Page 12 of Ogres Don't Play

I ate, cleaned up my dishes and then hit the shower. The five sprays were basically life-changing. Were ogre showers supposed to be this cushy? And the acoustics when I sang were amazing. I closed my eyes and sang the song, the duet, bits and pieces of it that were impossible to tie together all by myself, but still, it left me in shivers while the water enveloped me and I got kind of lost for a long time. When the water got cold, I blinked and quickly washed my hair while I shivered.

I needed to work through my plans, and usually music helped me think, but not that song.

I shivered as I got out, dripping like a drowned rat all over his nice dyed cement floor. Everything was very manly, industrial, efficient, yet beautiful. And that shower…

I shook my head and dried myself off vigorously on a pale green towel. I wasn’t some star-struck neophyte. I’d taken control of Singsong city’s music guild, and I was doing it well. That wasn’t the job for someone without a spine who was easily distracted by anything, even the most beautiful instruments in the world. I needed to take care of my music hall, whether Master Cutter was around or not. I needed to talk to the reporter about the ridiculous Jubilee, and I needed to make sureeveryone who had invested in my music hall was validated for their faith in me.

Rook the Luthier was in Singsong City. He must not have opened his shop yet, or I would have heard about it. If I had his niece in my hall, no way the Music Guild would shut us down. I just had to get Rook to see me as an essential part of his niece’s musical growth, so he would vouch for me instead of just going along with whoever the Music Guild decided was worthy of the title of Music Master. He’d said that I was remarkable. Surely that was something. It had to be enough, because what else could I do? I couldn’t force him to choose me over someone more experienced and well-versed in traditional teaching methods. Except that he’d kidnapped me, so ethics weren’t really part of this negotiation.

I pulled on a loose black shirt that went down nearly to my knees and a pair of trousers that were far too large for me. He was small for an ogre, but still massive compared to me. I rolled the top of my pants and then washed out my magical clothes, none of which had any sign of bugs, so that was a relief. I hung them up, then headed out to check on Yaga. Also, I needed to see how my harp was coming along. Also, Rook the Luthier who would be helping me with more than a custom harp if I could manage it.

I’d no sooner entered his shop than his gaze snapped to me, his eyes gold and burning, seeming more than slightly irritated with me for interrupting him, but that irritation morphed into something more intense when he saw me in his shirt and pants now with dark spots from my wet hair. I grabbed the top of the pants for something to hold on to. Also, they felt suddenly precarious while my heart beat faster and faster, keeping up a rapid tempo.

“What are you wearing?” His low growl sent another thrill up my spine. His voice was so powerful, now filled with ominousdanger that made me wish I was wearing some full-body armor. The heavy metal kind.

“A shirt. Someone needed to wear one, and since you’ve made your preferences clear, I was taking one for the team. Is that a problem? You mentioned that I could have whatever I needed.”

He vaulted over the counter and in a blur of motion was there. Right in front of me, smelling of varnish and sanded wood. He pressed his palm to the door to the left of my head and glowered down at me. “You’re wearing my shirt. An ogre wouldn’t wear a man’s clothing unless she wished to be undressed.”

What?! My heart stuttered and stopped while his overwhelming domination and manliness made me want to giggle. I wasn’t some female easily distracted by a pretty face, but man! “I’m not an ogre,” I said in a voice that only squeaked slightly at the end. I needed to control my tone like a true music master instead of a mouse.

He cocked his head and studied me, his gaze pausing on my mouth for some inexplicable reason before he smiled slightly and his golden gaze met mine like a lightning strike. “Then you must be for eating.”

And then he pounced. I mean, he didn’t really move, just his head, his mouth, and then my neck was in his teeth, including those delicate tusks.

I gasped and tried to pull away, but only succeeded in smacking my head against the door. The one behind me. The one with a handle. I just needed to turn the handle and escape, except that…

He didn’t rip my throat out. Instead, he triggered these feelings that were similar to how I felt when listening to the angel choirs led by my brother, the male choir that was transportive, sheer bliss, so absolutely divine that they broughtcrowds to tears and sometimes convulsions of rapture. It was like that, only deeply connected to the tissue and muscle of me, ecstasy made flesh. I froze in shock for another beat and then melted in a heap of bones and bliss, held up by his teeth and nothing else. No, there was also a tongue in there. Rough then silken, soft, strong, kneading my neck muscles like he was determined to decapitate me in the least efficient method possible.

I should have objected, should have done something, but my tongue had turned into liquid in my mouth and my arms had lost all sense of autonomy. No, my hands were moving, one to grab onto his strong arm, the other to smooth up the planes of his chest.

