been wringing that poor little washrag to bits, twisting and turning, tugging and stroking…"

The corners of my lips twitch despite my clear indignation. "You're ridiculous."

"Am I? Well then, what's this look like to you?" Her minty green fingers shuttle up and down the gleaming wooden handle, demonstrating a mastery of a wrist technique that is clearly not meant for mops.

"Churning butter?"

She barks out a laugh at that, and I can't help but let the grin I was fighting back win out, tossing the rag into the bucket; the wet, squelching thwack it rewards us with when it hits the liquid within sends us both into side-clutching, ab-burning fits of laughter.

It's been at least a year since Brix and I have been more than passing midday ships on our shifts at Perk Ya Later, and it's kind of crazy how easily we've fallen back into our old rhythm; we're nearly finished cleaning up for the night, and we've only been closed for fifteen minutes. We chat as we work, about everything from her mother's latest late-husband to the declining quality of the produce at our favorite Trader Josie's and everything in between.

After dumping out our buckets of cleaning solution, sorting out the three-step disinfecting station, and starting up the commercial dishwashers, we make our way back into the front of the shop, collapsing beside each other in one of the giant velvet wingbacks by my favorite little coffee table.

My apron gets caught behind my neck, so I take a moment to wriggle out of it before throwing myself back beside my friend with a sigh. "Looks good in here, right?"

Brix snorts, resting her cheek on top of my head with a sigh of her own. "Looks done, or just about."

"What's left?"

She leans forward, stretching her arms up and arching her back as she glances around.

"Not much, sugar. Let's see… grab the menu board out front? After that it's just…"

Brix trails off as her phone chimes—no, honks. An annoying little horn, like the kind you'd hear at the circus. She wipes her hands on her apron front before lifting her hips to pull the phone from the back pocket of her high-waisted cutoffs, rolling her eyes at the screen.

"…the trash."

I try to catch her gaze as she aggressively taps out a reply, but it's clear that she's actively avoiding mine.

"Wanna… talk about it?"

A light flush creeps across her minty green cheeks as she pops up from our chair, shoving the rhinestone encrusted device back in her pocket.

"Nope. Just a clown."

Brix stalks over to the front of the shop, flipping all the switches along the way to turn off the lights way more forcefully than necessary. Her eyes look almost black in the darkened cafe, waves of displeasure rolling off of her like thick plumes of smoke.

I bite my lip, because that had to be Haf.

And I know I really shouldn't press, not if she's pissed, but… I can't help myself.

We used to rib each other about guys all the time before I moved in with Wolf and became distant and detached. Tonight had felt like old times, had been such a salve to my soul, and she had certainly dished out her share, right?

The chair creaks a little as I settle back into it, decided, and cross my legs over one arm. "So… was it, like, a whole clown?"

"What?"

"A whole clown. Not a… Haf… clown…?"

I shriek in laughter as her apron hits me. Sunbeams, but she's strong. Easy to forget about all the lean, toned strength hiding beneath her oversized sweatshirt, even when her thick thighs are readily on display.

"Har har har. And that there is girls night out talk, not coworkers closing up the damn shop talk. And seeing as you keep forgetting your ass from your elbow as you daydream about your own big, green clown…"

"Hey, Rok is not a clown."

"I thought there was trouble in paradise?"

"Well, yeah. Kind of. He's definitely annoyed me on some level, or our situation has, but he's no clown."

"Mm, you're right, you're right. He's a damned catch, is what he is, and I don't blame you one itty-bit for wanting to head on back to him, especially if y'all are still smoothing things out."

"Well… I mean, sure, of course I do. Last night was tense, and we didn't exactly do a lot of talking about the whole situation, but…"

"But you… can't get enough of little old me?"

"Yes!" I laugh, crossing my legs and leaning forward. "Look, I know we've been stuck at work while doing it, but it's been really great hanging out just the two of us."

"Can't argue with that. But you're someone's girlfriend now, right?"

"Right, but… he's no Wolf, Brix."

"Well that's for damned sure, thank hellfire."

