Page 6 of Ella’s Obsessive Orc

Chapter 3

Oren

I storm the main square, ready for this day to end. Every stride lands with enough force to rattle my bones, but I need it—the sharp ache in my thighs, the heat that still boils in my chest from a busy day on the training field.

At this hour, the settlement empties out quickly. Most are headed home for dinner or to the library for the weekly book club.

My mind is plotting the next week’s security drills when I turn a corner, and a blur of motion hits my peripheral. The collision barely registers. It’s like colliding with a bird, except the impact nearly spins her off her feet. She’s pushing a stroller. The contents of said stroller, an infant swaddled in purple, instantly starts wailing.

Time slows, then punches me in the face.

I grab the human by the arm to keep her from face-planting on the pavers. My hand nearly wraps the whole circumference of her upper arm. She looks up, mouth open, eyes wide and absurdly green. Not the icy green of an Orc’s war paint, but the kind that flashes in summer storms and never lets go.

I freeze as my cock turns to stone in my britches. Fuck. That’s unexpected.

For a second, all I see is her heart-shaped face, pale and flushed, framed by a loose halo of copper hair from the impact. Then my gaze betrays me, dropping to where her long t-shirt clings to the generous swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips in those strange human yoga pants that somehow make her curves look even more pronounced. There's an unfamiliar tick in my chest. My own heart has the gall to skip a beat as all the blood in my body heads straight to my cock.

She catches her breath, her lips parting as she holds my stare.

“You should watch where you’re going,” I snarl, but it comes out more guttural than intended. It lands somewhere between a threat and a demand for an apology. I let go of her, hand tingling. The child in the stroller keeps shrieking, and my nerves, already stretched taut, snap like a drawn bowstring.

The human straightens, refusing to flinch. I half-respect that. She’s got backbone, or the world’s worst sense of self-preservation. “Sorry,” she says, voice a little breathless. “I didn’t see you.” She tries to smooth her hair but only makes it stand out more. The baby’s wail climbs into ultrasonic territory.

“Obviously,” I grumble, because my brain has never learned the polite scripts and never will.

She kneels by the stroller and shushes the child, her tone gentle, her hands quick and practiced. The baby’s howl ratchets down, replaced by hiccup sobs—human hiccup sobs. It’s Ainsley, Aric’s new charge. The realization lands like a rock in my gut. I should’ve figured that out immediately since there aren’t many humans pushing babies in strollers around the settlement, but this curvy little human turned my brain to mush the instant we collided.

I’m still standing over them, probably looming like a villain, shoulders squared, and every muscle locked in readiness for a threat that never comes. The human stands up, her eyes narrowing. “I’m Ella.” I ignore her outstretched hand.

“Oren,” I grunt as my nostrils flare, and I’m suddenly aware of the way her scent cuts through the air. It isn’t the heavy perfume that most humans slather on, but soap, lemon, and something earthy beneath.

She draws her hand back and wraps it around her middle. “Aric’s brother?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say, though my tone is less steel and more sandpaper now.

There’s a weird silence, heavy and charged, while I wait for my mind to wake the fuck up.

Ella breaks the stare, glancing down at the baby. “I need to get Ainsley home for her nap.” The infant, now distracted by the sound of her own hiccups, gurgles something that sounds halfway like “Argggg.”

I have no retort for that, so I just grunt, which is the universal sign for “conversation over.” My brain is already marching me away, but my feet don’t get the message. I stand there, locked in place by a force I can’t name, watching her tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

I realize I’m still staring. I force myself to look away, set my sights on the arch at the end of the square, and start moving. The first few steps feel wrong, like leaving the battlefield before the final blow.

I need a drink. And to figure out how one gorgeous human scrambled my goddamn circuits with a single collision.

I manage three steps before I realize I haven’t actually escaped. There’s a gravitational pull behind me.

I make it as far as the shadow of the west arch before I hear the sound of footsteps behind me. Not heavy. Not military.

Motherfucking Kolson. I don’t have to turn around to know. I know his gait and smell.

“Fancy seeing you here, Miss Blume,” Kol says, and I can picture his lips quirking into a charming smile. “I see you met Oren. I hope he didn’t scare you too much.”

I keep walking, but I listen. Old habit. Know your enemy, even if it’s your own kin.

Ella laughs, a sound not unlike rain tapping on glass. “Oh, I survived.” Her smoky voice sends a weird prickle down my spine.

The banter is effortless. I hate that. Kol is already winding her in, putting her at ease, making the whole collision seem like a comical prelude to friendship. Ella shifts her weight, tucks a strand of hair, ready to trade jokes with my goddamn brother.