12. Rok’nhar

TWELVE

Something ain't right.

That big old rush of relief I get when Orlagh finally stops fussing with her key and swings open the door should have washed all my worries clear away, but… something just ain't right, something I can't quite put my finger on.

Tension lingers even as she stumbles in and closes the distance between us, though the way she's undressing me with her eyes sure is a nice distraction from it, much better than polishing all my collectibles had been. A barrage of bar scents assault me when she tilts her little chin up for a kiss, none so prominent and overwhelming as the blunt, bright sweetness of citrus liquor still lingering on her lips or the unfamiliar perfume wafting off of what must be Brix's sweatshirt, heavy and spicy with an undercurrent of something that makes my nose twitch.

Somehow I manage to keep away from Orlagh's demanding kisses long enough to set down the rag I'm holding, greet Brix and Haf properly as they shuffle in—the former quite a bit less steadily than the latter I might add, running her hands all over my friend to regain her balance, or maybe knock him off his. Haf and I share a look of amused commiseration and I chuckle, wondering just how the hell I'm going to manage staying upright myself. Seems I can't so much as take a godsdamn breath before Orlagh's hopping up onto her tippy toes and trying to latch those sticky lips onto mine, eager to breathe it in herself.

"Godsdamn, sunshine," I murmur, struggling to get the words out as she nips at my lips, licks at a tusk. "What's gotten into you?"

"Rok—you—smell—so—good…" She's almost slurring as she grips my face in her hands, punctuating each word with a kiss, practically moaning into my mouth.

Good gods, but these kisses she's so set on giving me are sweet. Greedy, needy, and sweet—sweeter than that damnable liquor on her lips; Orlagh is clearly drunk, and I… well, I am an honorable orc.

I groan, mourning the absence of her hot, eager tongue sliding past my tusks and gliding against mine as I pull away, draining the reserves of my willpower, waging a whole godsdamn war on my body to put my big old foot down. We've never talked about what's on and off the table when we ain't sober, and well, I'd rather keep her at a distance than do something I can't undo, painful as it is to pull away after waiting for these kisses all night. But guess I'd do damn near anything to keep from hurting her, keep her safe—even push her gently away.

"You smell pretty damn good yourself, even if you are half-pickled in sol-shine. C'mon, sunshine. Might as well get some food in you," I place my hands on her lower back, steering her toward the kitchen as I look pointedly over my shoulder at our friends, "all of you, now, don't be shy."

Once we're all sat at the table, forced to make eye contact and attempt conversation, that's when it's clear that despite all the flirtation and fun, something's well and truly off.

Now I can't imagine they're all lookin' every which way but mine because they caught me mid-stress clean or because they showed up unannounced; that shit don't matter amongst friends. Don't matter that it's well past one in the morning either, or that Orlagh's pleasantly pie-eyed and handsy as all hells. Brix and Haf have their own special brew of flirtatious tension bubbling over here and there, and no one's crossed a line, far as I can tell. Guess it could be that the dinner we're all sitting down to was very clearly intended to be romantic and private, still sitting out on alchemical warmers in the kitchen alongside a set of unlit herbal tapers and a bouquet, but I doubt that, not with how eagerly everyone tucked into this late-night feast once they got a whiff of the spread and we lit up the candles.

Is it… me?

I don't think it is, that I'm the one responsible for unleashing whatever elephant is currently stomping not-so-stealthily about the room. I mean… I don't care about Orlagh showing up with our friends unannounced or about her staying out, even if I was worried as all hells the whole time. Can't help that now, especially not now that I think she's my mate, but I trust her, so I'm dealing with it, got it handled, sorted out… mostly.

Hells, I don't even care that I'm probably gonna have to wait till her second, probably third cup of coffee tomorrow morning before I can lay it all out there, everything I was planning on disclosing over this crown roast and sparkling wine about falling absolutely tusks over toes in love with her, about my folks and mates, about the monster I'm afraid I'll turn into if we don't rush down south and say some vows, grip hands and take a big blind leap into forever barely a week after she showed up at my door, days after placing a name on this thing between us.

