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

CHAPTER VI

RAYNA

I scrubbed aggressively at the soapy dish, removing the food flecks with the prickly bristles of a washing up brush. Usually, I blasted music out loud whilst washing the dishes. Tonight, I was listening in on Juno and Vultog's conversation like it was a podcast.

"What's an Azi-za?" Juno experimented with the syllables.

"They are–were–a type of fae," Vultog educated her on his made-up world.

"There's more than one type?" My back was turned, but I could tell that her eyes had brightened with inquisitiveness.

Vultog's chest was probably puffed out as he glowed with superiority. "There are many. Yet, I care not for the classifications and politics of the fae. My awareness is only poured into what benefits my king and my race."

I rolled my eyes. Not saying I believed him or anything...but that was a fancy way of admitting he was clueless about fae society.

"Start there, then. What's the relationship between the orcs and fae?" Juno would make an excellent interviewer if she ever delved down that career path.

Another long-winded ramble from Vultog. I zoned out for half of it, rubbing away at the pans, pots and plates. A tide of hot, foamy water brewed in the sink as I cleaned. "As a newly independent race, we orcs needed allies, lest we fall prey to the subjugation of the elves again. Other creatures–the Aziza being amongst them–did not want to intervene and help us in our battle for liberation. Their brethren, the Unseelie came to our aid instead. My king forged an agreement with the Queen of the Unseelie that ensured the dominance of the orcs. In return for access to Unseelie glamour and trickery, my king assisted in the end of the Aziza race..."

"The Unseelie...are a type of fae, right?" Juno connected the dots. "And they teamed up with the orcs to wipe out their own?"

"Yes...the fae do not abide by any code of loyalty to their own kind. The Unseelie in particular are cunning and persistently political beings," Vultog's voice was thick with contempt. "Always plotting..."

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips. I reached below the frothy surface of the water and felt around for the plug.

I was also plotting...how to get him out of my apartment. The contract I'd signed was merely a piece of paper. The only serious ramification of breaking the terms would be losing Juno. So I had to be careful when exploiting any loopholes. My proposal that we send Vultog to rehab hadn't gone down well. However, Plan B was still viable.

As far as I was concerned, Juno wasn't his "True Love", and I wasn't either. Modern day dating was bad enough that there was guaranteed to be a love-starved woman desperate enough to let a handsome, homeless stranger move into her house.

Tuning back into the latest episode of Juno and Vultog, I rinsed the dishes, pans and pots with cold water.

"...my distrust of the Unseelie does not transfer to my king. He is a tremendous leader, who I trust to act in the best interest of the orcs," Vultog was gushing like a fanboy. "You see, Lady Juno, in order to best our enemies, the orcs must align with the most cunning of them all!"

The bloody orcs. He was incapable of shutting up about them

My smirk slipped off my face, mirroring the vanishing bubbles and suds under the streaming tap. Jealousy coursed through me. Vultog knew so much about his history that he was bursting at the seams. In comparison, I was hollow and empty--the most I had to show for my ancestry was a string of inconclusive test results.

And possibly an anklet.

"My king is generous too!" Vultog bumbled. "The golden harp and goose I speak of so highly of were gifts from him..."

By then I was done with the washing up. After slotting the last of the plates into the drying rack, I peeled off my washing gloves and braved myself for another evening of sitting through Vultog's Terraork lectures.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

"You cleaned the crockery." Vultog's accusation cut through the darkness of my bedroom.

"Okay..." I wasn't following. My lack of sleep from the night before was creeping in to claim my consciousness. Lying on my bed, I gazed absently at the cracks webbing the ceiling.

"I can't earn my keep here if you won't let me."

Sighing, I reached over the bedside drawer and fumbled around until I found the lamp. With a flick of the switch, the walls blushed a dubious shade of orange. I sat up and hugged my knees to my chest.

At the end of the bed, Vultog's rumpled head popped up and swivelled toward me. "Since my arrival here...you have done little to make me feel welcome. Household labour is a way for me to prove my worth to you."

I could read the calculation in his pristine blue eyes. Yet, guilt niggled at my conscience. Two things could be true at once: I could recognise that it must've been tough for him to be so disconnected from his version of reality, whilst not believing in his fantasy dream land.

"I don't want you to waste another night's worth of rest watching over me. You should sleep, Lady Rayna," he uttered smoothly.

He was doing that Thing that guys did. Where they misinterpreted my prickliness as a challenge. A game level to unlock. A special prize to be claimed. From their unimaginative points of view, all it would take were fake kind gestures and insincere vows to win me over. Then I'd drop my boundaries, or my underwear. Or I'd cry, and they could comfort me with sex. All so they'd walk away feeling like a hero.

I made no move to lie back down again, or give Vultog the outward reaction be craved from me. "Okay..."

A crooked, provoking grin rounded his cheeks. He looked weird when he smiled--it was more of a grimace. "May you unlock the door? I would like free passage to move to the lavatory during the night."

I had locked myself in my bedroom with him just in case he tried anything. Juno was sleeping in the living room, and could escape via the apartment door.

The bedroom door key was safely under my pillow, next to my trusted kitchen knife. I was taking no chances with Vultog.

"I fool you not, Lady Rayna. I do not want to soil your rug like a–"

"Good night, Vultog." I ended our perplexing exchange. I expected things to get stranger once his withdrawal kicked in.

Turning off the bedside light, I thrust us both back into the dark.

I curled up in a ball and pinched my arm, anticipating that the pain would keep me awake for my Vultog babysitting duties.

It didn't.

When I came to, I was horizontal. My dry, scratchy mouth was open and a thin flow of drool was pooling on my pillow. Crisp daylight drizzled into the room through the parted curtains. A bitter, charred odor assaulted my nostrils and an alarm was pounding at my ear drums.

"Huh?" I groped the oak surface of the drawer for my phone.

Only to discover I hadn't set an alarm.

I clambered out of bed, noting everything at once. The placement of my pillows was off: the bedroom key was missing. Vultog was gone. The door was ajar.

With my knife in tow, I sprinted out into the living room. Only to be met with a wall of billowing smoke.