Page 20 of When the Merchant Met the Orc

“This cinnamon has a much more layered flavor than most,” I say.

Halvard extends a hand and nods toward my stack of purchases. “How so?”

I give them to him, and he tucks them into the loosely woven bag he brought for that purpose. We continue through the market, eyes peeled for purple turmeric.

“It’s a little hotter on the tongue,” I explain, “and there’s a hint of something akin to cocoa you taste on the backend.”

A group of fairies flits past, and Halvard is forced to stand up against me to make room. His copper eyes gleam down at me, and they hold a question. I take a breath, and my chest brushes against his body, my nipples peaking. Blessed Stones, he smells wonderful. So male. I shake my head to clear it. Why am I like this with him? I’ve never been so lusty over anyone.

As soon as the fairies are out of the way, I slip past him and the table of pistachios at my right to escape the spell he seems to have cast on me.

Even though there isn’t any magic around here at this moment, the morning feels like it’s draped in spellwork. Fromthe heat of Halvard beside me to the delightfully dizzying array of scents and sights, I could be dreaming.

Halvard points beyond the shelled nuts area to a round table under a blue and green tent. “I see it!”

Sure enough, there is a burlap sack of purple turmeric right there between some pink salt, three types of citrus fruit in varying shades of yellow, and a stack of books.

“Huzzah!” I hook my arm in Halvard’s and rush toward the tent.

Once we are standing in front of the large set of tables and one cart, Halvard shifts his arm, and my hand is pinned between his forearm and his mighty bicep. Heat floods my body, and I pull back. Halvard’s gaze gives nothing away; he simply grins and leans forward to smell the purple spice. Here, the market curves toward an archway and a corridor, so the space is tight between this seller’s setup and the one across the way. Halvard and I stand hip to hip because there’s little room to move. Well, not really hip to hip because he is so much larger than me. More like his hip to my arm.

“Hmmm.” His body vibrates at the small spot where our bodies touch, and the heat I felt earlier returns in full force. My skin feels like I have lightning in my blood. “That smells wonderful,” he says about the purple turmeric.

Forcing my thoughts away from the way Halvard’s warmth feels against me, I bend down to give it a whiff as well. “It’s like wishberries had a baby with turmeric. I love it.”

The merchant—a tall vampire with long, tousled black hair and a pirate’s smirk—finishes a purchase with another customer and then gives me a grin. “It’s rare. And you have to keep the damp away from it or it loses its flavor.” His voice is quiet, but strong and deep. He looks like perhaps he takes life a little too seriously, although that’s the pot calling the kettle black, as they say.

“I assume it’s ridiculously expensive,” I say, hand on my hip, ready to barter.

“You assume correctly,” the vampire says.

The vampire spits out a number that would clean out the rest of my purse. I counter. He does as well. After a flurry of more numbers, varying amounts of the spice offered, and future delivery deals worked into the potential prices, we come to an agreement.

The vampire purses his lips and then gives us a lopsided grin that shows off a fang. “Would you possibly also want a copy of my thriller novel? It would be another three silvers.” He grabs the book at the top of the stack by the salt. The title readsInto the Dark Waves.

I look at Halvard, and he shrugs.

“I’d read it,” Halvard says.

“What’s it about?” I ask.

The vampire holds out the book so we can study the cover, which features a sea of black waves and a shimmering moon. “A human female finds seawater footprints in her home every morning when she wakes up, and she searches for who or what might be invading her life.”

“Oooo. That does sound good,” I say. I’m usually more into non-fiction and research books, but I like a good story as much as the next person.

“That’s exactly the kind of mystery book I like,” Halvard says, taking the book and flipping through the pages. “I’ll take one.” He looks at me. “We can take turns reading it and talk about it after we’re through.”

“Finally, two folks with good taste,” the vampire says. “It’s a Nocturne miracle.”

“Sales not great?” Halvard asks as he tucks the book into his bag.

The vampire raises a black eyebrow. “Abysmal.”

Halvard nods. “Business isn’t for the faint-hearted. Eh, if I like the book, I’ll be sure to tell the folks at the pub where I work in Leafshire Cove. Maybe you can visit and do a reading at our pub.”

The vampire grins, sets a pale hand on his chest, and bows slightly. “Many thanks, friend. Now, I must know your names. I’m Archer Darkheart, and no, I didn’t make that up for my authoring side hustle. My father was something of an eccentric, and this apple didn’t fall far from the tree.”

“I love the name,” I say.