It’s the party of the year, you’re dressed like a fairy, and
drinks are flowing. The Halloween costume contestants went over the top this
year, and you're not so sure that a few monsters at this shindig aren’t the
real deal… or maybe it’s your third margarita starting to kick in.
Here’s a top ten checklist to determine if you might be dancing with an orc.
1. The
green heartthrob growled three times since you hit the dance floor because
someone got a little too close. Growled. This beast latterly growled!
2. They
called you little human, and your brain short-circuits how sexy that
sounded. No human could pull that tone off.
3. Six
foot six of pure brawn that smells delightfully like a mix of the forest pine
and aged whiskey.
4. The
dance becomes more like a ritual than a slow dance, and when the others start
chanting. Suddenly, you think you might be in trouble. Did you just enter into
some sort of tribal marriage?
5. Their
tusks definitely look fake until one drags slowly just under your earlobe,
making your toes curl.
6. You
jokingly ask if they’re always this intense, and they answer, “Only when
guarding what’s mine.”
7. They
keep referring to your friend group as your clan.
8. You
made a joke about them being all muscle, and now they want to prove their
strength by lifting you over their head.
9. You
catch the bartender nervously making some kind of protective hand gesture every
time the orc spins you his way.
10. When the
dance is over, and he guides you to the buffet, he rips the turkey leg off with
one hand and gives it to you with a toothy grin that says you're now their
mate.
Yep… You were dancing with an orc.
Honestly? At that point, just accept your fate. You’ve been
claimed by an orc.
***
Want to dive deeper into some spicy orc romance, so you’re
prepared for your next orc encounter? Running with the Orc is available
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Running with the Orc: Excerpt 1
The club was packed, the drinks were flowing, and Daisy LaRue was about to go on stage for another night of comedy burlesque when…
“You have to see who’s here. I can’t believe it. He came. He never comes into the camp unless someone trips the alarm leading to the portal.”
I watched the woman from my world, Claudette, curiously. “Who?”
She didn’t respond, but quickly pushed me to the edge of the stage to look out through the curtain. When I caught a glimpse of what was sitting in VIP, the gasp that came from my lips rattled me, and I quickly slammed the curtain shut. With a heavy breath, I pinned myself to the nearby wall and hoped like hell he didn’t see me. My heart was racing, and I couldn’t believe he was here. I hoped I would never have to lay eyes on that man again—that stupid, green-skinned, gorgeous man.
“Bramwell Gronk,” I breathed, barely able to contain the sudden fear that fell over me.
“The leading commander of the orc army,” she noted with a little too much cheery swoon for my liking. “His warlord horde was the group who brought you back here… twice… no, three times… Wasn’t it? The warlords typically don’t—”
“Show up unless hunting us when we try to escape to reach the passage. Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”
Damn her for stating the obvious. The last time we met, he swore he’d kill me if he ever saw my face again. His words were I’ll take care of you. Yeah, I’m sure he would, in a dark, primal ritual where he’d rip my heart from my chest as his men bellowed war chants to the rhythm of my still beating thumper, right before he took a big bite to claim his barbarian hierarchy.
That gnarly scar on his face from forehead to jawline is the reason I landed in an oubliette for two weeks… Or was it a month?
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