Page 19 of Orn and the Real Girl

SARA

I WAS more than ready to put an end to the group who’d stolen my coven.

They all made my skin crawl, something slimy and cold and made of pure dark slithering through the back of my mind every second I spent in the horrid cave they’d made their home.

It felt like frostbite, like an infection, and even if I didn’t know exactly what to do to stop it, I knew that when you had a wound going south, you removed all the rot and scrubbed it clean.

The temple they’d erected in the back of the cavern reeked of copper and sulfur, and I was filled with a sharp kind of gratitude that Orn was with me, a blazing-hot and solid presence as my side.

Well, figuratively speaking. In the literal sense, he was actually ahead of me, his battle axe bared, its razor-sharp edge catching the dim light in silver flashes as he swung it and added arcs of crimson to the metallic glints off of his weapon.

He was howling something in his native language, his words loud and clear despite the heavy workout he was giving himself.

I smiled, thinking fondly about what a sexy little murder machine my man was.

I lowered my gaze to the rough compass I’d created outside the cavern’s entrance, following the pine needle as it spun in the herb-infused water to the goal I’d directed it to: my coven.

The fact that it was pointing so steadily gave me hope.

If they’d all been dead, it would have spun aimlessly.

So at least one other person besides me was still alive.

I traveled deeper and deeper into the rank cave, the sound of violence drifting over to me from distant twisting corridors bored into the stone walls.

I’d lost track of Orn, and his rampage had moved elsewhere in that time.

I entered a particularly large cavern and came across an altar, its energy so foul that I was overwhelmed.

I bent in half, barely managing to avoid getting sick all over myself.

Once my stomach was empty I stood back up straight, spitting and wiping at my mouth with a wince.

I swished water around my mouth and then spit that out, too.

The altar was on the smaller side, shrouded in darkness, but it felt like it pulsed and loomed, pressing beyond the physical bounds of the thing to take up the whole room.

Whatever darkness this was an altar to, it was deeply wrong, a level of unnatural I would never have guessed was possible before standing in this room.

I noticed that the stone platform it rested on was stained liberally with old bloodstains, the rock so saturated it felt like it should still be weeping crimson.

I shuddered, pointedly averting my gaze before I got too good of a look at what the wet-looking lumps scattered in offering were.

The compass needle swayed gently off to my left, to the side of the altar, and I edged closer, searching the rock wall for a door, or a cutout—something that would lead me to where my coven was being held.

But it was solid, rough-hewn blankness refusing to give way to answers no matter how closely I looked.

I followed the needle to the exact point it was oriented towards, putting my hand on the stone, and was surprised to find that the seemingly solid wall fizzed under my palm. I grinned.

I set the compass on the ground a little distance away, kneeling and slipping my pack off my back to rifle through it and assemble the reagents I’d need.

Herbs and tinctures that opened the eyes (including the invisible third eye), that removed shadows, that illuminated what was dark.

I ground everything into a powder with my small mortal and pestle, the sharp astringent scent a welcome reprieve from the other smells assaulting me.

I then murmured words of power, the keys that would let the door I’d made work.

It was difficult without Lena close by to lend me her strength, but I managed it without too much trouble.

As the last word tore free from my numb lips I took a handful of the powder and blew it out into the air, watching it scatter and trickle over the rock wall.

The powder ghosted over the rough stone, sparking and popping along all that it touched.

The wall began to look less solid, rock melting away like mist under the sun, revealing a lattice of branches and saplings lashed together into a grid spanning the entirety of the revealed opening.

And beyond, barely visible beneath the weak, fitful spitting of a mostly-dead torch, eleven lumps huddled together among the filthy straw and human waste.

My knees went weak, a sob ripping from my tight throat. Every one of the lumps turned up to look at me at the sound, some eyes hollow and dark-ringed, some of the skin waxen and too pale, but all alive.

“Sara?” Mother Tonn croaked, her bottom lip splitting from just that one word; they all looked dehydrated, lips pale and flaking and cracked. Her chin wobbled, precious tears welling in her dark eyes. “Sweet Delenaa, no. I’d so hoped they wouldn’t get you, too.”