"I miss this, miss you. I know the last couple of years have been… that I've?—"

"Hush, sugar," she smiles. "I'm just giving you the business. I've missed you too, and I am pleased as peach-fucking-pie that you kicked that furry motherfucker out into the street where he belongs. Filling your head with nonsense and keeping you from your friends was just one of many, many reasons I despised his ass."

"Well… girls night out? You can tell me all the rest tonight if you'd like, though I'd much rather hear about your direct line to the circus."

She snorts. "Say less, sweet cheeks, and toss me those aprons. I'll grab our things after I take out the trash. Wanna meet me round back?"

"Absolutely. Honestly, this is long overdue."

"Sure is."

"And I mean it—I want the whole Haf story."

"Oh, now you want details from me? Well, you just get that sign and start thinking about where you want to spend all your money at trying to get me drunk enough to spill ‘em." She winks at me, heading into the back.

The bell tinkles as I push the door open with my back and take one last look at the dregs of that swirling sunset, wondering how loose my own lips will end up getting with enough Elven sol-shine.

I'm about to grab the menu board and head back in when I hear the sound of a boot scuffing against pavement behind me, close behind me, and then it's like all the air has rushed out of my lungs at once, legs tensing and ready to spring into action. When I whip around, adrenaline pounding in my veins, I'm momentarily confused because nothing seems out of the ordinary.

Two moon elves are walking out of the bridal boutique a couple of doors down from the cafe, lanky arms laden with bags. There's no traffic on the road; all the stoplights are activated so the city tram can make its way down the center of the street. A group of teenage tieflings are hanging off the back of it with a selfie stick, singing at the top of their lungs.

I grab the sign, releasing a relieved breath as I turn around—just in time to catch the light turn at the intersection, to see a figure on a motorcycle zoom by right as it does.

It's… insane to think that was Wolf, right? I mean, that wasn't even his bike. Sure, he was always upgrading that thing, had been known to borrow bikes from his pack mates on occasion, and is clearly a lot crazier than I thought he was, but…

Okay, I'm being paranoid.

Right?

That's what this sense of unease is?

Because there is definitely a part of me that is not as confident as I'd led Rok to believe I was yesterday. The farther away I am from Rok, the more… vulnerable I feel. And after the way Wolf had shown up at my door, after he violated my apartment… well I've just been a lot jumpier on my own, looking over my shoulder more often than not, wondering what else I've been wrong about, to say the least. I hate that my ex still has that hold on me, as small and tenuous as it is. I'm still scared of him, but I guess you can really only be brave when you're terrified, right?

I decide that I am just being paranoid, still shaken from everything that's happened, reeling from the emotional rollercoaster the past couple of months have been. Besides, that bike went by so fast that I hardly got a look at it, and whoever it was had a helmet on that I didn't recognize. Rok may be spoiling me and treating me like the center of the universe, but the world does not actually revolve around me, and Galtree is a big city.

The bell behind me tinkles and I'm drawn out of my internal pep talk by Brix, her brow arched. "Lost in a daydream again?"

"No, well… kind of, I…" I sigh, looking off in the direction the motorcycle went and then turning back to her. "I thought I heard a boot."

"A… boot?"

"Yeah It… ugh, this sounds so dumb."

"Sweet damnation, sugar—you're shaking like a leaf. What is it?"

"I guess I've been a little on edge since last week, since my apartment. I thought I heard a boot, and then there was this motorcycle… but I was probably just imagining things, just…"

Brix moves beside me, crossing her arms across her chest and staring off into the traffic, too. "Was it him?"

"I don't know. I didn't recognize the bike or the helmet." I rub my face. "I think my nerves are just frayed."

She wraps her arms around me, a big warm hug.

"Well, you text that orc in shining armor of yours if you haven't already, tell him you're on your way to get about one hundred long overdue damn drinks, and you ain't got to worry about a thing with me by your side all night, sugar."

