Page 2 of One Night with Her Untamed Orc (Toothsome Monster Romance #6)

Tarik

I don’t like trespassers.

I don’t like people. But especially trespassers.

Every summer, hikers and picnickers and holiday swimmers trespass on my piece of paradise—untouched wilderness far from the bustle of Moonfang Haven.

And every summer, I have to chase them off, complain to Sheriff Draugr, and post freshly painted signs declaring my property is private.

I’d just finished spreading the used coffee grounds from Moonlit Grounds café around my acid-loving hydrangeas and blueberries and pumpkins.

It’s the end of the season for the berries, but I figure it can’t hurt.

The pumpkins, on the other hand, are putting on some real girth.

They should win prizes at the Harvest Festival.

Washed up, I take the giant cinnamon roll Ravena gifted me out onto my deck.

That’s when I spot her down in the cove, expertly driving a small boat, nosing it into my shoreline like she owns the place.

She throws an anchor out and hops out in shorts that ride high on her thick thighs, barefoot, and splashing into the shallows like this is some kind of science fair field trip and not my land.

Two backpacks. Three plastic tubs. A mesh bag full of gear that clinks with glass vials.

Who the hell needs that much stuff to play on the pebbled beach?

Setting down my cinnamon roll, hoping the birds don’t steal it, I take off toward the trail that leads down to the shore.

Stomping through the underbrush, I think of how best to scare her off.

How does one chase off cheerful, over-prepared trespassers who show up by boat with bright orange dry bags and enough snorkeling gear to start her own damn reef expedition?

Growl. Snarl. Maybe mention the word “trespassing” in my best low-and-deadly voice. Usually works. Usually, I don’t even have to say much—just step out of the trees and people scatter. Orc, tusks, permanent scowl. Easy.

But then she does something that stops me dead in my tracks.

She throws her arms out wide toward the water, and shouts, “I’m here!” Giggling, she turns back to her boatload of stuff and starts organizing.

I blink.

What the hell is she doing out here?

Closer now, still in the shadow of the trees, I watch as she lines up her gear.

Her sun-streaked hair, plaited into a long braid, dances along her back as she makes trips back and forth from the shallows to the shore.

She’s wearing a plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up, and now a pair of flip-flops to protect her feet from the rocks.

She hums to herself as she unloads another container. “Finally,” I hear her say as she opens a spiral notebook, clicks a pen rapidly a few times, then plops back onto the ground and scribbles fiercely, like nothing else in the world matters.

The growl builds in my throat. This is my moment.

She shouldn’t be here. This stretch of shoreline is mine for a reason. Quiet. Untouched. People leave me alone. I can see a little pink at her mouth and I squint, leaning forward against the fir tree I’m hiding behind. Oh gods. It’s her tongue, just the tip sticking out as she writes.

The iceberg inside my heart crumbles, and my body viscerally reacts to the sight of her pink tongue and her pink lips. Damnit.

She mumbles something about temperature and salinity.

I want to yell at her. I’ve rehearsed the speech in my head.

Instead, I stand in the shadow of the fir trees and watch in the late afternoon sun as she wades barefoot into the sea and squats down to inspect something in the water near the large flat boulder. “Well, hello there,” she says, breathy and excited. My head jerks. Is she talking to me ?

No, she doesn’t see me. She’s speaking to whatever little sea critter is on the rock. A crab? Gross.

It’s hard to be mad at someone who clearly has respect for the world around her.

She thinks she’s in the middle of nowhere. That no one else is around.

She’s wrong.

The wind shifts. The summer breeze carries her warm, sugar scent to me. Awakens something inside me. A feral knowing. Need.

This is my mate.