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D aisy froze all over, seized on the sight before her. On … Filak .

He was impossibly tall, and unnaturally thin. His bare chest was ridged with the bones of his ribs, his belly a hollowed concave below. And his bare arms looked far too stringy and slim, ending in big, gangly hands, with impossibly long, sharp fingers. Fingers that — Daisy’s breath caught — were tipped with curved, deadly black talons. Talons like a crow would have, maybe, or a bear, or a — a demon .

But even more alarming was his skin. In all the diagrams and illustrations Daisy had ever seen of orcs, their skin was grey or green, or somewhere in between. But Filak’s skin was chalk-white, far paler than Daisy’s own — and making it look even harsher were the black marks stamped liberally across it. And yes, Daisy had caught sight of those marks, on her first glimpse of him in the tunnel — but she’d never once imagined a living creature being marked like this. Down his arms, up his neck, his jaw, over his smooth hairless head, even his tall pointed ears.

And the marks weren’t simple drawings, or designs, like the various tattoos Daisy had seen on humans before. No , they almost looked like — script. Like writing. Like someone had taken a brush and a bucket of ink, and written out an entire book’s worth of stories or blessings or curses all over his paper-white skin.

But none of it was anything Daisy could read, the script stark and strange and entirely unfamiliar. Just like the rest of him, with the bones and the claws and his sunken skeleton face…

And then, for perhaps the first time, Daisy’s eyes held on his face. His hard, ravenous face, with sharp cheekbones, a strong hooked nose, and thick, slashing black brows. And his eyes, oh gods, his eyes were sunken black coals, glittering deep in those hollow sockets, and — seeing her. Staring at her.

Daisy couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, caught, trapped, doomed. Hanging like a fly in a web, waiting for the attack, the bite, those killer claws clutching around her throat…

But it was that vision, suddenly, that seemed to — stutter. Catching , stilling, shifting upside-down. Because this — this was still… him . Filak . This was the orc — surely still the orc? — she’d spent last night with. The orc who’d touched her, caressed her, curled those long fingers so carefully around her throat.

But — how? How hadn’t he cut her, or wounded her? Because yes, she’d felt those claws, she’d known they were long and sharp, but he hadn’t once drawn her blood… had he? He hadn’t once hurt her.

And yes, she’d felt his ribs too, she’d felt how gaunt he was — but she’d also felt the lean strength in his tall body, the warmth of it, that rich heady scent of it. She’d felt his hunger when he’d taken her, and filled her — and when her stunned gaze flicked down to his trousers, yes, that was familiar too. That hard, thick ridge, ready and waiting behind the coarse black fabric.

Daisy’s cheeks heated, and she dragged her gaze back up to his face. To where the orc — Filak — was still looking back toward her, unblinking, unmoving. As if he was coiled, taut, waiting, maybe expecting her to scream or run or…

“Filak?” she finally whispered — and in return, his long-fingered hand spasmed, while one of the rocks beneath him clattered away.

“Ach,” he replied, low. And yes, yes, the voice was right too — but not the flash of sharp white fangs as he spoke, the hard little curl of his lip. “ ég er enn Filak .”

Oh. Daisy swallowed hard, opened her mouth — and then shut it again, because gods, what was the point, and what was she even going to say? Are you still an orc? Are you ill? Why did someone write all over you? Where is your hair? Do you realize you look like a corpse?

And worst of all, Did I really do that with you last night? Did I touch you? Beg for you? Welcome your cock and your seed inside me? What the fuck was I thinking?!

“So — er — what now, then?” Daisy finally croaked, into the dangling silence. “ G -goodbye, I suppose?”

There was another instant’s silence, and then a sharp, fluid gesture of Filak’s long-fingered hand toward the light. Toward the exit. Toward … toward what Daisy had wanted.

“ Sól ,” he replied, his voice flat. “ Morgun .”

Right. Yes . Daisy shot a look toward the light, toward where — she squinted her still-adjusting eyes — she could now see greenery, a forest. Another exit, just like she’d wanted, and now she was free to go. Free to find water, food, a latrine, and then…

Daisy stepped toward the light, her foot crunching against fresh rubble and stone — and then she stopped, and turned back toward Filak . Who was still standing there unmoving, still watching her with those sunken unnerving eyes.

“Er, I don’t suppose,” she began, hoarse, “you might want to — to come?”

And gods, what was she saying? What was she thinking? She couldn’t go anywhere with him, she couldn’t take him out in public, he would start a clamouring riot in the middle of the street —

And more importantly, she didn’t actually want to keep seeing him, did she? This … wraith? This corpse ?

But she didn’t take it back, either. And gods curse her, crush her, but she even raised her shaky hand, and gestured it between him, and the light. Saying , come .

“Come?” she asked aloud, her voice wavering now. “ Come with me, Filak ?”

She couldn’t at all read that strange twitch of his hand, the staring flat emptiness of his sunken black eyes as they looked toward the sun, and then back to her face again. And though Daisy didn’t see his foot move, he must have kicked a rock beneath him, because another one rolled away, tumbling toward the waiting light.

“ ég get tae ekki, ” he finally said, his mouth twisting. “ Ekki núna. Nei .”

And though Daisy again couldn’t follow the depth of it, he was saying — no. No .

He wouldn’t. No .