My gorge rises,and it has nothing to do with the sixth shot of sol-shine I've just downed and absolutely everything to do with the tusk I've just fished out of my mouth. Even though it's not that sharp, even though I know it's made of resin or epoxy or something, even though I'm only starting to feel the effects of all six of those shots…

"This is barbaric," I blurt out, looking up at a laughing Brix. "Seriously! Like… orcs actually did this, for real?"

"Well sure, but only with teeth from big bad things creeping around their communes that weren't supposed to be. Unless we're talking about big bad bloodthirsty orcs, then… yeah, they kept all kinds of fucking teeth for all kinds of fucking things, sometimes fused ‘em together in phoenix flame and whittled ‘em down into scrimshaw dildos or what the fuck ever. Kind of a staple back in the day."

I drop the tusk in my shot glass and snap a quick picture, sending it off to Rok.

Orlagh

I will never be good at this

Are you good at this?

I lick my lips after I finish my text, nodding my understanding to Brix, enjoying the slight tingle of my impending inebriation as I pick the tusk back up and twist it between my fingers.

"A staple… wait… scrimshaw dildos?"

We laugh and then Brix's eyes trail off to some hot horned demon sitting at the bar, right as my phone buzzes.

Rok'nhar

Damn good. We used real boar tusks back home, though, none of that small ass plastic shit.

Orlagh

UGH

Of course you are

You're an incredible chef

Somehow you sew tighter stitches than I do

AND you have the hand-eye coordination of a league gamer

No wonder you have the most delightfully dexterous fingers…

Rok'nhar

Don't go disparaging those fingers of yours now, they possess their own relevant expertise. Just grip that tusk at the base and squeeze, sunshine.

I bite back a smile, feeling my cheeks heat. When I turn back to Brix, she's rolling a tusk over her knuckles, still making eyes at the infernal charmer.

"Hey aren't you supposed to be my bodyguard tonight?" I set down my phone and throw my tusk at the tuskboard, gripping and squeezing but totally forgetting to release. The tusk misses the inverted triangle by a veritable mile and hits the table at the booth in the far right corner—thank the goddess it's a quiet Thursday at The Broody Barbarian and only a few seats at the bar and a couple of dark corners are occupied.

Brix tears her eyes from the demon dude. "You're right, you're right. I'll be good."

I snort. "You're real bad at being good, Brix."

"And you're real fucking bad at tusks, bless your heart."

"Well, excuse me for sucking at your ancient game of brute Orcish force! I'm at a clear disadvantage here."

"Oh, boo hoo. Ain't there some ancient sun elf shit that's been adopted by the masses in a weird fucking way you can watch me stumble all over? My daddy taught me to throw on these very same boards, so your disadvantage is severe indeed, would be even if you were a big old brute." Brix throws her tusk and it lands right on the tip of the triangle, winning her the game. I clap and roll my eyes as she takes a little bow.

"Comforting, thanks. And weird ancient sun elf shit… I mean, do ritualistic sunshades count? Oh! There's the old practice of bloodletting from dusk to dawn."

"Say what, now?"

"It was supposed to drain all the unholy and impure humors from the body after a day of debauchery, making room for Solstra's glorious rays at dawn to restore some hypocrite's piety."

"Fuck," she chokes on her drink. "Now that's barbaric. Who the hells even comes up with this shit?"

I down my own drink, pouring another from the bottle with eyebrows raised and a tight smile on my face. "My great-great-great-great-ad-nauseam someone?"

"Well, no wonder your family has such a collective stick up their asses. I'd call your sister a cunt for holding out on you like she is, but far as I can tell that would be an insult to cunts."

"Right?! Like she knows, whatever this is that's going on with me, knows why I'm glowing after…" I look around, making sure no one appears to be in earshot before I whisper, "sex. Such a bitch."

"Well, let's see… the glowing started when?"

"My last stream. Well, after it was over, when Rok and I…"

She leans closer. "Oh—please—do go on, sugar. Did you fuck him in costume? Oh gods, brought all his nerdy little fantasies to life, didn't you? No wonder he's made you the sun elf in his sky."