I shook my head, blinking away tears and stepping closer to their prison. “I’m not captured, Mother. I’m here to rescue you.”

“But how?” a younger blond witch with large doe eyes named Callie asked. “There’s so many of them. And they have the aid of their…of that thing.”

A particularly sharp scream pierced the air, followed by a bellow of rage and a faint wet spatter. My coven all shrank back, huddling even closer together than they’d already been. The Mothers all began murmuring a prayer.

I laughed nervously, fiddling with my coat buttons.

“Well, I’m not alone. I…I met someone while I was wandering around looking for help.

And…he’s very helpful.” I swallowed, almost tearing a button loose from the intensity of my nerves.

I wanted so badly for them to accept Orn.

But now that I was staring this moment full in the face, I realized I was also nervous that they wouldn’t accept me, knowing I was an orc’s mate.

Squealing and growling floated down the tunnel towards us and I winced, my coven backing as far away from the bars of their cage as they could, eyes wide and faces somehow going even more pale.

“Sara, child, you must run,” Mother Frannie hissed. “Whoever your companion was, I think he has not been successful. Please, these people are very dangerous—“

Her voice failed her when a roar shivered the air, followed by pounding footsteps. Some of my coven began weeping, moaning that the worst torture they’d endured was that the horrors wouldn’t stop coming.

My face flamed. I knew that roar. I even knew the steps, despite only having him in my life a few days.

Orn slid into the cavern, eyes blazing and both sweat and blood spattered over his olive green skin.

Somehow he’d lost his shirt, and the tight braid I’d woven his long black locks into was coming loose, wisps of hair flying wild around his head and sticking to his damp skin.

He was terrifying, but he was also beautiful, and I was in awe.

With a flick of his wrist a hatchet went flying through the air, striking the hideous altar with a grinding sound and a squeal that was suspiciously organic.

Something cracked, and then the altar was on fire.

Purple flames licked over the surface, consuming everything, despite much of it being inflammable, until it was a pile of bitter-smelling ash on the floor.

Before I could address that, or any of my other concerns, Orn was on me, hoisting me into the air by my waist and pressing his body against mine.

He claimed my slack mouth in a hard, desperate kiss, and I could not help but lean into it, relishing the sensory contrast of soft, sweet lips and hard tusks.

A large hand gently fisted my curls at the nape of my neck, and despite myself I moaned, legs wrapping tight around his hips.

One of the Mothers cleared her throat, and I gently pushed Orn away from me and eased myself down to the floor. Orn looked furious, his wild eyes darting to the frightened coven as he growled deep in his chest. It was such a low sound I felt it more than heard it.

Smoothing my clothes and hair back into place, I swept a hand over Orn’s terrifying form and attempted a smile. “Everyone, this is the companion I mentioned.” I grabbed his arm and held it, heart in my throat. “His name is Orn, and he’s really very sweet, I promise!”

No one in the cage looked like they believed me. I stifled a sigh and let Orn go. “So it went well?” I asked him, digging around in my pack for more reagents. “What happened to your shirt?”

He snorted. “It couldn’t keep up. Weakness must be left behind, when the blood song calls.

” He lifted his huge battle axe, twirling it like it weighed nothing.

“The cult is no more. I will do a final sweep while you finish up here, but I can only hear us, now, in these caves.” He flashed me a feral grin. “The scent of wrong already fades.”

I paused, smiling up at him as I pulled my basic lockpicking spell out from what I’d brought. “Thanks for taking care of that, honey,” I said, realizing too late my mistake.

Orn loosed another growl, this one louder, and scooped me up into a bridal carry faster than my eye could track.

I squeaked, clinging to his neck by instinct.

He kissed me again, hard, then began to kiss and nibble my jaw, my neck, hitting all the spots that lit me up and turned me on as if he could somehow see them.

Maybe he could—this blood song thing was wild stuff.

“Orn!” I gasped, grabbing his head and doing my best to hold him still. “Focus, big guy.”

“I am focusing, sweetness,” he smirked, easily overpowering me and resuming his searing kisses. I scoffed, trying again to restore order.

“I’ll never call you anything sweet ever again if you don’t put me down this instant, Orn.”