But the quieter everyone stays, the shiftier their eyes get... the more I get to thinking. And I'm thinking the reason I still feel so tense even though I've got Orlagh safely back by my side, swinging her feet in satisfied silence as she sits at my kitchen table nibbling away, is actually pretty damn simple: there's something she ain't telling me, something I'm really not gonna like, and Brix and Haf know about it.

I don't press anyone until the eating's about done—and most of the pricey bubbles, coincidentally, as Orlagh and Brix both seem to have quite a thirst tonight. But manners mean something to me, and it's ungracious to start an uncomfortable conversation with guests in the middle of a meal.

"Alright then," I say, taking a big bite of a fritter and tossing it pointedly back onto my plate, "now that we've all broken bread together—or fireleaf fritters, as it were—can one of y'all please explain what the hells is going on?"

Haf and Brix eye Orlagh, who's busyin' herself nudging a bit of lamb around her plate before she looks up at me with big doe eyes, fork suddenly still, trying to appear more oblivious than her awkward, avoidant silences have been implying.

"Hmm? Oh, just a jerk at the bar that soured the mood." Her voice is breathy, measured, and a touch more high-pitched than normal. And boy, is she slipping over those s's now. "It's not worth talking about, not tonight at least."

I catch Haf's eyes go wide for a split second, shaking his head, looking like he don't agree with the explanation. Brix is sinking into her chair, sipping from her champagne flute.

Is Orlagh lying?

No, no way. She wouldn't lie to me.

Would she?

I wipe at my mouth with my napkin, folding it neatly before setting it on my plate, appetite gone, heart hammering. "That why Haf brought you home, then? The Barbarian ain't far from here. I would have called y'all a car, walked over, even."

Brix's chair jostles, surprising her mid-sip. Did… did Orlagh just kick her friend under the table?

"Haf and I were texting anyway," Brix stammers, still looking about as comfortable as a piglet caught in a prickly patch. "We were planning on just dropping her off and heading out together before…"

Orlagh clears her throat, stopping her mid sentence, and I'm feeling like I need to pinch myself to make sure this isn't a damn dream, a nightmare.

"Oh come on now, before what, then? Y'all must think I'm pretty damn stupid if—" My voice is getting louder, harsher, so I lower my tone again, offering everyone an apology before leaning close to Orlagh. "Sunshine… this has gotta stop. Now what the hells happened tonight?"

"Nothing, I…" She ducks her chin, wobbly and watery and even drunker than she was when she got here. Fuck, this ain't how I wanted tonight to go, but something is wrong, something happened, and I gotta know what.

I take a deep breath and lean forward, taking up her hands, so small and delicate clasped up in mine; when had they started shaking, or is that me?

"Orlagh… please. Don't leave me in the dark, trying to fill in the blanks. I've been driving myself crazy all damn night, and if something happened…"

"Rok, I… there's just so much to talk about, and I don't know how to tell you… don't want you to freak out… because I don't know, even though I think I know, I'm like ninety-nine percent sure that…"

"It was one of those godsdamn wolves," Haf blurts out, tossing his arms up before he crosses them over his chest, shrugging off Brix as she smacks at his arm. "No, no. I'm sorry, but the way that fucker was talking, acting? I don't even wanna think about what would've happened if I hadn't been there to straighten him out."

Brix scoffs, straightening up in her chair. "Oh, you just love getting to be the big, strong hero. Listen, we're both mighty grateful you swooped in to save the day Haf'thak but don't you think for one cocky second that I wouldn't have laid Jex out flat in a heartbeat if it came down to it, could have handled things just fine on my…"

Two and two start adding up as I search Orlagh's eyes, see the remnants of fear in them, the makeup smudges from tears earlier in the night behind the tears gathering there now. Brix and Haf are still arguing, voices loud enough to violate quiet hours and break a noise ordinance, but I don't give a shit. Orlagh's talking to me as well, searching my face frantically, and I do give a shit about that, but I can't hear a thing, sounds all fading out until the only thing I hear is my own damn blood pounding in my ears.