And then the pants fell down. His pants, the ones I’d borrowed. He jerked his head back, brows raised as he looked at my face and then down at his pants around my ankles. The shirt was long, huge really. There was nothing technically enticing about my pale scrawny knees, but the way he was looking at my knees, the way his lips curved and his tusks gleamed, I had a rough idea that he was considering devouring the rest of me.

I somehow got the knob to turn and fell back into the kitchen, him catching himself before he tumbled in after me. I definitely bruised myself when I hit the floor, and I wasn’t graceful in my struggle to pull up his pants and scoot across the floor away from him while he studied me with a flicker of amusement in his gold glowing eyes.

“I’m not for eating,” I gasped out, finally getting the pants up around my hips and then kicked the door closed in his face. I scrambled to my feet, trying to not look terrified by the big bad ogre who had made me feel like my soul was on fire in the pleasantest way possible. I was struggling to breathe, to stop the goosebumps from running over my arms and legs, but how doyou stop goosebumps? I was in shock, more from his teeth not being on my neck than that they’d been there in the first place.

Holy harps of heaven! What was I supposed to do with all of this… I shook out my arms and stared at my hands, the ones that had grabbed onto him instead of pushing him away like a sane person. Clearly was not sane. I was used to that, because being obsessed with music was a normal other people didn’t usually understand, but this, this was a new madness that I absolutely had no time for. I had things to do, and yes, Rook the Luthier was firmly set in my plans if I could possibly manage it, but he was not a possible romantic interest any more than any other person in the world could be. If I got married, it would be because of duty to continue the line of angelic blood, not because some ogre, of all things, touched me and set me on fire.

It was so bizarre. He hadn’t even had music playing, and I’d still gone absolutely bonkers. I must still be buzzing from the duet. Yes, that was probably it.

I just needed to take control of music, my greatest strength and my greatest weakness, and put the ogre in his place. Rook. No, the ogre. But I needed Rook the Luthier to help me establish myself with the guild. No, I didn’t need anyone, but it would be so nice… And that’s exactly why I needed to get some distance from this whole situation before I ended up throwing away my career for some moment’s irrational impulse. He was probably feeling idiotic too, caught up in the music just like I’d been. Yes, that was probably what it was. He’d appreciate me bringing professionalism back into this unusual situation. He’d never kidnapped a female before, so this was new for him.

I started pacing the floor, trying to think, trying to plan, until my floral clothes were dry enough that I could carry them back into the tiny bathroom and change into them. I glared at the black shirt in my hand. It had been very comfortable, felt like a second skin, but I needed armor. Floral armor would have to do.

Getting out of his instrument shop was easy enough. If I could escape from my father’s estate once I’d told him I was retiring from the harps and would rather be married, I could certainly escape from a luthier.

I walked into his showroom, ignoring him where he worked even though he stopped when he saw me, his whole posture communicating his attention on me, his willingness to engage in conversation or other incredibly dangerous pursuits. I edged around him, careful not to look directly at him. My neck still tingled in a distracting way, and if he tried to eat me again, I couldn’t trust myself to push him away.

I walked around the counter and then went into the bedroom, not looking at him, not talking, thoroughly clothed in my weird yet respectable florals.

Once there, I went through the unfinished instruments to find one that would serve my purposes. A lute with only half its strings would do.

I played quietly, scales at first, just getting accustomed to the feel of the thing, and then I cut my hand on the nail protruding from the wall and splashed a drop of blood on my strings. They shivered and twisted under my fingers, wanting to come alive as I played, but I didn’t want an instrument to actually strangle the luthier. No, I was going to leave and come back before he noticed that I was gone. An ogre would have a great deal of natural resistance to spells of all kinds, but a musician would have to maintain sensitivity to music. I was going to exploit that.

The spell was simple, a sleep spell that would be impossible to sense until he was nodding off. It took me forty-five minutes of playing before I opened the bedroom door and peered out at the silent scene, the ogre sleeping with his body sprawled across the counter, Yaga roosting in the crook between his neck and shoulder. I clearly wouldn’t be taking the chicken. I’d be back before he knew I was gone. No problem.

I grabbed the wires and went to the door, walking right through it and then stopping once I was on the street to lock up behind me. I wasn’t about to leave Rook the Luthier at the mercy of anyone who happened to walk into his shop. He’d wake up from any serious disturbances, such as his shop being broken into. Honestly, I was lucky that he’d reacted at all to my simple sleep spell. He must be exhausted if such a simple thing worked from a distance.