Page 4 of Resisting the Wicked Orc (Silvermist Mates #4)

CHAPTER FOUR

ZRAL

R ava stumbled against me as we pushed through the inn’s doors, her giggles echoing in the quiet lobby. Her body fit perfectly against mine, her tail curling possessively around my thigh as she leaned into my side.

“Oops,” she slurred loudly, batting her eyelashes up at me. “You’re so strong.”

“Careful there, Red.” I bit back a grin, playing along with our drunken couple act. “You’ll need all those limbs working for later.”

Her tail tightened around my thigh in warning, but her smile never faltered. “Promises, promises,” she teased, loud enough for the night clerk to hear. “You know what your... arms do to me.”

The clerk looked up as we approached the desk, his expression a practiced blend of professional courtesy and mild judgment.

“Room for two?” he asked, already typing away on his keyboard.

“The best you’ve got,” I said, letting my hand slide lower on Rava’s hip. The gesture was for show, but the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her clothes sent a jolt of desire straight to my cock. “It’s a special night.”

Rava giggled again, the sound so unlike her normal sharp tones that I almost laughed. She nuzzled into my neck, and for a heartbeat, I forgot this was an act. That cinnamon and smoke scent filled my lungs, making my head spin more effectively than any alcohol.

“How special?” she murmured against my skin.

I swallowed hard. “Very.”

The clerk cleared his throat. “Room 306. Top floor, corner suite. Best view in the house.”

I pulled out my wallet, aware of Rava’s eyes on my hands. This close, I could see the fine dusting of darker red freckles across her nose, a splash of color against crimson skin. Everything about this woman begged to be explored, to be discovered. Claimed.

“Oh!” Rava pressed herself against me, her curves molding to my body in a way that made it hard to remember this wasn’t real. “Baby, look. They have a bar. Can we have one more drink? Please?”

Her lower lip jutted out in a pout that shouldn’t have been so damn appealing.

I signed the receipt, pocketing my copy and the room key before turning to the bar. Francis sat at the far end, still nursing his drink. He seemed absorbed in his phone, but his posture remained rigid, aware. Dangerous.

This was mad. Bonkers. Insane. She studied me with wary hope in her amber eyes, her tail coiled around my leg as if anchoring us together. As if she feared I’d vanish instead of the other way around.

Screw it.

I wasn’t going anywhere.

“One,” I agreed, steering her toward the bar with a hand on the small of her back. “Then upstairs.”

Her fingers tangled with mine as she pulled me toward the bar, her steps exaggerated. I played along, letting my thumb stroke over her knuckles. The simple contact shouldn’t have felt so electric.

We took seats at the opposite end of the bar from Francis, close enough to keep him in sight but not so close as to draw attention. Rava perched on the stool, leaning forward enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. I forced my eyes away, signaling the bartender.

“Whiskey, neat,” I ordered. “And for the lady...”

“Something sweet,” Rava said, leaning into me. “Like you.”

I snorted. “Sweet isn’t the word most people use to describe me.”

“No?” Her amber eyes caught mine, something genuine flickering in their depths. “What word do they use, then?”

The bartender slid our drinks across the counter. I took a sip of whiskey, letting it burn down my throat before answering.

“Depends who you ask.” I shrugged. “Stubborn. Skilled. Particular.”

“Particular?” She raised an eyebrow, taking a delicate sip of her cocktail. The pink liquid left a sheen on her lips that I wanted to taste. “About what?”

Francis glanced our way, irritation flashing across his features before he returned to his drink. Perfect. Nothing more annoying than a loud couple when you’re trying to conduct shady business.

“My work,” I said, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. “The clan specializes in woodworking. I specialize in the details.”

“An artist,” she mused, her fingers tracing patterns on the back of my hand. The casual touch sent sparks up my arm. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“What would you have guessed?”

“Something more... physical.” She tilted her head, studying me with those ember-flecked eyes. “Bouncer. Enforcer. Professional wall-puncher.”