"No!" I laugh, pouring myself another shot, and her too. That inebriation is… no longer impending. "It was just kissing. Until it was… a little more than just kissing…"

"Don't leave me hanging!"

"I… honestly? It feels weird to talk about it, like I'm betraying him."

"Oh, you've got it bad then. Feelings flood in and that's when all the juicy gossip stops."

I can't help myself.

"Sooo… Is that why you've never talked about Haf?"

"Oh fuck, here we go again. I told all I'm gonna!"

"What?? You hooked up and he never called, that's it?? Brixa'khar, I know the exact location and trajectory of the disappointingly premature ejaculation from that minotaur last Friday, know how many spots he had on his left testicle alone. You love to share, and I… okay, well, if I'm being honest, I love to hear about it. It's absolutely bonkers batshit crazy that you've never told me anything after hooking up with a literal model like Haf, that he never told Rok anything about you either, that?—"

"Wait… Haf didn't say anything either?"

"Oh goddess, see, it's juicy, I know it is. You have to Brix. Please. Pleasepleasepleasepleeeeaaaaseeeee?—"

"Fine. We kind of… hate-hooked up? It was a blur of a night, but… I ended up really liking him."

"You never like anybody."

"Don't I know it? But I liked him. And I… I used my powers on him… during. And I never do that, I mean never. And then he did a number of shitty things which I would have forgiven if he had just called when he said he would… but he never called, and then when I saw him at your place… well, you know the rest, couldn't even remember my real damn name."

"Oh, Brix… I'm so sorry. I had no idea. But…" The old wooden stool creaks beneath me as I lean in a little closer, voice hushed, "…powers? Is tonight the night where you actually tell me?—"

"That there's more to being a half-demon than this tail? Yeah," she sighs, draining her elderberry fizz and sloshing a healthy amount of sol-shine into her glass, "I suppose it is. I'll set the record straight, for you, once and for all. You had it right from the start—my mama was a succubus."

"I knew it! Though I… I know nothing about demonic magic. Any magic, really, aside from needing to fill out permits on top of permits to use it, and special clearance to learn it unless you're born with it, like you are, I guess. What does that mean for you, power-wise?"

Brix looks around the bar and then leans in.

"Well, you know how folks get real flirty around me? I kind of… feed off the sexual energy. Can cause a spike in it too, kind of an influential enhancement. Or a drop, as it were, really suck the life out of a party."

"That's incredible… I guess I always just thought succubi like… aaaate? During sex?"

"Most do thanks to how were written in books and movies and shit. We kind of sneak under the radar thanks to it, though."

"Is it regulated like regular magic is?"

"Nope, falls under Code 7.890 in the old magical playbook—Species-Specific Specialities are exempt from any kind of municipal regulation, though I could still get charged or arrested for misuse. But a little bump in a bar where everyone's here looking to fuck or get fucked up, anyway? No one'll be the wiser—especially since it's not exactly information I go giving away for free. Mama may be an absentee piece of fucking work… but she taught me that much before she took off, at least."

Brix's eyes flood black and then return to normal, and I can almost feel the sparsely populated bar swell with energy, the same kind of collective buzz of possibility and hope, of eagerness for the unknown connections abound, and when Brix takes a breath, she looks a bit more vibrant, a bit more impish, and then suddenly her gaze goes cold.

"Okay. First: don't panic, and second, don't look behind me to the right, by the bathrooms."

I nod, smile faltering a little, but manage to hold it together.

"There's a werewolf here, somewhere over there as far as I can tell. Tastes familiar…"

"What?" I hiss, leaning forward, glasses clattering together noisily.

She pushes me a drink—my water—and then whips out her phone as that clown horn goes off again, teetering on her stool a little.

"Don't think on it too much, sugar. Wolf's crew ain't the only one in town, and certainly ain't the only pack I've poached from."

"Yeah, sure. But, what if…" I swallow thickly, dizzy from drink and fear. "It's stupid, but that boot… the bike…?"