Daisy’s stomach plummeted, her prickling eyes dropping, because gods, what the hell else had she expected? It had been a ridiculous, reckless night, she’d lost herself in the frenzy and the fantasy, and — yes, she could admit — she’d wanted to strike back at Lew . She’d needed an escape, and some relief, and this orc had seen it, and offered it, and that — that was all.

And surely it was for the best, because they didn’t even speak the same language, Daisy still knew nothing about him, he probably wasn’t even from here. And of course she shouldn’t want to continue this, right? To keep seeing this skeletal, desiccated wraith? To make love to him? Good gods, how desperate was she?!

So she nodded, curt and jerky toward the rubble at their feet, and lurched toward the exit. Keeping her eyes on her staggering feet, because she couldn’t bear to look at him, to again face his refusal, his rejection. Just like Lew , Filak didn’t want her, she wasn’t desirable, she wasn’t interesting or creative, this wasn’t a whirling magical dream, it wasn’t . It had just been stupid, foolish, a fantasy. And she was going to break down sobbing, oh gods —

When something — caught her. Something warm, supple, familiar, curling around her wrist. His hand. Filak’s familiar callused hand, with those long gaunt fingers, the sharp talons so black and deadly against her skin.

“Daisy,” he said, low. “ ég finn tig í kvold. Ach ? ”

But again it meant nothing, nothing — and Daisy jerked a shrug, barked out a laugh. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter, he was saying no, no, no…

But then — his other hand, on her face. His warm, sharp fingers spreading, tilting her chin up. The feeling so familiar, so right — but now it came with the jarring sight of his pale sunken face, his hollow unblinking eyes. And Daisy couldn’t even begin to read those eyes, to follow what he was thinking, what he was trying to say…

But gods, the feel of his hand. So gentle. So warm and familiar and capable. Those deadly talons only slightly scraping, taking care not to mar her skin.

“Daisy,” he said again. “ Tú ert enn mín. Sólin mín . Daisy mín .”

His sun. His Daisy . Surely empty words, the kind of words Lew always said, too — and Daisy should look away, pull away. Escape this entire ludicrous situation, with this ludicrous orc, and go back to… to…

“ Mín ,” he murmured, his eyes held fixed to hers, as if waiting for her agreement. But Daisy could only swallow, bite her lip, because she wasn’t, he wasn’t. It had been one stupid, irresponsible night, and she just needed to leave…

Filak’s breath hitched out, his mouth grimacing, his hand dropping from her cheek. Because yes, he knew that too, of course he did. They would say farewell and never see each other again…

But then — he grasped her hand. Brought it up to his mouth. As if — as if he was going to kiss her hand, or propose, or — or —

Smell it? Or wait, no — he was smelling her ring . Lew’s big, expensive, custom-made ring, with the gold band, the heavy glittering diamond.

Daisy winced, her fingers twitching in Filak’s grip, and suddenly the ring looked even more wrong than usual, more hideous, like a gaudy screeching bauble stuck into a pig’s snuffling nose. Like it was meant for that foolish fantasy version of Daisy , the beautiful brilliant creative version, and not at all for the real one. The one who was dirty and dusty all over, who’d willingly spent the night in a cave with a corpse, who still had said corpse’s sticky spunk seeping down her thighs.

And maybe Filak saw it too, because his lip curled even higher, his hooked nose wrinkling with clear contempt. And his sharp claws had caught on the ring, plucking it off Daisy’s finger entirely, so he could draw it up and glare at it, his breath exhaling in a harsh, mocking little scoff.

And then, with a sharp flick of his claws, he… crushed it. Crushed the gold, that bright solid diamond , into a crumpled glittering tangle in his fingers.

Daisy yelped and stared — what the hell, no one could crush diamonds — not even orcs, right?! But Filak’s lip curled higher, into something starkly, bitterly pleased. And then he brushed off his hands, scattering glittering dust all over the rubble-strewn ground at their feet.

A choked sound escaped Daisy’s mouth — she could have sold that ring, could have used it to buy passage back home to the city — but before she could fall to her knees, start sifting for pieces, Filak caught her hand, and shook his head. As more dangerous contempt curled on his lip, and something hard and bleak flared in his sunken eyes.

“ Nei ,” he hissed. “ Nei , Daisy . Mín . ”

No. No , Daisy . Mine . And what the hell was this, what the hell had he done, what had Daisy done? And staring at his vicious, sunken white face, at the foreign black marks etched into his skin, Daisy felt the first true trickle of fear, skittering up her spine. He was dangerous. He was deadly. He could — he could break diamonds . He could so easily break her…

Daisy flinched and wrenched away, staggering backwards over the rubble and stone, into the streaming light. And this time, Filak didn’t come for her, didn’t try to stop her. Only held himself still, his eyes so bleak and empty on hers, his claws dangling sharp and deadly at his sides. Again looking impossibly alarming, like darkness, like death.

And as Daisy stumbled out into the sun, into the fresh bright morning, Filak spread out his sharp skeleton hands, one of them splaying against the rocky wall beside him. And then he tilted his face back, his hollow eyes fixed on the cave ceiling above. As if opening himself wide for his gods, for their destruction, their devastation…

And with another deep, shuddering rumble, the cave’s opening before him collapsed, crashing into dust and rock and ruin.

He was gone.