Page 2 of Marked by the Scarred Orc (Heat & Ink #6)

Chapter Two

Harken

I study Corrine Martin’s face, noting the glassy sheen in her lovely eyes and the way she sways slightly on her feet.

I’d known this female was drunk from the moment I saw her enter the shop.

Any responsible tattoo artist would send her home.

But I’m not just any tattoo artist, and this isn’t just any tattoo.

This beautiful human wants to pleasure mate with me. I know this because of the way her eyes linger on my physique, and the scent of her arousal which continues to hang thick in the air between us. And for once in my life, I also feel a returning rush of hot desire for this unmated female.

She’s having trouble simply pulling down her pants enough to expose her ass.

“You’re drunk,” I comment.

She bites her luscious lip. “I still want the tattoo.”

Her two friends were sober enough to sign the legal waiver we specifically use for questionable human walk-ins.

But Corinne has obviously had more to drink than her friends and can’t make legal decisions.

Normally, I would tell her to sit this one out and return when sober, but I’ve already decided that she’s staying.

Because I want her as much as she wants me.

And because I can scent her arousal for me, which means she’ll get her tattoo, just not the one she was expecting.

My mind and body are filled with possessive instincts I never thought I’d experience.

Corinne asks for a “cute” mark of a pet, but I am readying my tools for something special, the type of marking I’ve dreamed of giving to my future bride.

And I have found her.

My body hums with anticipation as a maelstrom of raging sensations pound through my entire body.

This will be my mark on her, showing that she is mine.

The other orcs outside were already eyeing this group of available young females, thinking they could make a move on Corinne.

Not happening. They need to know this one is mine.

I left the commune when I did, trying to start a new life amongst the humans during spring.

None of us thought a human female would find me, the scarred orc that is the shame of my entire commune , attractive, but this one does.

Luckily for her, we are meeting in late spring and not in the dark of winter, which means I can behave reasonably and not lose my mind, trying to kidnap her off the street like an orc from times of old.

Leaving my mark is a better way of claiming a female than a kidnapping.

The arrival of six, youthful, attractive and unmated females at Heat & Ink one hour before closing caused a stir amongst all the orcs in attendance.

But I’ve only had eyes for Corinne Martin, the sister-in-law to Kavin Irontree.

Her features are even and her lips are pouty.

She’s of medium height for a human female and a hint of an athletic build.

Her long, brown hair begs to be touched, and her blue eyes remind me of a clear sky on a sunny day.

She’s supposed to be taking down her pants, but she’s stopped, looking uncertain of her whereabouts.

“Sit down before you fall down,” I growl, gesturing to the leather chair. I normally work with only the orcs who arrive, because I’m still in training when it comes to dealing with humans.

Corinne moves toward it with careful steps, one hand trailing along the wall for balance. When she reaches the chair, she stares at it like it might bite her.

“It’s just a chair, female.”

“It looks like something from a medieval torture chamber.”

I almost smile at that. “I think it looks more like a chair that those human teeth doctors use. It reclines. Makes the work easier.”

She climbs onto it awkwardly, her jeans sliding down slightly to reveal a strip of smooth skin at her lower back. My hands itch to touch that skin, to trace the curve of her spine.

“How do you want me positioned?” she asks.

The innocent question sends blood rushing straight to my cock. “On your stomach. Then you’ll need to slide down your pants.”

Her cheeks flush. “Right. Of course. I just…I’ve never done this before.” Her hands move again to the top of her pants.

“I know.” It’s already been established that I will make the first and possibly the only mark on her skin.

I turn away to give her privacy, though every instinct screams at me to watch.

Instead, I focus on preparing my tools, selecting the traditional brand I’ll use for her marking.

Behind me, I hear the rustle of fabric. The scent of her desire grows stronger, mixing with the alcohol on her breath.

Her pheromones cause my tusks to elongate and my vision to sharpen.

“Okay,” she says in a small voice. “I’m ready.”