"You know what?" Brix knocks back her last shot as she hops up onto her feet. "Even though I have no doubts I could still flatten a fool, I don't think an evening stroll is in the cards for us, sugar. If—and I mean if—some dog from that pack has been on your tail… well, they must be waiting for us to leave, knows we'd walk."

I take a steadying breath, then a sip of water. A chorus of laughter rings out from the dwarves in the corner as the jukebox changes songs, and I feel a little bit better just noticing those tangible, normal things going on around me. This is just a regular bar on a Thursday, after all, and we aren't alone in here. We'll be fine if we're smart about things, a little more cautious than usual.

"Okay, good call. Just get a town car and I'll pay for it."

"Oh no, sugar. I'm calling us a clown car. Asshole wants to get back on my good side so bad, well here's a chance. Or at least a chance for me to exploit the hell out of it."

Brix taps out a quick message, getting a honk back almost immediately and rolling her eyes. She hands me her phone and I assume it's to read the text, but when I look at the screen, her camera is open.

"What…."

"Payment. Snap a pic?"

My head is spinning at how quickly things have changed, or maybe it's just the booze and fear catching up to me. I aim the phone at Brix as she deadpans the camera, lifting her oversized sweatshirt to reveal the skimpy blue bralette barely covering her breasts beneath.

"Oh, wow we're totally doing this here," I breathe, snapping a pic and then directing her a little bit to one side so the tuskboard is visible in the background, pulling one of her inky black braids over her shoulder before snapping another one. "And your breasts look amazing, of course. Do they come equipped with their own powers, too? Because I'm pretty sure I just felt that same kind of heatwave from our horny friend at the bar just now."

Brix snorts, sending off the pic and then straightening out her sweatshirt. "Well, Haf shouldn't be long, said he was coming from that gym off of Goldshire. So," she leans back against our bar table, resting her elbows on top of it and tossing a quick wink at the smitten demon before looking back at me over her shoulder, leaning in close and fixing me with a positively impish grin, "what'd you think? Of that little bump of super sexy demonic power before I spotted our furry friend? Don't worry, I didn't feed off of you or nothing after, just included you in the wave, as it were."

"It was impressive, but are you sure I was supposed to feel something, too? It was kind of like… like I felt your wave breaking over the bar but didn't get wet, if that makes sense?"

She pulls her head back, looking me over appraisingly. "Didn't feel it? Hang on… can I try again, just on you?"

I shrug, "I mean, as long as I'm not going to flash the bar or something, sure."

She ducks her chin, focusing her gaze on me as her eyes go black and then slowly return to normal, though a touch surprised looking.

"Well, I'll be eternally damned…"

"What does it mean?"

"I haven't the faintest. Only happened a handful of times, usually with bigger, badder demons, once with a vampire. Oh! And remember that college professor I told you about, Uth'jolk? Goddamn, but he made Haf look like a moon elf, the muscle on that orc…"

Images of my own muscly orc flash through my mind, and I have to fight to bring my attention back to Brix, still happily chatting away.

"…never be caught dead ballroom dancing. Anyway, well, I tried my damndest, both for my own personal desires and my waning GPA's, but nothing worked on that big old slab of brain and braun. Turned out he was all happily fated and mated to some kitsune, leaving me with nothing but G-rated lectures on the many uses of false chamomile and the proper way to dry fireleaf. Oh! And you would not believe the…"

Mated.

Something clicks when she says that, like mated is the key to a secret door I've been standing right in front of, or a word that's been on the tip of my tongue since I first saw Rok, one in a language I didn't recognize until we'd grown close and couldn't even pronounce until now.

Could Rok really be my… mate?

I didn't even know sun elves had mates, which… which is why Taliagh knew exactly what was going on with me, why my insufferable history buff of a sister wanted to know if he was an elf, and why she reacted the way she did when she found out he was an orc, said I was undeserving. Something so rare that it had been scrubbed from our curriculum, our culture. Well… almost. There were the ancient texts that perpetual scholars—rich perpetual scholars—like Tal were able to access. And then there was Yervall.