Wolf sent one of those lousy fucking dogs to threaten my girlfriend tonight? The elf I love, my mate, maybe; mine? This was everything I'd been worrying about, everything I'd warned her about and she'd dismissed yesterday…

My fists slam down against the table with a loud crack. Forks clatter against spoons, fritters fly to the floor, and one of the candles goes out, but I can't think about that. Why would I give a fuck about candles right now?

Fuck, I should give a fuck about candles right now. Candles and company and the concerned look darkening Orlagh's typically bright face. Raising my voice, hitting a fucking table… this ain't like me.

Or is it?

Is this the bond rearin' its head, like Mama said? Some ancient, animal thing well out of my control and about to take me over any godsdamn minute? Am I danger to myself, to… Orlagh?

I've got to get a grip, got to move my body, move, fucking move, so I push back from the table, lurching to my feet, running my hands through my hair. If it were colder, I might be puffing out big old clouds through my tusks, breath coming fast and frantic as it is.

How the hell did we get here? I just want to talk to her about this, about us, about everything, but I can't tonight, can I? I ain't telling her how much I love her—or any of the rest—when I'm not even sure what she'll remember in the morning, when it's tainted by another fucking attack from that rat bastard and his crew.

"Okay," Orlagh says, teetering on her feet a moment before she places a hand on my arm, steadying herself; steadying me. "I think it's time to call it a night."

That hand on my arm is the only thing that keeps me from picking up the chair I was sitting in and hurling it across the room, grounding me, and thank the damn gods it does. Relief floods through me; feels good to know I've still got some kind of handle on myself—for now, at least.

I nod, giving a wave to Brix and Haf as I watch Orlagh follow them into the living room, not trusting myself to speak even though I know I'm being rude as hell.

Maybe… maybe I should just open up.

Fuck it, it's not the romantic evening I'd planned, but if Wolf's still on her tail, still sending fucking lackeys like Jex after her, stalking her? Maybe I don't got the luxury of waiting for the perfect moment anymore, not after whatever happened at the bar tonight, after talking to my Mama yesterday and finding out what might be on the horizon for us if my instincts are right and we are mates.

I pick up all the displaced cutlery and put it in the sink, toss the fritters that found their way to the floor. After blowing out the other candle and forcing a big breath in and out, I roll my shoulders and head to the living room, ready to mind my manners and say goodbye to our friends, apologize.

Orlagh's taking off that perfumed sweatshirt and handing it over to Brix, reaching out to give her friend a hug, and the movement of her bared arm sends another scent my way. It's that faint one that was buried under Brix's scent, and now that it's clear… it ain't just makin' my nose twitch.

My mouth goes dry, red flooding my vision.

Werewolf.

Oh, it burns through me then: rage, pure rage. White and hot and relentless, blazing through my veins and filling me with fire. I'm drawing in deep breaths, deep enough for the fabric of my shirt to strain against my belly.When I speak, my voice ain't my own.

"He put his hands on you."

The words rumble in my chest, low, feral; a statement more than a question, and one with an unsaid, deadly promise.

Orlagh's golden arms cross over her chest, rubbing over where that fucking mongrel must have wrapped fingers he ain't likely to keep as she takes a step back, bumping into the open door. I take a step forward instinctively, wanting—no, needing—to keep her close, fists clenching and unclenching at my side, itchy everywhere.

"Woah—" Brix says, placing herself between me and Orlagh with her hands out.

That gives me pause, shines a light on my actions and turns down the violence of my thoughts long enough for a tiny little voice to make itself known.

I blink, eyes watering, and that voice in my head gets louder, telling me I need to cool it if everyone's looking this alarmed, that I'm not any better than any of those fucking shithead wolves if I can't control myself. But the unfortunate truth is that tiny little voice ain't got a chance standing up to the scent filling my nostrils, to the drumming song this rage is banging out inside my brain.

"Of all the testosterone driven… hellfire, Haf, say something, do something!"

