Page 1 of The Passionate Orc (The Teddy Orcs #1)

N ar

I never meant to spill the paint.

Warriors of the Red Blade Orcs don't spill things. We conquer. We dominate. We strike fear into the hearts of our enemies with our battle cries and perfectly executed axe swings.

We definitely don't trip over our own feet at art galleries while staring at pretty human women.

But here I was, standing in front of the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen, watching bright blue paint drip down her pristine white canvas. The same blue as her eyes, which were now wide with shock.

"My exhibition piece!" She gasped, those blue eyes darting between me and her ruined painting.

I wanted to disappear. Melt into the polished gallery floor. Maybe bash my head against the nearest wall until I forgot this moment entirely.

"I... sorry... I didn't..." Words failed me. Words always failed me around beautiful women, but this was worse. Much worse.

Let me back up.

My name is Nar Humperdink. Six foot seven. Two hundred and eighty pounds of pure orc muscle. Lieutenant of the third battalion of Red Blade warriors. And secret painter.

If my clan found out about my artistic side, I'd never hear the end of it. "Orcs swing axes, not brushes," my father always said. But something about the way colors blend on canvas makes my heart race even faster than battle.

So I sneak away. Every other Thursday, I tell the clan I'm scouting enemy territory. In reality, I'm visiting the Downtown Art Gallery to study techniques and get inspiration. Nobody expects to see an orc in an art gallery. The perfect cover.

Until today.

I'd been admiring a landscape piece when I saw her across the room.

Small, delicate, with wild curly brown hair that seemed to have a life of its own.

She wore a paint-splattered jean jacket over a flowy dress, moving with the grace of someone completely comfortable in her own skin.

An artist, definitely. Her hands gestured animatedly as she spoke to an older woman beside her canvas.

My heart did a strange little flip. She was beautiful in a way that made my hands itch for a brush, to capture the vibrant energy radiating from her.

I didn't realize I'd been walking toward her until it was too late. My shoulder caught a standing tray of paint jars. My reflexes—usually lightning fast in battle, failed me spectacularly. The blue paint sailed through the air in slow motion, landing with a horrifying splash across her canvas.

And now here we were.

"Do you have any idea how long I worked on this?" Her voice trembled slightly. "The exhibition opens tomorrow night!"

I stood there, tusks probably hanging open stupidly, my brain scrambling for something, anything to say.

"I fix," I finally blurted, my words coming out gruffer than intended.

When I'm nervous, I fall back into stereotypical orc speech patterns.

Not good. "I mean, I can fix it. The painting.

Your painting that I ruined. With paint.

Which is ironic because it's already a painting, but now it has the wrong paint, and?—"

I forced myself to stop talking.

She tilted her head, really looking at me now. Those blue eyes traveled from my face down to my massive frame, taking in my attempt at "blend in with the humans" clothing, a black button-up shirt that strained across my shoulders and jeans that had never quite fit right.

"You're an artist?" Skepticism dripped from every word.

My cheeks burned. "I dabble."

"He's being modest," came a voice behind me. I turned to see the gallery owner, Mrs. Chen, approaching with a knowing smile. "Nar has been coming to my gallery for months. He has quite the eye for color theory."

I could have kissed the tiny elderly woman. Or carefully picked her up and placed her somewhere safe, which is my usual instinct for small humans who are kind to me.

The beautiful artist's expression softened slightly, though her arms remained crossed defensively across her chest.

"Let me see what you can do then," she challenged, gesturing to her paint-splattered canvas.

My stomach dropped. I'd offered to fix it without thinking. Now I had to perform in front of her, with no preparation. But backing down isn't the Red Blade way.

"What's your name?" I asked, trying to sound confident as I surveyed the damage.

"Emryn. Emryn Lister."

Emryn. The name felt like honey in my mind. I wanted to say it out loud, test how it felt on my tongue, but I just nodded.

"I'm Nar. Nar Humperdink."

"I know." At my surprised look, she smiled slightly. "Mrs. Chen mentioned you. The orc who comes to stare at paintings but never talks to anyone."

Great. She already had me pegged as the weird loner orc.

I rolled up my sleeves, acutely aware of Emryn's eyes on me.

The blue splash across her canvas was still wet, which was good news.

Her painting was an abstract cityscape, all sharp lines and geometric shapes.

With careful hands that seemed too large for the delicate work, I incorporated the blue spill into her original vision.

"You're actually good," she said after watching me work in silence for several minutes. The surprise in her voice stung a little.

"Orcs can be artists too," I muttered, not looking up from my work.

"I didn't mean…" She sighed. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me."

I grunted in response, too focused on not messing up further to form words. My hands were shaking. Being this close to her was intoxicating. She smelled like lavender and turpentine, an oddly appealing combination.

After twenty minutes of careful work, I stepped back. The blue spill had become a nighttime sky reflected in windows, transforming her daytime cityscape into a dusk scene. It wasn't perfect, but it was coherent.

Emryn studied it, her expression unreadable. My heart pounded in my chest. What if she hated it? What if I'd made it worse?

"It's... different," she finally said. "But I think I like it better."

Relief flooded through me. "Really?"

She nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. "You have an interesting perspective. The way you turned the accident into part of the composition instead of trying to erase it."

I rubbed the back of my neck, unsure how to handle the praise. "Just making the best of a bad situation."

"That's what art is sometimes." Her smile grew, revealing a dimple in her right cheek that made my heart skip. "Though next time, maybe just introduce yourself instead of throwing paint at my work?"

I felt my face flush hot. "I didn't mean to—I was just—you're very—" I took a deep breath. "Sorry."

Emryn laughed, the sound light and musical. "I'm teasing you, Nar."

Mrs. Chen, who had been hovering nearby, chose that moment to interrupt. "Emryn, why don't you show Nar your studio sometime? I think you two might have a lot to learn from each other."

My eyes widened. Was Mrs. Chen trying to... set us up?

"I don't think…" I started.

"That's a great idea," Emryn cut in, surprising me. She pulled a business card from her pocket and handed it to me. Our fingers brushed, and a jolt of electricity shot up my arm. "I have a space downtown. Stop by sometime. I'd love to see your work."

I took the card carefully between my huge fingers, afraid I might crush it. "You would?"

"I'm curious what kind of art a warrior orc makes." There was that smile again, with the dimple that made my brain short-circuit.

"It's not very good," I mumbled.

"Let me be the judge of that." She gathered her supplies, tucking a wild curl behind her ear. "I need to head out, but I'm serious about the studio visit. Tomorrow afternoon?"

Tomorrow. She wanted to see me tomorrow. My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to escape.

"I have clan training in the morning," I said truthfully. "But I could come after."

"Perfect. Two o'clock." She slung her bag over her shoulder, then paused. "And Nar? Maybe don't mention this to anyone else from the gallery. I have a reputation to maintain, and being known as the artist who needed an orc to fix her painting isn't exactly what I'm going for."

My heart sank a little. Of course, she wouldn't want to be associated with me publicly. What had I expected?

"Your secret's safe," I promised. "Just like mine."

She tilted her head questioningly.

"My clan doesn't know I paint," I admitted. "They think art is not warrior-like."

Understanding dawned in her eyes. "Ah. So we're both living double lives, then."

"Seems like it."

For a moment, we just looked at each other, a strange connection forming between us. Then she nodded once, that dimple flashing again. "See you tomorrow, Nar Humperdink."

I watched her leave, the business card clutched in my hand like a precious artifact. My heart was still racing, my palms sweaty. I had a date, no, not a date, a studio visit with the most beautiful human I'd ever seen.

And I had absolutely no idea what I was going to wear.