Page 5 of The Passionate Orc (The Teddy Orcs #1)

N ar

The news hit me like a war hammer to the gut. My secret was out.

"They know about your paintings, Nar," Emryn said, her blue eyes wide with concern as she stood in the doorway of my studio apartment. "The Black Iron Orcs are talking about it all over town."

I dropped my paintbrush, watching as a blob of crimson paint splattered across the wooden floor. My carefully guarded secret spilled out just like that, messy and impossible to contain.

"How?" I growled, my tusks clenching tight against my lower lip.

Emryn stepped inside, closing the door behind her. The morning light caught in her curly brown hair, turning it into a halo around her delicate face. Even in my panic, I couldn't help but notice how beautiful she looked in her paint-splattered overalls.

"Someone from your clan must have talked. They're saying an orc warrior who paints..." she hesitated, wincing slightly, "...isn't a real orc at all."

I slammed my fist against the wall, leaving a small dent in the plaster. "Perfect. Just perfect."

"Is it really that bad?" Emryn approached cautiously, her small hand coming to rest on my massive forearm. The contrast of her soft pale skin against my green roughness never failed to stir something primal in me.

"You don't understand clan politics," I sighed, trying to control my temper. "The Black Iron Orcs have been looking for any excuse to challenge Red Blade's dominance. This is exactly what they wanted, proof that we're going soft."

"There's nothing soft about expressing yourself through art," Emryn argued, her voice fierce despite her small stature. "Some of the greatest warriors in history were also artists."

I smiled down at her, amazed at how she could always see the best in things. In me. "Try telling that to Grommak Skullsplitter, leader of the Black Iron Orcs." I ran a hand through my spiky brown hair. "He once challenged another orc to death combat for using a napkin at dinner."

"That's ridiculous!"

"That's orc culture for you. At least, the parts I've been trying to move beyond."

Emryn squeezed my arm. "So what now? We just let them mock you?"

I looked down into her determined face and felt that familiar heat in my chest. Since meeting this tiny human artist three weeks ago, my world had turned upside down. She made me want to be both more orc and less orc stronger in my convictions, but gentler in my approach.

"No," I decided. "We have that joint art exhibition next week. We're not backing down."

Her smile lit up the room. "That's my orc."

My orc. The possessive made my heart pound. "But we need to be careful. The Black Iron Orcs don't just mock their enemies. They destroy them."

The sabotage shouldn't have surprised me when it started the very next day. We arrived at the gallery space we'd rented for our exhibition to find the locks changed and a notice declaring the building condemned.

"This is their work," I growled, sniffing the paper. "I can smell Grommak's second-in-command, Durzol. Like rotting meat and cheap cologne."

Emryn snatched the notice and examined it. "This is obviously fake. The letterhead isn't even spelled correctly."

"Doesn't matter. The locks are still changed."

She looked up at me with that mischievous spark I adored. "So we break in?"

"We do what now?" I blinked down at her.

"It's our space, Nar. We paid for it. We're just... reclaiming it."

I couldn't help the grin spreading across my face. "You're a bad influence, Emryn Lister."

"You love it," she teased, then immediately blushed at her choice of words.

My heart skipped. We hadn't said that word yet, love, though I'd been feeling it since our second date when she'd defended me against a group of humans making orc jokes at a restaurant.

"I do," I answered, my voice deeper than I intended.

Our eyes locked, and for a moment, I thought about forgetting the exhibition entirely and carrying her back to my apartment. But the sound of approaching footsteps broke the moment.

"Quick," I hissed, pulling her around the corner of the building. "Black Iron patrol."

We pressed ourselves against the wall, my large body shielding her smaller one as two massive orcs in black leather walked past the gallery's front door.

"We need to get in there without them noticing," Emryn whispered against my chest. "Got any ideas?"

That's when I had my first brilliant, or so I thought, idea of the day.