"Oh, now you want my help?" Haf stands up a little straighter, rolling his shoulders. "Not keen on taking care of this one yourself then, Brixa'khar?" He steps in front of me, smirking at the curses Brix is muttering under her breath. One hand pats me on my sternum, the other squeezing on my shoulder as he ducks down a little until our eyes meet, and his are kind. "C'mon, brother. I get it, oh I fucking get it, right? But you gotta rein it in, gotta get a handle on yourself."

Orlagh's wringing her hands, biting at her lower lip, and still leaning heavily on the door. "Can't we just go to bed, Rok? Please? You're not acting like yourself right now."

Not acting like myself…

I'm not, am I?

Not who I was, at least.

The photo Mama kept hidden away in the depths of her closet flashes in my mind's eye, the one I'd found searching for Yule presents as an orcling. I hadn't seen a picture of my daddy before then, but I'd known him on sight. Hard not to when I'd looked so damn much like him: bright blue eyes set under a heavy brow, hair black as pitch and stickin' every which way except where it was supposed to, and rounder in the middle than an orc was supposed to be. One of his big hands had been splayed across Mama's pregnant belly, holding her, holding me, lookin' all sorts of happy and normal.

But the date on the back of that picture had been the day he'd died, taken just hours before he'd fallen victim to an unsealed bond and lost control of himself, lost any sense of decency he'd had left him—if what Mama says is true. With how uncharacteristically enraged I'm feeling, how territorial and off-kilter? Well, the evidence is certainly stacked in her favor.

All those thoughts rush by in a matter of moments, and then the realization hits me like a felled tree: I'm a breath away from believing what happened to my folks is what's happening to me, to Orlagh, to us. That she's my mate, and that I truly am nothing more than a monster deep down, the wrong sort of orc—everything I'd spent my life trying not to be.

"And what if I am?" I manage to choke out, voice breaking.

"What?"

"Acting like myself. What if I am?"

"Sun above, what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Gods, it would be so easy if I just opened up the floodgates and told her. And maybe I would if Haf and Brix weren't staring between the two of us, if she hadn't been drinking half the night, if I could take a second and get back to myself and fucking think…

"Godsdamnit, Orlagh, I don't want to do this now, not while you're…"

"While I'm what? Tipsy? I still know my own mind, but you sure seem to have to lost yours."

"Maybe I have! Maybe I've been losing my mind all damn night worrying about you, only to find out you've been assaulted, and not even from your lips, from Haf, from my damn nose!"

"And you don't think I've been losing my mind too?" Orlagh pushes off of the door, taking an unsteady step towards me with her arms crossed tight, half my size but full of just as much fire. "I tried to tell you, I don't want to talk about this tonight! I thought I did, I thought we could, but I now don't and clearly we can't."

She's shaking, and that snaps me out of it, makes me understand just how much this is getting out of control. I latch onto that bit of clarity like a scrap of driftwood getting tossed around in the rapids, stepping back from her and holding my palms up.

"Hey, you're right, let's just… I'm so sorry, sunshine. Let's just get some sleep, look at this all with fresh eyes in the morning. You're not in the right frame of mind for this kind of?—"

"I'm not in the…? You know what? I need some space. I don't think I can stay here tonight."

I don't know what I was expecting her to say, but that wasn't it. My heart sinks in my chest.

"What? Orlagh, I—" She pulls back when I reach for her, drawing closer to the door again.

Everything's gone so wrong… I've hurt her, scared her. My arms go slack at my side, head hanging low.

She turns to Brix, arms still crossed. "Take me to Lhysa's?"

"Oh, sugar," the half-orc sighs, eyes darting between the two of us and briefly flicking to Haf. "Are you sure that's what you want? I mean, of course we can, but?—"

"Might be a good idea, Rok, and I can see her safely there." Haf pulls my head against his, forehead to forehead; an old Orcish vow. He turns to Orlagh after, rubbing his hands together. "She's down the street from me, right? The Viridian?"

I should just take Haf's word, let her go, but all my instincts are screaming at me to keep her close, to protect, fix, save.

"Orlagh, wait. It's not safe out there?—"

"It doesn't feel safe in here, either," she snaps, slinging her purse over her shoulder.

