True Love's Kiss (A Slow Burn, Orc Romance)

CHAPTER VII

RAYNA

"Juno?!" I tried to look for her, but the grey fumes made my crusty eyes sting and water. A rattling cough zigzagged through my chest.

" 'm alright," a rasp came from the dining table. Juno was standing on top of it, waving a mouth-shaped cushion under the fire alarm fixed to the ceiling, so its sensor couldn't detect any more smoke. All the living room windows were open, giving the exhaust multiple escape routes.

Something clanged against the cheap laminate flooring in the kitchen, followed by an aggravated yap.

Swatting at the smoky air in front of me, I inched over to the site of tragedy: Vultog by the open oven. Not far from the compartment of heat, a cooking tray had been upended and food burnt into black chunks of obscurity littered the ground.

After slamming the oven shut and turning the knob to the off-setting, I guided the clueless man over to the sink. Gently, I took hold of his hands and positioned them under the facet. Cold water flowed over his skin, granting the rosy, singed patches relief. Stress diffused from Vultog's shoulders which were unclothed–surprise, surprise he was shirtless.

I snatched my touch away, like I was the one who'd almost been burned gravely. "What's going on here?!"

"I was attempting to make a morning meal for yourself and Lady Juno!" Halfway through Vultog's loud explanation, the alarm stopped wailing.

Turning my head away from him, I cleared my throat.

"Aw, that's proper sweet of you, Vultog," Juno cooed. She jumped off of the table and landed on her feet.

"Lady Rayna I–" I picked up a dustpan and brush, and shoved it against Vultog's bare chest. He took the cleaning equipment from me, and I pretended to be unbothered by his half-dressed state.

"I'll show you what to do, lemme take a shower first," I said reluctantly. "That mess on the floor better be gone by the time I get back."

"Thank you...Lady Rayna."

I practically hopscotched out of the kitchen to avoid treading on the burnt food. "I'm twenty six years old, not some decrepit matron. It's Rayna. Just Rayna."

Juno's carefree giggle was the last thing I heard before flinging the bathroom door shut.

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My pessimism about Vultog's chances of being a slow learner was proven right.

"More gently this time." The kitchen counter was painted with a new coat consisting of raw egg yolks and whites. If I ground my teeth any more, my molars would turn into enamel dust.

Vultog tapped a new egg against the edge of a bowl. A crack emerged in the shell, filling me with an embarrassingly basic hope.

"Okay... Hold the egg over the bowl and gently pull the shell open–gently!"

"No need to shout, I heard you the first time," he muttered whilst following my instructions.

Our heads were bent together to observe his steady fingers parting the ovular shell. A yellow yolk and transparent albumen sloshed into the bowl, joining the egg parts I'd removed during my demonstration.

"Good! Now we're getting somewhere. Finally." An involuntary smile twanged at the corners of my lips. I looked up at him. He cocked an eyebrow at my overt enthusiasm and his azure irises gleamed smugly, prompting me to replace my sincerity with a frown.

"You know what salt and pepper are, right? Or do I need to hold your hands through that as well?"

Like the caveman that he was, Vultog grunted.

Jumping at the opportunity to put distance between us, I backed away so he could pull out the cutlery drawer and retrieve a fork. Without guidance, Vultog whisked the raw eggs and seasoned the runny mixture.

"Alright, that's enough!" I lightly slapped his hand to stop him emptying the entire pepper shaker into the bowl.

"If you desire my touch. All you need to do is ask," he leered.

"Don't hold your breath," I dismissed him with ease. During my shower, he'd put a shirt on. The white cotton material of his Henley shirt hugged his physique and he looked so pathetically, stereotypically handsome that it was off-putting. Back when I could actually muster up an iota of attraction toward men, I'd been more drawn to the guys who were rough around the edges.

Subsequently, I taught Vultog how to master the cooking hob. He poured the egg mixture into a preheated frying pan.

Handing him a silicone spatula, I dictated, "Stir the eggs when they start to solidify."

The timer on my phone went off. I extracted the device from my pocket and culled the irritating beeps. "The sausages are done. Take them out of the oven."

Ordering him around wasn't so bad. The task was cathartic, in a way.

Abandoning the cooking eggs, Vultog crouched down to inspect the knobs lining the gas cooker. I tutted in disapproval. Clearly, he'd already forgotten how to control the oven.

"Keep an eye on the eggs, yeah?" I directed. "They're starting to stick to the pan..."

Vultog was growing agitated and I enjoyed making him squirm. "I cannot do two things at once, Rayna!"

"Learn to multitask."

To prevent a repeat of the fire alarm incident, I wrangled the spatula out of his grip and attended to the eggs, while he took care of the sausages.

Eventually, when everything was ready to eat, myself, Vultog and Juno sat down around the dining table for breakfast.

"Mhm-mm-mm." Juno's fork zapped between me and Vultog like a magic wand, binding us together. "This ain't too bad, yous make an alright team."

Opting for silence, I sipped primly at my glass of orange juice.

Vultog smirked.

Setting my drink down, I pointed at the messy kitchen, "Make sure you clean all of that up, Master Chef."

The cooking area was now a culinary war zone. The granite counter tops bled with the results of Vultog's numerous failed attempts at egg cracking. Shell fragments were sprinkled all over the floor. Dirty bowls were stacked in the sink. As if on cue, a scrunched up ball of foil fell out of the bin.

To my satisfaction, Vultog's self-approving arrogance drained away.

"What's wrong, Vultog?" I asked in a voice laced with sweet venom. "I thought you wanted to be a house slave?"