"This is ridiculous," I muttered, trying to adjust the delivery uniform that was at least two sizes too small across my broad shoulders. "They're never going to fall for this."

"Stop fidgeting," Emryn whispered, barely containing her laughter as she adjusted the comically small cap on my head. "You look convincing."

"I look like an orc stuffed into a sausage casing," I grumbled, but couldn't help smiling at her amusement. The things I would do to hear that laugh.

"Just remember, you're delivering art supplies. Don't growl, don't threaten, and try to make your voice higher."

"Higher?" I croaked, attempting to raise my naturally deep voice.

Emryn burst into giggles. "Maybe just stick with as little talking as possible."

She ducked behind the large crate we'd filled with our actual supplies while I pushed it on a dolly toward the back entrance of the gallery. Two Black Iron orcs stood guard, looking bored.

"Delivery," I squeaked, then cleared my throat. "Art stuff. For the, uh, condemned building."

The guards exchanged glances.

"Place is condemned," the larger one grunted.

"Yeah, I know," I improvised. "Boss says, uh, gotta get the expensive stuff out before demolition. Insurance reasons."

They looked doubtful, but I noticed their eyes taking in my straining uniform rather than my face. Thank the ancient ancestors for their lack of attention to detail.

"Fine," the second guard said, moving aside. "Make it quick."

I wheeled the crate in, heart hammering. Once inside the storage room, I quickly opened it so Emryn could climb out, gasping for air.

"Next time," she panted, "we drill air holes."

I couldn't help myself, I pulled her against me, my large hands spanning her waist. "You were amazing."

She looked up, surprise and heat mingling in her gaze. "I just sat in a box."

"You trusted me," I said simply. "That's amazing."

Her fingers traced my jawline, brushing against my tusk in a way that sent shivers down my spine. "We make a good team."

I leaned down, unable to resist any longer, and claimed her mouth with mine. Her lips were soft, yielding, then demanding as her arms wrapped around my neck. I lifted her effortlessly, her small body fitting perfectly against mine as I pressed her against the wall.

"We should—" she gasped between kisses, "—fix the locks. Before they come back."

"Right," I agreed, reluctantly setting her down. "Locks first. Then..."

Her smile was both innocent and wicked. "Then we'll see."

We got the gallery space secured with new locks, but our troubles were just beginning. Someone replaced all our promotional flyers with crude drawings of me, the "orc who thinks he's human," the next morning.

"I don't even own a beret," I muttered as we tore down the offensive posters.

Emryn's face flushed with anger. "This is beyond childish. It's cruel."

"It's clan warfare," I explained. "And I've brought you into it. I'm sorry."

She stopped, hands on her hips. "Don't you dare apologize. I'm exactly where I want to be."

My chest tightened with emotion. "With a too-large orc who's causing you nothing but trouble?"

"With a talented artist who's brave enough to challenge expectations." She stood on tiptoes to kiss my cheek. "Now, what's our next move?"

Our next move was another disguise disaster. I attempted to infiltrate a Black Iron gathering to learn their plans by wearing a delivery uniform again, this time with a fake mustache Emryn had insisted would help conceal my identity.

It did not.

"Humperdink!" Grommak Skullsplitter himself bellowed across the Black Iron's tavern. "What in the blazes are you doing with that dead rodent on your face?"

I froze, fake mustache half-detached and drooping over my mouth. "Uh... new fashion trend?"

The tavern erupted in laughter. I considered fighting my way out—there were only fifteen of them, not impossible odds, but remembered Emryn waiting outside. Starting a clan war wouldn't help our exhibition.

So I did something no proper orc warrior would do: I ran.

I burst out of the tavern, grabbed Emryn's hand, and sprinted down the street with her half-running, half-being carried beside me.

"I take it they weren't fooled?" she gasped as we rounded a corner.

"The mustache was a tactical error," I admitted, yanking off the offending disguise.

To my surprise, she wasn't angry. She was laughing—deep, genuine laughter that made her whole body shake against mine as I held her close in the shadowed alley.