Those words slice right through me, through flesh, bone, heart, straight down to my fucking soul. But there's nothing I can say, is there? She don't feel safe here right now, with me, and I can't say I blame her cause I certainly don't feel safe in my own damn skin.

I must look like a struck puppy, though, cause her face softens as she shifts her weight from one leg to another, stepping closer to me. "I… there's security on every floor, a doorman. I'll be fine. I'll text you tomorrow, when I'm ready to talk."

"Orlagh…"

And I realize that just like earlier with those drunken kisses… I gotta push her gently away tonight, step back and let her go, let things air out between us if I want any chance of there being an us to speak of, of keeping her by my side.

So that's just what I do, giving her a soft kiss on the forehead and holding the door as she walks through it, feeling it splinter in my fingers as I watch her walk away.

Mud squishesbetween my toes as I crouch down low, thighs tense and calves tight, ready to run. I'm watching Pete like a hawk as he goes after the ball, taking that mouthy dragonkin Tyamatt to the ground, the one who takes no end of delight in reminding me what a country piece of trash me and my bare feet are every pickup bloodball match.

Never let it bother me much before, but after last night? After my mate—fuck, and here I am calling her my mate like there ain't no doubt—was near assaulted by a fucking mutt while I sat at home puttering over lamb shanks?

Well, after that big fucking fight and having to let her go, all this anxiety and heartache and rage is looking for a place to go, ain't it?

Because now I'm feeling like it's all too much, like I surely am gonna just up and snap at the first opportunity that presents itself.

Guess it's a good thing I'm playing point and not down there with my clenched fists close enough to smash into that smarmy smoking snout, is all.

Petty rivalries aside, it feels good to blow off some steam after last night. Feels pretty fucking necessary after getting the full story from Haf on the way here, if I'm being honest. Now more than ever all I want to do is track down those fucking dogs and tear them to shreds. Only thing I want more than that, that I want down in my bones, is for things between Orlagh and me to be alright. Been checking my phone obsessively since I opened my eyes this morning, all alone in what used to be my bed but will now, forever, and always be our bed to me.

She still hasn't texted. But she will.

She has to, right?

Well, for better or for worse, I'll be putting all my cards on the table soon, or at least making plans to whenever she does finally text me. I'm gonna take her out on a big date after work, a real date, and tell her everything: what I learned from my Mama, that I think she might truly be my mate, that I'm worried about losing control, and that I love her more than I love life itself.

My biggest fear is she'll look at me like a fucking monster, run from these big feelings and squash this beautiful thing growing between us before it has a chance to fully bloom. I don't think she will… but there's a very real possibility that the way I acted and the truth about our connection is gonna put me in the same category as my daddy, as Wolf, as the endless line of macho motherfuckers parading around this world swinging dick and looking for a fight.

Marry me lest I snapain't really the way I was hoping to start down the path to getting sealed at the stone back home, especially not this fast. I feel like I've known her forever, so I gotta keep reminding myself how fast things have actually been moving, how it must feel even faster to an elf like her. It's crazy to be talking about sealing and stamping our union, about love and mates, even if we've both admitted to feelings that feel bigger than ourselves.

"Eyes up, Rok!"

Muscle memory kicks in before I get out of my head and get my thoughts in order, just in time to catch the bearskin Pete sends my way. I hug the ball to my chest and pivot, immediately on the move, feet pounding down on the green and sending up clods of mud and grass in my wake. I can hear hollerin' behind me, but nothing registers outside the blood pounding in my ears, the mud between my toes, the power surging in my body as I scan the field for Haf.

Once I spot him I push myself harder, lungs burning, shirt soaked with sweat and grinning like a lunatic—same as he is—because we both know this is fucking it, that if I get this ball to him right here, right now, we fucking win after getting our asses handed to us for the past three months.

The handoff is good, Haf is on the move, but just as I slow my stride that fucking asshole Tyamatt slams into me from behind, knocking what little breath I got out of me even before my chin smacks against the muddy ground, tusks and teeth clacking together.