I barked a laugh. “You’d be surprised how physical carving can be.” I flexed my fingers around my glass, letting her watch the movement. “It’s all about knowing exactly how much pressure to apply. When to use firm pressure—” I demonstrated with a squeeze of my glass, “—and when the lightest touch is all you need.”

“A man of many talents.” Her tail brushed against my calf under the bar, a surprising touch that made my breath catch. “I can appreciate that.”

“And what about you?” I leaned closer, inhaling her intoxicating scent. “What brings you to Silvermist Falls?”

A flicker of caution crossed her face before she hid it behind another giggle. “Oh, you know. Taking a break from the corporate grind.” She waved her hand vaguely. “International relations. Very boring stuff.”

She was lying. Or at least not telling the whole truth. But there was something in the way she said ‘international relations’ that rang true. A diplomat, maybe? It would explain her careful way of speaking, the measured responses. The lift of her chin when she acted tough.

“And your family?” I pressed. I wanted to know more. I wanted to know everything. “They’re okay with you taking this... break?”

Her smile tightened at the edges. “My brothers aren’t thrilled.” She took another sip of her drink. “They think I should stick to the family business.”

“How many brothers?”

“Too many.” She laughed, and this time it sounded real. “All older. All think they know what’s best for me.”

I understood that better than she knew. The clan had raised me after my parents died—dozens of aunts and uncles and cousins, all watching, all guiding. Sometimes suffocating. “And what do you think is best for you?”

Her eyes met mine, all pretense falling away for a heartbeat. “Freedom,” she said softly. “The chance to make my own choices.”

Something in her tone shifted the air between us. Even being a child to all didn’t come with the expectations I saw shoveled on Galan by his prick father, or Torain to be the perfect spare to his brother’s role as heir.

But the hunger in her voice… That wasn’t an act. That was someone who’d tasted walls closing in and refused to accept them.

“And you?” she asked, tracing the rim of her glass. “Family?”

“The clan,” I said simply. No need to delve into sad stories of orphaned boys. “Not blood, but close enough.”

Francis shifted in his seat, checking his watch with obvious annoyance. His drink was nearly empty. Our window was closing.

She must have noticed too, because she leaned in close, her lips brushing my ear. “I need you to go to the bathroom,” she whispered, all business now.

I pulled back, searching her face. “And leave you alone with him?”

“I’ll be here when you get back.” Her fingers traced down my chest, the gesture for show but no less affecting. “I promise.”

I didn’t believe her. Not after she’d vanished and left me to deal with Lydia’s muscle. But something in her eyes—a silent plea, a flash of vulnerability—made me nod.

I stood, letting my hand linger on her shoulder before heading toward the restrooms at the back of the bar. Every instinct screamed at me to stay, to keep her in sight. The mate bond protested each step that took me farther from her.

I counted the seconds as I washed my hands, staring at my reflection in the mirror. What the hell was I doing? Helping a woman I barely knew steal something that probably wasn’t hers to take, all because my blood sang when she was near? Because her scent made me dizzy? Because when she smiled—really smiled—it felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds?

Pathetic.

Three minutes. I dried my hands and headed back toward the bar, already knowing what I’d find.

My blood boiled as I watched Rava lean closer to Francis, her hand lingering on his arm. His eyes crawled over her body, lingering on the curve of her breasts, the elegant line of her neck. Possessiveness surged through me so strong it nearly staggered me.

Mine .

I forced my breathing to slow. We had a plan. Sort of. I signaled the bartender and ordered two more drinks, keeping my movements casual as I approached their corner of the bar.

“Making friends already?” I slid the fresh cocktail in front of Rava, letting my fingers brush against hers.

Rava looked up, her eyes widening in mock surprise. “Baby! You’re back.” She didn’t move away from Francis, her hand still on his arm. “I was just talking to Francis here. He’s an art dealer. Isn’t that fascinating?”

I caught Rava’s chin between my thumb and forefinger, turning her face toward mine. Her skin burned hot against my touch, her amber eyes widening slightly at the contact. I dragged my gaze over her flushed cheeks and down delicious curves, making a show of it.

“I thought you were mine to appreciate tonight,” I said, my voice a low rumble that made her pupils dilate.