"Your face when you came running out," she wheezed between giggles. "You looked so... so..."

"Dignified?" I suggested.

"Panicked!" she corrected, still laughing. "The great Nar Humperdink, terror of the battlefield, running from a bar with a fake mustache hanging off one tusk!"

It should have offended me. Instead, I laughed too, the tension of the day dissolving in her mirth. I pressed my forehead against hers, my large hands cradling her face.

"You're not like anyone I've ever met, Emryn Lister."

Her laughter softened into something warmer. "Is that good or bad?"

"It's everything," I whispered, before claiming her lips again.

The sabotage escalated over the next few days.

Someone stole our canvases. We painted new ones, working side by side in my apartment, often distracted by each other's proximity.

Someone flooded our venue. We worked through the night mopping, laughing despite our exhaustion.

Someone even released three feral cats into Emryn's studio.

I still have the scratch marks to prove my heroic rescue.

Through it all, something remarkable happened.

Instead of driving us apart, each attack brought us closer.

We worked in perfect sync, anticipating each other's needs, finishing each other's sentences.

When we weren't defending our exhibition, we were creating together, my bold strokes complementing her delicate details.

And at night, when we collapsed exhausted into my bed, I held her petite body against me, marveling at how perfectly she fit.

The night before our exhibition, we faced our biggest challenge yet. We arrived at the gallery for final preparations to find Grommak himself waiting with five of his largest warriors.

"Well, well," he sneered, his tusks gleaming in the streetlight. "The painter and his little human muse."

I stepped in front of Emryn protectively, but she moved to stand beside me instead.

"Do you have a problem with art, or are you just intimidated by talent?" she asked, her voice steady despite being dwarfed by the massive orcs.

Grommak looked surprised, then laughed. "She's got spirit, Humperdink. I'll give you that."

"What do you want, Grommak?" I demanded.

"To see what all the fuss is about." He gestured to the gallery. "Show me these paintings that have made a Red Blade warrior forget his heritage."

I hesitated, looking down at Emryn. She nodded slightly.

"Fine," I said, unlocking the door. "But touch nothing."

The Black Iron orcs filed in, looking comically out of place among the elegant displays. I watched nervously as Grommak stalked from painting to painting, his face unreadable.

Finally, he stopped before my largest canvas, a battle scene showing orcs and humans fighting side by side against ancient enemies, rendered in bold strokes and vibrant colors.

"You did this?" he asked, his voice oddly quiet.

"I did."

He studied it longer, then turned to me. "My grandfather died in this battle. The Battle of Crimson Fields. You've captured it exactly as the stories describe."

I hadn't expected that. "Your grandfather fought alongside humans?"

"Many did, in those days." He looked at me differently now. "We've lost those alliances over time."

Emryn stepped forward. "Maybe it's time to rebuild them."

The tension in the room shifted. Not gone, but changed.

Grommak snorted. "Don't push your luck, human." But there was less malice in his voice. He turned to leave, his warriors following. At the door, he paused. "The exhibition can proceed. We won't interfere."

After they left, Emryn turned to me with wide eyes. "Did we just win?"

I pulled her into my arms, lifting her off her feet in celebration. "We more than won. We changed minds."

She wrapped her arms around my neck with her face glowing with pride. "Your art did that, Nar. You did that."

"We did it together," I corrected, spinning her around until she laughed. "Everything is better when we're together."

As I set her down, keeping her close in the circle of my arms, I realized something profound. In trying to sabotage us, the Black Iron Orcs had actually forged something unbreakable between us with a partnership stronger than clan rivalries or cultural differences.

"Emryn," I said softly, tucking a curl behind her ear. "I think I'm falling in love with you."

Her smile was brighter than any sunrise I'd ever seen. "Took you long enough to admit it," she whispered, rising on tiptoes to meet my lips. "I've been waiting to say it back."