Hot copper floods my mouth and I snarl, freshly split lips twitching around my tusks as I watch Haf book it down the field. The disheveled, motley band of orcs and elves and humans that make up our team is already up on their feet, running down the field ahead of where I'm laying, throwing fists in the air and cheering because it's in the fucking bag—we won. I'd be feeling elated too, cheering right alongside them, if it weren't for this scaled fucking monkey on my back, still pinning me to the ground.

I push up onto my knees, sending Tyamatt flying back into the mud behind me. He lands hard on his ass and I can't help but snort with satisfaction, feeling full of fire and pissed as all hells. I can smell that scaly prick over the mud and grime as I get to my feet and stalk toward him, smell that rank reptilian stench wafting off him as he tears off his jersey and throws it in my face, swearing me up and down, about as sore a loser as a loser can be and real bad at taking a dose of his own medicine.

"You lookin' for a fight, fat ass?" he snarls, using his tail to keep his balance as he gets to his feet and closes the distance between us. A bit of blood from my split lip drips onto my tusk and down my chin as he shoves me, getting in my face. Feet are firmly planted the mud though, country trash that I am, so I don't move a fucking bit and boy does that piss him off. A smile curves around my tusks as I cross my arms over my chest, chin high, watching smoke curl out of the little slits of this asshole's scaled snout. The silver and blue scales on his chest are shimmering, anger roiling off him, but he ain't the only one that's pissed.

My smile gets a little bigger as I decide to indulge myself, tossing his shirt back in his face.

"Nah. Good game though, asshole," I say, taking a step back, ready to let it go after my small, petty revenge, relieved that I'm feeling like I can. But then Tyamatt takes a step toward me, claws out, and next thing I know my fist is smashing into his snout, laying him flat on his back.

I'm in shock for a second after.

I just… I just knocked that dragonkin out. Pretty sure his scales scraped a layer of skin off my damn knuckles in the process, but small price to pay to avoid a wound from a draconic claw. Ain't no question that I'd thought about doing the same and more many a time before, but… fuck.

I'd moved fast, too. Faster than normal.

Was that instinct, luck, the bond?

Am I in control?

All that tension I'd just whittled down with sweat and mud and blood is building back up again, weighing me down, and suddenly I'm more desperate than ever to get things with Orlagh smoothed out.

Tyamatt gets to his feet, spitting and snarling and spinning like he's seeing double. While I'm trying to decide if it'd be more appropriate to apologize for hitting him so hard or to knock his mean ass back to the ground, the both of us are swarmed and separated by hollering teammates, pulling us apart and carting us off to our respective sides of the green.

"Holy fuck, hell yeah Rok!" Haf barrels through the group and jumps on my back, clapping my shoulders. "Winning pass and you're taking out the trash? I know you're worried about losing it or whatever, but I approve."

"Remind me not to piss you off, though." Pete smiles, tossing me my water bottle. It's hard not to smile back as I snatch it out of the air, taking a big swig before dumping the rest over my head, washing off the blood and mud on my face best I can.

The sun creeps out from behind some clouds as Haf and I take a seat next to each other on one of the benches, chuckling amongst ourselves as we watch things start to mellow out across the field.

Haf strips off his shirt, reaching into his gym bag for a new one and pulling out his phone. I follow suit, hoping to find a text from Orlagh waiting for me only to find meaningless notifications. Haf's got one arm through his shirt as he scrolls through his own phone, movement stilling.

"I've, uh… gotta run," he says, voice unreadable.

"Yeah, sure. Everything good?"

"Hmm? Yeah, yeah. Fine. Catch you later."

I nod, giving him a wave that he don't see as he scrambles to get his shirt on and gather up the rest of his things.

Pete makes his way over to me, backpack slung over his shoulder. "Where's he off to in such a hurry? We were gonna hit the gym."

"No clue," I say, looking off over my shoulder at Haf's retreating figure. "Look at him go, though… he's practically running. Don't think I've ever seen Haf hoof it quite like that off the field before."

"Well, shit. Guess I'll go in early and help Mila out with a couple of things. You want a ride? I don't mind."