I turn back and nearly lose control right there. She’s lying face down on the chair, with her jeans bunched far down her thighs. She wears a lacy pink thong that barely covers her perfect ass, giving me a view that makes my cock throb against my pants.

“Comfortable?” I ask, my voice rougher than I intended.

“As comfortable as I can be with my ass hanging out in front of a stranger. Can I keep my thong on, or do I have to take that off too?”

“I’m not a stranger anymore.”

She lets out a nervous laugh. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“And yes, you can keep that scrap of fabric on. I can work around it.”

I move closer, and she tenses. “Relax,” I order, placing one large hand on her lower back. She gasps at the contact, and I feel her muscles jump under my palm. Her skin is incredibly soft.

“Your hands are so warm,” she murmurs, sounding surprised.

“Orcs run hot.” I slide my hand lower, tracing the edge of her thong. “Especially when we’re close to something we want.”

She shivers but doesn’t pull away at my admission. If anything, she arches slightly into my touch. “What do you want?”

The question hangs in the air between us.

She must know. I’ve been gazing at her ass, unable to keep my eyes off that perfect curve.

I’ve had my hands on her. And now I’ve got her in this room alone, with the door shut.

None of this is normal behavior within my profession.

Whenever an orc inks a human, the door always remains open.

Maybe she doesn’t fully understand my cues because of the alcohol. I lean down, my breath hot against her ear. “You. I want you, underneath me, in my bed.”

The words come out as a growl.

She whimpers in response. Her arousal spikes, so strong I can almost taste it on my tongue. “I don’t understand,” she whispers. “How is that possible? I thought orcs only wanted females who could become pregnant.”

My brow furrows. “Yes, this is true. Orcs are not attracted to females who cannot give birth to their orc sons.”

She blows some hair out of her face. “Well, then it’s impossible for you to feel that way about me because I can’t get pregnant right now,” she says absently.

I run my hand up her spine, watching goosebumps break out across her skin. “What if I told you that you smell perfectly fertile to me?”

Her head snaps up. “That’s impossible. I’m on birth control.”

A chuckle escapes my lips. “Human birth control doesn’t work on orcs.” I press her back down gently but firmly. “Lie still, female. I need to prepare the area.” I reach for the antiseptic, cleaning the spot where her mark will go.

She flinches at the cold liquid but stays in position. Smart female.

“What kind of cat tattoo are you going to give me?” she asks, trying to sound casual.

I don’t bother to respond, instead I move to the small furnace in the corner, lighting it with practiced ease.

The flames catch, and I place the brand inside to heat.

The metal begins to glow red-hot. I watch the brand heat, counting the seconds until it reaches the perfect temperature.

I remove the brand from the flame, checking its color. Perfect.

“Just warning you that I’m not good with pain,” she says.

“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

I press the hot brand to the curve of her left ass cheek.

She screams, and I have to hold her down to keep the brand steady. The mark is perfect. It’s a stylized “H” surrounded by thorns, burned deep into her skin. She’ll carry it for the rest of her life.

Without hesitation, I lean down and run my tongue over the fresh burn.

The healing properties in my saliva immediately take effect.

Her sobs cut off as the pain disappears, replaced by the warm tingling of accelerated healing.

The angry red of the burn fades to a deep black mark, already fully healed.

“What the hell did you just do?” she gasps, trying to look over her shoulder at me.

“Healed you. My saliva has healing properties, but only for my mate.”

“Your mate?” Her voice climbs higher. “I’m not your mate. We barely know each other.”

I set the brand aside and help her sit up, keeping my hands on her waist to steady her.

She’s shaking, whether from shock or arousal, I can’t tell.

Maybe both. “Female, I already told you that I want you in my bed. I want you, as much as you want me. You are lucky I didn’t meet you in the dark of winter.

Look at your mark,” I command, handing her a small mirror.

With trembling hands, she positions herself in front of the mirror in the room so she can see her ass. When she catches sight of the mark, her face pales, then her eyes flash with anger. “That’s not a cat.”

