Page 3 of Marked by the Scarred Orc (Heat & Ink #6)

Chapter Three

Corrine

I wake up and note that my head feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it.

Ugh. What the heck.

My eyes blink open and sunlight stabs through my bedroom window. Every muscle in my body aches, my mouth tastes like I licked the floor of a brewery, and there’s a strange soreness on my left butt cheek that I can’t quite place.

I haven’t felt this hungover since my twenty-first birthday bash.

A soft weight lands on my chest, and I look down to see my Russian Blue cat, Sterling, staring at me with those distinctive green-gold eyes. His silky gray fur is perfectly groomed as always, making me feel even more like a disaster by comparison.

“Morning, handsome,” I croak.

Sterling gives me a judgmental look and delicately steps off my chest with his small pin prick paws, heading out of my room and toward his food bowl with the kind of dignity only cats can manage. Even my cat is disappointed in my life choices.

What the hell happened last night?

I roll over carefully, wincing as my stomach lurches. The movement causes fragments of memory to start flooding back. The bar crawl. The bet. Margaret challenging us to shots. The arm-wrestling tournament that I lost spectacularly.

Heat & Ink.

Oh God. I never drink like that. What was I thinking?

I sit up too fast and lean back into the pillows. More memories crash into my consciousness like waves. Walking into that tattoo shop full of orcs. The scarred, intimidating and yet unbelievably sexy one behind the counter. His deep voice saying his name was Harken Overlord.

My hands shake as I reach for the water bottle on my nightstand, downing half of it in desperate gulps. I need painkillers and food. And I need to figure out what exactly happened last night because the memories are still fuzzy around the edges.

The clock on my nightstand reads 10:47 am. I’ve lost half my Saturday to this hangover, which is probably for the best. I don’t think I could handle being awake for all of it.

Sterling appears in the doorway, giving me another reproachful look before padding toward the kitchen. Right, food. He needs breakfast and so do I.

I shuffle to the bathroom first, moving like I’m a hundred years old. Every step sends little shockwaves through my skull. In the medicine cabinet, I find ibuprofen and dry-swallow three pills, not caring that I probably shouldn’t take that many on an empty stomach.

Food. We both need food.

In the kitchen, Sterling winds around my ankles while I open a can of his fancy grain-free food.

At least one of us will eat well this morning.

For myself, I manage to choke down a piece of toast and some orange juice, though my stomach protests the entire time.

The sugar helps a little, enough that I can think more clearly.

And that’s when I remember screaming because of something hot against my skin. Oh shit, I actually went through with it? I got a tattoo on my ass from that terrifying orc. What did I ask for again? A cat. I wanted a small, cute cat tattoo.

I glance down at Sterling, who’s delicately eating his breakfast with perfect manners. “Maybe I was thinking of you when I asked for a cat tattoo,” I tell him. He ignores me completely.

I rush into the bathroom because I need to see what that orc did, and I need a shower anyway, because I smell like three margaritas and a cosmopolitan.

Does my cat tattoo really look like Sterling?

I have to know. I grab the handheld mirror from my vanity.

With some awkward maneuvering, I’m able to position myself so I can see my ass in the bathroom mirror.

What I see makes my blood run cold.

It’s not a cat. It’s definitely not a small, cute cat tattoo.

Burned into the skin on my left butt cheek, in stark black lines is an elaborate “H” surrounded by thorns. The design is intricate, beautiful even, but this isn’t the work of a modern tattoo gun. The edges are too clean, too precise. This was done with a brand.

He branded me. Like cattle.

The memories come flooding back in full detail now. Harken Overlord’s scarred face as he leaned over me. His massive hands positioning me on that chair. The way his touch made my skin tingle and the space between my thighs grow hot and soaking wet.

The moment he pressed that hot brand to my skin and I screamed.

And then…oh God, he licked it. He actually put his tongue on the fresh burn, and somehow it healed instantly. The pain disappeared like magic. I remember staring at him in shock, not understanding what had happened. Him telling me his saliva had healing properties but only for his mate.

His mate.

He called me his mate.

My legs feel weak and I have to sit down on the edge of the bathtub, still holding the mirror.

I trace the outline of the mark with my finger, feeling the slightly raised skin.