"Nah," I say, looking down at my phone again, heart sinking in my chest; still nothing. "Thanks, Pete, but I think a walk'll do me good today."

Work is absolute hell,a bad combination of new trainees on the line and folks calling off all over the kitchens that's kept me on my feet nonstop, not just running my part of the operation as deputy chef, but running relief, taking on some of our head chef's load, and all the while cooking alongside the grunts I got learning the ropes right and left.

My head's spinning, my back's aching, but one thing is getting me through it all, and that's thinking about those texts I finally got after bloodball.

ORLAGH

Thank you for giving me space

Also I don't want to do all this over text

But also I want you to know that I care about you and I want to get through this together

And also-also I am painfully aware that I drank enough sol-shine last night to still feel kind of drunker this morning

Afternoon I mean

And drunk not drunker

Sun above, I'm a mess

I don't think I've ever slept in this late before

People do this on purpose?!

ROK'NHAR

You're welcome, sunshine, but there's no need to thank me. I should be thanking you, seeing as you were thinking more clearly than I was last night, even if you drank enough to sleep later than the legal limit for a sun elf.

Had me on my toes all damn day, though, I must say.

ORLAGH

I'm sorry!!!

ROK'NHAR

You don't gotta be sorry, not with me. I adore you Orlagh Skylark, and I'm the one that's sorry. I'll always give you what you want, what you need, even if that thing is space. But you're right—again—and we cannot do this over text.

Orlagh

For the record, what I want and what I need is you

Rok'nhar

Well that's damn nice to hear, be thinking about it my whole shift.

Orlagh

What time are you off work again?

Get a cab and pick me up after

Lhysa's fine with me hanging around and this place has tighter security than half the casinos in the pleasure district

Rok'nhar

Just clocked in, but that sounds like a solid plan to me. I was thinking we could go to that food truck spot for a slice of the finest pie in the city since you are so woefully misinformed.

Orlagh

I told you once and I'll tell you again Rok'nhar, for pizza it's Geraldo's and only Geraldo's

That's my deal breaker

Rok'nhar

Oh, that's the deal breaker, huh? Lol

Orlagh

Yep

If you take me anywhere else for pizza we are really, really, REALLY going to have problems

Gods, but I love her. Would have lost my damn mind two hours into this shift from the hells if I didn't have my phone in my pocket, buzzing now and again while I've been firing off plates and running back and forth minding the others. Sends a thrill through me every time, knowing that her delicate golden fingers are tapping out those texts, that she's thinking of me, that this easy banter we got ain't ruined, that it's looking like I'll still have a chance to open up about what's going on with me and make things right.

I'm just about to sit on my ass and take a damn breath for the first time in five hours when Mila comes into the break room, a familiar look on her face.

The same look she always gives me when Haf's not showing.

"Oh, hell Mila," I say, plopping down heavily into the chair in the corner I favor. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

The way he ran off after practice was a bit odd, but fucking hells. He knew I was waiting to hear from Orlagh, knew we were working through something, and still he pulls this kind of shit? I'm gonna give him the same treatment I gave Tyamatt the next time I see him, I swear to the gods…

"I'm so sorry, Rok'nhar. You know how he is and, well, guess tonight he's living up to his reputation of only doing what he wants when he wants."

My brow furrows as I grab up my loaf of brown bread, tearing at it with my tusks. "Oh yeah, I know. And you know I'll do it. Always do."

Mila sighs in relief, jotting down something on her clipboard before grabbing her headset. "Our savior's on it again. Damn it, him too? I'll rotate Grena off the spits, have her take over deputy duties tonight. What? NO, no, keep that horse bridled so?—"

And just as quick as she appeared, she's off again, running to the next fire requiring her attention. Stage manager's always on the job, and so am fucking I, apparently.

My phone buzzes on the table next to my bowl of stew, and I sigh as I take it up, dismissing the email notification for my quarterly apartment inspection.

Time to postpone another dinner with the elf I love, deal with another hitch in my plans to bare my soul to my… well hells, my mate, maybe.