“It’s my mark,” I proclaim with pride.

She stares at the mirror for a long moment, taking in the intricate design now permanently etched into her skin. The “H” is bold and unmistakable, the thorns curling around it like a declaration of ownership.

“You branded me,” she whispers. “You actually branded me like cattle.”

“I marked you as mine. There’s a difference.”

“The hell there is.” She throws the mirror at me, and I catch it easily. “You had no right to put something on me that I didn’t ask for. I wanted a cat. A small, cute cat.”

“I told you I don’t do cute.”

She slides off the chair. Her legs are unsteady, and she has to move forward and grab the counter for support. “I am calling the police,” she snarls, pulling up her pants.

“For giving you exactly what you asked for?”

“I asked for a cat.” She curses under her breath as she straightens her clothes. Every movement shows off her curves and reminds me of what’s now mine.

“You asked for a tattoo. You got one.”

“That’s right, a tattoo of a cat, not your mark on my ass.”

“Details.”

She whirls on me, eyes blazing with fury.

“You arrogant asshole. How dare you mark me without my consent.” Then a string of profanity pours from her mouth that would make a sailor blush.

She calls me everything from a psychotic asshole to a prehistoric caveman, with several creative combinations involving my anatomy.

I listen with growing amusement and satisfaction. This female has fire. She’ll need it to keep up with me.

“Are you finished?” I question when she finally runs out of steam.

“No, I’m just getting started, you scarred freak.”

Something cold settles in my chest at those words.

She notices my change of expression and her shoulders slump. Her hand covers her mouth, and her eyes widen as if she’s just realizing what she actually said. “I...I didn’t mean...I shouldn’t have…”

“Yes, you did mean it.” I move closer, backing her toward the door, making sure she can get an eyeful of the scarring on my face. “And now you know exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

She fumbles for the door handle behind her, never taking her eyes off me. “I’m leaving, but this isn’t over,” she says, trying to sound brave despite the tremor in her voice.

“No, it’s not. You might not want what’s on my face, but my mark declares that you’re my bride.”

“You’re crazy.” She gets the door open and stumbles backward into the hallway.

I follow slowly, keeping her safe, even if she thinks she’s done with me. I follow close, making sure she can walk straight and doesn’t need my help. I should be more upset at what she said about how I look, but I’ve heard worse from my supposed family.

The other orcs in the waiting area turn to watch the show, sensing the drama.

“Stay away from me,” she warns, still backing toward the front door.

“Not possible.”

“I mean it. Don’t come near me or I’ll?—”

“You’ll what?” I cross my arms, letting her see the full extent of my size and strength. “Call your brother-in-law? He’ll understand exactly what I’ve done and why.”

Her face goes pale. “Kavin would never?—”

“Kavin knows orc law. You wear my mark now,” I say for the benefit of the orcs in the vicinity. “That makes you mine.”

All the other orcs watch our fight. Let them watch this glorious, raging female who now bears my mark.

They all thought, as I did, that a scarred orc who was kicked out of his commune would never amount to anything, and never possibly have a mate.

And yet here I am, barely seven days out in the human world, and I’ve found my bride.

Her words say that she’s changed her mind already about wanting to pleasure mate, but her arousal is still thick in the air.

She reaches the front door and practically falls through it. “This isn’t over,” she shouts from the sidewalk. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done to me, as in literally pay when I sue for damages.”

I step into the front doorway, making sure she can see me clearly in the light from the shop. My scarred face, my towering height, my complete lack of remorse. “You’ll be back, female, because you’re mine.”

“Corinne,” her friend yells out from the parking lot. “Hurry up. Stop acting like a vexatious litigant. We’ve been waiting for you. Come on.”

She flips me off and stumbles toward the waiting Uber that holds her friends. I watch as she leaves, my gaze settling possessively on her perfect ass.

Let her run. Let her rage and curse and plot revenge. It won’t change anything. She bears my mark now.

She’s mine.