When I'd been researching, I'd seen a lengthy diatribe on the numerous problematic elements in Yervall and the Stones and thought nothing of it, that old fable was so prevalent, so normalized back in Fair Isle. But sun above, the answer had been hidden in that story, right in front of me all along, hadn't it? All sun elves know that old tale backwards and forwards, and I was no exception.

Yervallwas an old children's fable meant to teach the etiquette of proper breeding, to instill the idea that little elf girls need to be grateful for attention from little elf boys from a very young age and to marry for practical gain, not waste their lives chasing romantic hopes or dreams; clearly it hadn't worked on me, though I remember the broad strokes of it still.

Solstra grants lonely Yervall a compass to find her one true love, and the careless young elf maiden lets it slip from her eager fingers, dropping it from the clouds above and scattering the glowing sunstones meant to guide her to her hearts desire into the ocean below. Yervall forsakes her family, her pride, her immortality to descend upon the mortal realm and chase after the soulbound sunlight imbued into those stones, desperate to recover what was lost and find the faceless lover in her dreams. Of course she never does, only spends her youth searching the shores for any hint of that elusive glow. How many pieces of art had I seen of her combing the sands, refusing the hundreds of beautiful stones brought to her by hundreds of hopeful Elven suitors? Poor Yervall was always lost on the shore, either beautiful and blind or growing old and grey, a lesson unlearned with a sea of love before her.

I clear my throat, picking at the label on the now empty bottle of sol-shine. "Do, um, orcs find their mates often?"

There's no way I sound as casual and collected as I'm trying to, but luckily Brix is just as tipsy as I am, not to mention thoroughly distracted by her own reflection as she touches up her deep blue lipstick.

"I mean, everyone hopes they do. I think Rok told you about the way they do things down in Brok'hal, right?"

I shake my head no, not daring to breathe.

"Oh, well, those clans revere it—it's a whole thing. Standing stones, elder blessings, clanfires… Rare, though. Rare enough that it's kind of like a legend brought to life when it happens between orcs, but… I think it's just that all those places are so full of old blood. How can you find your mate if you never leave your doorstep, you know? My daddy found Sheila after he and my mama split, that sexy damn professor found his in a kitsune…"

The horn notification chimes, and Brix raises her eyebrows at her phone. "Now that was damn fast, wasn't it? Girl could get used to this groveling shit, I must say…"

Brix grabs her bag and my hand, eyes briefly flooding black before returning to their usual sky blue. That energy rises again, the sparsely populated bar buzzing to life.

I bite my lip. "Is he still by the door?"

"Whoever it was must've gotten wind of us noticing him. Maybe felt me? If they were even here because of us, that is. Well, wherever they are now, they ain't in the bar, or at least not close enough for me to taste—let's go."

My head is spinning, the entire room with it, as I pull my purse strap over my shoulder and make my way out of the bar behind Brix, trying to keep up. Thank the goddess I'm in sneakers instead of heels, knees wobbly in a way that has nothing to do with being intensely inebriated as I let go of her hand and keep my eyes trained on the back of her neck, on those straight shoulders and the steady, confident swaying of her hips.

I wonder… does Haf have any idea how into him she is? Does she even know how into him she is? I giggle, imagining us all dining on the patio at Rumshackle on a warm summer night, fireflies buzzing in the grass amongst the dogwoods, lighting up the path along the river. Or maybe on a joint autumn romp? Rok lifting me onto his shoulders to pick the juiciest apple from the tallest tree at Lothlórien Farms during the fall, Haf and Brix following suit as not to be outdone, falling in a heap of leaves together with the smell of cinnamon and chimney smoke in the air.

Something trips me up and I stumble—maybe I should have been watching that floor I've been trying not to fall face-first into instead of fantasizing about Hallmark-worthy double dates with my best friend. A hand reaches out to steady me just as Brix walks out the door ahead of me, and when I turn to mumble a flustered thank you before following her out, my breath catches in my throat.

Jex.

"Watch it now," he snarls. "Wolf doesn't want you all bruised up."