She giggled, the sound so at odds with the sharp-tongued woman I’d met earlier that it almost made me laugh. Her hand slid from Francis’s arm to his chest, tracing idle patterns on his expensive shirt.

“Can you blame me for starting a bidding war?” Her tail curled around my calf beneath the bar, a secret point of contact that contradicted her flirtatious display.

Francis smirked, clearly enjoying what he thought was happening. “Perhaps we could come to an arrangement that satisfies everyone.”

The suggestion made my jaw clench. I held out my hand for Rava and helped her off her stool. “I think we’ve had enough sharing for one night.”

Another giggle broke from her lips. She stumbled against me, knocking into the bar and sending our glasses toppling. Liquid splashed across the bar and down the front of her shirt, molding the fabric to her curves.

“Shit!” She jumped back, colliding with Francis. Her hands gripped his shoulders for balance, her body pressed against his for one maddening second before she steadied herself.

“Watch it!” Francis snapped, steadying her with visible reluctance.

“I’m such a klutz,” Rava lamented, making a show of dabbing at her wet shirt. Her fingers brushed Francis’s collar, adjusting it with apparent innocence. “Baby, can we please buy him another?”

Francis waved her off, but his eyes followed the path of the spilled drink down her body. I wanted to punch that look off his face.

“Please, baby?” Rava slid her hand down my chest, her touch leaving a trail of fire even through my shirt. “And I’ll go get cleaned up,” she purred, leaning in close. Her breath tickled my ear as she said without a hint of whisper, “Before I get dirty all over again.”

My cock hardened instantly at her words, my body responding to the promise in her voice even though I knew it was just for show. I swallowed hard, nodding as she pulled away.

“This won’t take too long,” I promised, my voice rougher than expected.

She winked, stumbling toward the lobby with exaggerated care. I watched her go, hips and tail swaying with each step.

The hell of it was, I wanted it to be real. I wanted her smile to be for me, not part of some elaborate ruse. I wanted those whispered promises to be genuine. I wanted her.

I turned back to Francis, forcing a rueful smile. “Women, right? Let me buy you another drink. Least I can do after the spill.”

He hesitated, then nodded. I signaled the bartender, settling onto the stool Rava had vacated. “So, art dealer?”

“What?” He sipped the fresh drink, his eyes flicking toward the lobby where Rava had disappeared. “Oh. Yes.”

“My clan makes some interesting pieces,” I said, keeping my tone casual. “Always wondered what they might be worth.”

Francis’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering across his features. “I doubt they’d be of interest to my clients. They prefer... specific items.”

Through the window behind him, I caught a flash of crimson. Rava stood outside, something glinting in her hand. Our eyes met across the distance. She blew me a kiss, her lips curving into a triumphant smile.

Then she vanished in a cloud of smoke.

“Like what?” I forced myself to ask.

He drained his glass, setting it down with a decisive click. “Nothing you’d have access to.” He stood, straightening his jacket. “If you’ll excuse me.”

I watched him go, waiting until he disappeared up the stairs before finishing my own drink. Whatever Rava had taken from him, he hadn’t noticed its absence yet. But he would soon.

I settled my tab and headed outside, scanning the street for any sign of her. Nothing. No flash of red skin, no hint of cinnamon and smoke in the air. Just empty sidewalks and the distant sound of laughter from the brewery down the street.

She was gone. Again.

This time, the betrayal cut deeper. I hadn’t expected her to stay, not really. But because for a few moments there, between the lies and the act, we’d connected. When she’d spoken of freedom, of making her own choices, some foolish part of me had hoped... what? That she’d wait? That she’d include me in whatever came next?

I stared into the darkness, the ghost of her kiss still burning on my lips. Whatever game she was playing, I was just a pawn. A useful distraction. Nothing more.

And now she was gone, taking even that with her.

RAVA

I materialized in my shitty apartment, a lost ifrit relic clutched in my fist. I collapsed backward on the bed, adrenaline singing through my veins.

I did it. I actually fucking did it.