It’s completely healed. There’s no scabbing, no swelling, nothing.

Just a perfect black design that will be on my body for the rest of my life.

A mark claiming me as his.

I should be furious.

Well, I am furious. Last night I let him have it, shouting all my best curse words at him because I couldn’t believe he’d given me a damn brand. He had no right to do this to me without my consent. I asked for a cat and instead he marked me like property. It’s a violation. It’s…

It’s also the most beautiful tattoo I’ve ever seen.

And I can’t stop thinking about how he looked when he was doing it.

Those dark eyes focused entirely on me. The way his rough hands felt on my skin.

The rumble in his voice when he told me he wanted me in his bed.

I’ve never been attracted to anyone like that before.

Ever. The guys I’ve dated have all been nice, safe, predictable.

Nothing like the raw masculine power that radiated from Harken Overlord.

But then I remember what I said to him at the end, and shame crashes over me like a cold wave.

I can’t believe I called him a scarred freak.

How could I have said something so terrible to that man?

That was evil. It might be the worst thing I’ve ever said to anyone in my entire life, and that includes what I’ve shouted at my sister during epic hair-pulling fights when we were growing up.

I could see he was upset at my harsh words.

Yes, I was drunk, but that’s no excuse. Yes, I still stand by everything else I said, including the Shakespearean level of salty language that left my lips—he deserved every word.

But that statement about his scarring was plain mean and I wish I could take it back.

Jeez, am I a mean drunk? Mia is the one who usually blurts out weird and in fact borderline mean stuff to people, but that’s Mia and not me.

And I didn’t even mean any of it because I think he’s sexy. There’s not one thing wrong with the scar on his face. In actuality all I wanted was to cup his face in my hands and kiss him all over. And yet I tried my best to hurt him by bringing up something that probably brings back bad memories.

That’s just terrible.

But, still, he shouldn’t have marked me like that.

The conflicting emotions are making my hangover worse. I’m angry at that mysterious Harken Overlord for giving me a tattoo I didn’t ask for, but I’m also ashamed of my cruel words. I’m terrified of what this mark means, but I can’t deny the attraction I felt.

I keep looking at the mark, realizing it’s not so bad and in fact looks nice. The good news is that at least when I was given a tattoo I didn’t ask for, it’s not something terrible. The bad news is it’s literally his mark and that’s the first letter of his name.

I need to talk to someone who might understand. Someone who’s dealt with orc complications before.

Obviously, this means I need to talk to my sister, Mia, so I pick up my phone and send her a text. Can I come over? I need to talk to you about last night.

She answers right away. Oooh, what happened last night? Tell me more.

I want to talk to you about it, in person.

Yeah, get over here quick because I can’t stand the anticipation.

I hop in the shower. The hot water feels amazing against my sore muscles, washing away the sweat and alcohol smell clinging to my skin.

I’d love to do some morning yoga to fully wash away the tension in my muscles from last night, but there’s no time.

Maybe I’ll do a session before bed tonight instead.

I rinse the soap from my hair as quickly as possible and get out of the shower, water still dripping from my body.

I get dressed carefully, wincing as my jeans rub against the tender skin around the mark.

Even though it’s healed, it’s still sensitive.

I end up changing into softer yoga pants that don’t irritate the area as much.

I take a moment to blow dry my hair a bit, brush my teeth and apply a little bit of makeup.

Sterling watches me from his perch on the windowsill, his tail twitching with what I choose to interpret as concern rather than judgment.

“I’ll be back later,” I tell him, scratching behind his ears. “Try not to judge me too harshly while I’m gone.”

The drive to Mia and Kavin’s neighborhood is short, just a few blocks from my apartment complex. There’s a black truck I don’t recognize parked in front of their house, but I don’t let it worry me, assuming Kavin has a friend from work over to visit. Firefighters are close-knit like that.

I ring the doorbell and hear footsteps approaching, along with the sound of a fussing baby. The door opens to reveal my sister looking tired but happy, cradling her three-month-old son against her shoulder.

“Hey, come in,” Mia says, stepping aside to let me pass. “Kavin has a friend over, but we can talk in peace in the living room. Rhys has been cranky all morning, but I think he’s finally settling down.”