The grip around my arm is tight, too tight, and the smile on his face is thin and strained.

"Let me go." My voice trembles slightly, trying and failing to hide the fear bubbling beneath my faux calm exterior. This is exactly what Rok was worried about, what I'd dismissed as an overreaction…

"Go where? Back to that orc? I watched it all, you know. I always do…" he says, his gaze sliding all over me, the wet-dog stench wafting off of him making my skin crawl. The sol-shine is heavy and thick, sloshing around in my stomach as I try and fail to back away from him, fear running like ice down my spine. He's always been a creep, but… this isn't right. I've got to get out of here, get outside to my friends, get home to Rok.

The thought of my orc in shining armor bolsters me, propelling me into action, and with an ungraceful jerk I twist free from Jex's grasp and stumble through the door, relishing the sobering bite of the cool night air, gulping it down. A flicker of panic nips at my heels, urging me to move faster, to do whatever it takes to get back to the orc waiting for me at home, my orc, my… my mate.

Brix is just a few feet ahead, up on her tiptoes and thoroughly distracted as she whispers in Haf's ear, her tail wrapped around his calf in a rare public appearance. Haf throws his head back and laughs, a rich, rumbling sound, as he leans casually against the side of his car, engine running. He towers over my friend, and I'm struck for a moment by what a genuinely handsome orc he is: strong, dimpled chin and a heavy jaw, with olive green skin and proud ivory tusks; thick black hair, loose over his shoulders, making him look like some kind of displaced, time-traveling warrior wearing the hell out of his too-short track shorts. I think his muscles have muscles, which is exactly Brix's type. They look… so at ease together, so into each other, both of them bathed in the faint glow of the streetlamp, eyes sparkling. And here I am, about to throw a big furry wrench into their perfect moment.

"Guys…"

The smile slides off of Haf's face when he tears his gaze away from Brix, obviously registering the naked panic that must be painting my features. I scamper forward on the verge of hyperventilating, and when the door slams open behind me, Haf springs into action, jolting up from the car and grabbing Brix by the wrist.

"Haf, what the—" Brix starts, but the orc's features darken as he pulls her behind him, just at the same moment that I stumble in front of them. She reaches out a hand to me and pulls me in close beside her, putting an arm protectively around my shoulders and letting Haf's hulking frame act as a barrier between us and Jex.

"Problem?" Haf's voice is cold, a warning in every syllable.

I take a deep, shaking breath, feeling much safer here with my friends, but still pretty much paralyzed by the anxiety and fear churning away inside of me. I need to get out of here, get back to the apartment—to Rok.

Jex stops short, scoffing as he regards the massive tower of muscle before him, seemingly undeterred by the lack of pack mates behind him. "Another one, huh? Well, well… Sure wish you liked swallowing knots as much as you seem to like orc cock, Orlagh. How ‘bout you and Brix come with me? Might change your mind, and I know she could show you a thing or two."

Brix's eyes blaze, her words a harsh whisper. "Isn't it just like you to run your mouth like that? Big fuckin' talker. Come on closer, I'll show you another thing or two."

Haf's eyes flicker between Jex and Brix, nostrils flaring. I watch the orc's hand move from my friend's wrist to her hip, slow and steady, before he shifts her more solidly behind him, the motion taking me along with her. "You got a death wish, wolf? Leave, asshole. Now."

Jex grins, his canines glinting. "Fuck off, orc. This ain't your business." His eyes trail back over to Brix and me, the grin turning lascivious as he hooks his thumbs into his belt. "Offer still stands. Full moon tomorrow, Wolf said we could make it a pack affair."

"You're pathetic, and so is Wolf," I hiss through clenched teeth, all the anxiety and alcohol and adrenaline making my arms quake.

Brix snarls, her tail whipping dangerously behind us, cutting through the air. Haf's shoulders tense, a low rumble sounding around us, eyes glinting black and devoid of any humor.