Triumph surged through me. For once, no one was around to question whether I was capable, whether I could handle myself, whether I was suited for anything involving a hint of danger. No Kaz ordering me to safety, no Malak worrying himself sick, no Zane threatening to lock me away where I couldn’t cause trouble.

For once, I’d done something dangerous completely alone, and succeeded.

I let the chain unwind from my fingers, swinging a heavy pendant above my nose. Ancient infernal-forged gold cradled a hellfire opal, intricate runes etched into the setting that made my skin crawl.

My tail lashed behind me as I examined it. The stone pulsed with an inner fire that matched my own, like it recognized me. Or more likely, recognized what I was. The itch at the back of my neck intensified in a warning. This wasn’t just any pretty piece of jewelry. This was a control device, designed to bend ifrit to the will of whoever wielded it.

No wonder Javed wanted it.

The thought of his name sent ice through my veins, despite the heat of the pendant in my hand. With this, I could negotiate. With this, I could buy my freedom.

But the triumph tasted hollow. All I could see was Zral’s face through the window as I vanished. The hurt in his eyes. The betrayal.

“Shit.” I slumped against the wall, letting my head fall back with a thud.

He’d been real with me. Talking about his clan, his work, the pride in his voice when he described his carving. Meanwhile, I’d fed him half-truths and misdirection, using him like a tool before tossing him aside.

Was this what it meant to be a Kadhan mercenary? Was this how Kaz did it? Burned everything real inside himself as fuel to complete a mission?

My tail whipped against the floor, agitation building under my skin. I didn’t owe Zral anything. He was just a means to an end. A convenient distraction. Nothing more.

So why did my chest ache?

“You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?”

I leapt to my feet, fire flaring in my palms as I spun toward the voice. Lydia George stepped from the shadows of my kitchen, her sleek ponytail swinging with each deliberate step. The muscle from the market lurked by the door, blocking my exit.

“I was willing to let your little rebellion slide.” Lydia examined her manicured nails. “Who am I to question what another woman does to get by? But your continued interference in my business...” She clicked her tongue. “You forced my hand.”

My heart hammered against my ribs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t insult me. Did you think a little eavesdropping was all you needed for spycraft? Or that no one would notice red skin and horns hiding in the shadows?” She gestured to her muscle, who took a step forward. “Francis will silence that orc you’ve been playing with, and the royal guards are already on their way for you. Prince Javed will reward me handsomely for bringing his wayward fiancée to heel.”

The world dropped from under me. My lungs seized, refusing to draw breath. “How did you?—”

“You didn’t think the prince would let his prize just walk away, did you?” Lydia laughed. “The Kadhan clan’s little princess, running from her duty? Tsk, tsk.”

I lunged for the door. The muscle caught my arm, twisting it behind my back. Pain shot through my shoulder as he shoved me against the wall.

“Not so fast, princess.”

Rage and fear collided inside me. Fire erupted from my skin, engulfing my arms in crimson flames. The muscle yelped, releasing me as the heat scorched his hands.

I spun, hurling a fireball at Lydia. She dodged, but the flames caught my secondhand couch. Fire spread rapidly across the cheap fabric.

The muscle recovered quickly, moving to block the door with a wicked knife in his hand. Lydia shouted something about taking me alive.

Flames licked up the walls. I had no time to focus, no safe destination in mind. I just needed to get out. Needed to warn Zral.

I clutched the pendant to my chest and teleported blind, focusing on him and his scent. Easy smiles. Blackberries and woodsmoke. Instinct. Pure, desperate instinct.

The world dissolved into crimson smoke.

I hurtled through the darkness of space, reality stretching thin as I tumbled end over end. For a terrifying moment, I felt walls around me—inside me—and then I burst into open air.

I stumbled onto an empty street. Solid warmth steadied me, familiar arms wrapping around my waist.

“Rava? What the?—”

Behind him, Francis raised something metal that gleamed in the streetlight.

I shoved Zral aside, feeling white-hot pain tear across my shoulder as Francis’s blade found me instead. I grabbed Zral’s arm, panic overwhelming reason, and teleported again.