Jex chuckles, rocking back on his heels. "No fun at all, any of you…" His eyes lock onto mine, hungry and malicious, before he goes perfectly still. "Wolf's gonna be real mad hearing about your latest in line. No telling what he might do next."

Haf's grip on Brix tightens for a moment before he lets go, the tension palpable as he takes a step closer to Jex, towering over him. "Last chance."

Jex's face splits into a malevolent smirk that ties my stomach into knots. My grip on Brix's arm is tighter than ever as he steps closer, turning his own face up to meet Haf's challenging gaze. "Or what?"

There's an electric charge in the air, a hair-raising anticipation, one that's stolen the breath right from my body. Brix's tail raises in defiance behind me, sending a rush of wind past me, a cool contrast to the welcome warmth of her body as she pulls me closer.

"Or I fucking neuter you, is what."

A shiver runs through Brix beside me, and even though I'm almost giddy with fear, shaking with adrenaline, even though I am absolutely sloshed… I can't help but think this level of intensity from Haf is thanks to her. I know Rok wouldn't be so close to someone who would stand around and watch an asshole like Jex run rampant, that Haf would defend someone in my situation regardless, but… sun above, they are into each other, aren't they?

As though sensing a shift in the wind, or the intensity of Haf's conviction and the inevitability of his own epic ass-kicking, Jex hesitates. He takes a step back, eyes wary, hands raised in mock surrender. "Have it your way, then." There's a tremor in his voice, ringing out like a discordant note in a song. "Wolf'll hear about this."

Before anyone can respond, Jex turns on his heel and walks away, but not before shooting one last glare over his shoulder. The tension lingers, and for a moment the three of us are left huddled together in the muted glow of the streetlamp, catching our breaths. That icy, shivery feeling should be fading as I watch the werewolf's silhouette get smaller and smaller, but it isn't. I wrap my arms around myself to try and stop the shudders.

"Hells, you're gonna shake right out of your skin, sugar."

"Hang on," Haf says, jogging around to the back of the car. "Got a clean hoodie in the back."

Brix has her sweatshirt off in a heartbeat, pulling it over my head and ushering me into the backseat, and if I weren't trying so desperately to keep my teeth from chattering, I would be laughing. "Oh, would you look at that? Already gave her mine, guess I'll be taking yours."

The car ride is a blur, the buzzy combo of fear and booze coursing through my veins making everything a bit fuzzy. Occasionally a flash of light from oncoming traffic or a passing billboard illuminates the dim, sleek interior of Haf's car, giving me a clear view of his hand on Brix's thigh, thumb stroking gently, absently. I can recall the feel of the smooth, cool leather beneath my thighs, the way it helped ground me back in my body. The throbbing, teeth-chattering thrum of the bass helped to literally shake out the last of my nerves, regulate my nervous system. Calming down a bit and knowing I was nearly home filled me with a different kind of throbbing, longing ache, though. Mate mate mate mate went the excited chorus in my head, keeping the beat of the music, fueling my body's desires.

As we near Cockatrice Commons, I pull my hands into the oversized sleeves of Brix's sweatshirt, tuck my chin beneath the collar, and try to breathe through this heady flood of heat, stronger than it had been at work earlier. I know I need to stop and think, think, because as freeing as it is to be able to trust that these feelings are really real, I'm also feeling like I'm totally out of control of my life again, like literally and biologically.

Do I love him for him, or is it just destiny? Does he love me for me, or is he just drawn in like a great green moth to the glowing flames of my desire? Do we have any say, or is it just fate? Do I… do I even care? Does anything matter other than this electrifying mix of adrenaline and desire and inebriation?

I've got the plan all set in my head as we pile into the elevator. I'll say thank you to our friends and send them on their way, that way it's just the two of us. Then I'm going to sit him down, speak rationally about all this mate stuff I'm suspecting, about what happened with Jex and how unhinged Wolf is, and we'll figure it all out together.

My fingers shake as I take out his key—my key—and turn the lock over, smiling softly. But when the door finally opens and I lock eyes with Rok, all my plans and worries and logic and reason melt away.

Because this orc? This orc is mine.