Games with the orc, p.1
Games with the Orc, page 1
Games with the Orc
MONSTER SMASH AGENCY
BOOK ONE
KATHRYN MOON
Copyright @ 2022 Kathryn Moon
Games with the Orc, Monster Smash Agency Book One
First publication: Dec 27th 2022
Cover art by Sophie Zukerman
Editing by Bookish Dreams Editing and Jess Whetsel
Formatting by Kathryn Moon
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Kathryn Moon
ohkathrynmoon@gmail.com
Kathrynmoon.com
Created with Vellum
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.
Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in, or encourage, the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
To my Patreon babes,
who joined me in this new adventure!
Contents
Content Information
1. Sunny
2. Sunny
3. Khell'ar
4. Sunny
5. Khell'ar
6. Sunny
7. Khell'ar
8. Sunny
9. Sunny
10. Khell'ar
11. Sunny
12. Sunny
13. Khell'ar
14. Sunny
15. Khell'ar
16. Sunny
17. Khell'ar
18. Sunny
19. Khell’ar
20. Sunny
21. Khell'ar
22. Sunny
23. Khell'ar
24. Sunny
25. Sunny
Epilogue
Afterword
Also by Kathryn Moon
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Content Information
This story was originally shared with chapter by chapter updates in rough draft form on my Patreon in starting in December of 2021.
Warnings and information include:
Dominant and submissive role-playing, sex-work, primal play etc. Overall a great deal of consensual kink and smut. Oodles of after care. Please check out my website kathrynmoon.com for a comprehensive list!
CHAPTER 1
Sunny
This wasn't how I wanted to do this, I thought, staring down into the upturned face of my boyfriend of three years. He knelt on the pretty tile of the upscale restaurant he'd chosen for our date night, the busy room's attention slowly drifting in our direction. I'd been surprised by Harry's suggestion for dinner out. In the three years of our relationship, Harry was rarely the one who wanted to try a new restaurant or activity in our casually arranged routine.
Now, it made sense.
Harry's breaths came quick and nervous, eyes filling up."Sonya, I know you said we should wait, but we're ready. You make me feel like the man I want to become."
That doesn't make any sense, a snarky little voice chimed in my head as my gaze flicked over Harry's head, skirting away from the stares of the diners on us.
Why did people always want to be loved for who they could be? Didn't it make more sense to be loved for who you already were? Was that just a juvenile fantasy I'd been clinging to? Harry loved me for who he thought I was, and while that woman wasn't a lie—productive, cheerful, mild, and agreeable—she wasn't the complete picture, either.
Shit. A bright and glittering tear rolled down from Harry's eye, and a young harpy one table over cooed in response, her feathers rustling.
"Marry me," Harry said, and I tried not to flinch. It sounded more like an order than a request, but maybe that was because it was the third time he'd repeated the phrase.
All around us, the restaurant held its breath, the moment seemingly suspended as Harry and the rest of the room waited for my answer. Except time hadn't stopped.
I had to speak.
It was on the tip of my tongue to just say yes. Everyone was staring. Harry was crying. Yes would be easier. Yes would be nice, cheerful, agreeable.
But yes would be months, years, a lifetime of routine, of continuing to hide the parts of myself that made Harry's eyebrows raise, of coasting on the little concessions he made. In Harry's book, "adventures" included driving somewhere without the GPS, trying a new spice profile on the chicken breast, and watching a television series without him reading comprehensive reviews aloud to me beforehand. Those were the things Harry found daring. Those would be the boundaries I would push gently against for the rest of my life if I said yes.
I wondered what Harry would think of the ideas, the fantasies, that kept me awake at his side while he snored softly next to me—those secrets that helped me finish the job he rarely completed during sex.
I should've told him. Then maybe it wouldn't have come to this.
I opened my lips, not sure what answer would fall out, when I realized that my silence—far too long in the face of his eager proposal—had already answered for me. The hope that had glowed in Harry's pretty blue eyes had vanished, and now he was wearing that soft bruised expression I met sometimes when my mood wore thin and I snapped at him.
"I'm sorry," I whispered as Harry's bottom lip began to tremble.
The words were barely audible, but the restaurant had grown silent. All at once, with my not-quite answer, the restaurant sprang back into life. A slender, scaled waitress gave up her disguise as a statue and rushed back into action, delivering plates of food to a table of human diners. The accidental audience around us now displayed a new and polite determination to ignore the rest of our scene.
"But...it's been three years," Harry said, still kneeling, now frowning.
"Please, please sit," I answered, reaching down to tug at his elbows, careful to avoid his outstretched hands still holding the ring box.
"Do you...not believe in marriage?"
"It's not that, it's—"
"Me? It's me," Harry said, voice growing a little too loud.
He deserves to be angry, I reminded myself. I should've done this earlier. I should've broken up with my comfortable but not satisfying boyfriend of three years... I wasn't sure when.
No, I was. It was as soon as he'd started talking about marriage a few months ago and it had filled me with a clammy, nervous dread. I'd known I was bored for too long, yes, but I hadn't realized I was actually afraid of a future with Harry until that first coy mention.
"It's me too, Harry," I said softly, eyes blinking away the sting that rose. I was the one doing the damage, which meant I was not the one who deserved to cry. "It's us. I'm sorry."
Harry finally rose from the floor, but he didn't take his seat at the table. Gazes were flicking back and forth between us more rapidly again, a new curiosity heightening the tension in the room. Would Harry explode? Would we fight?
Sadly, I already knew the answer to that question. Was it perverse of me to wish my unfailingly sweet boyfriend had more of a temper?
"Do you… Is that going to change?" Harry asked, his brow tangling and an elegant hand going up to push his golden and carefully coiffed hair back from his face. He didn't wait for my answer. "Do you even want to be with me?"
Sometimes, yes. What kind of person would I be if I'd dated someone for three years and had been waiting to leave the whole time? No, Harry was sweet. He was considerate. He was a good—if not varied—cook, and he'd always treated me as his equal. He gave me back rubs when I had cramps, without being prompted, and took time to get to know my tastes in music and books. I did love Harry.
I just didn't want to spend the rest of my life loving Harry.
"It's not a yes or no," I said.
Harry's eyes widened, and I took in a deep breath.
"Not always. Not forever," I admitted softly.
It was almost true. A part of me hadn't been ready to give up the ease of my life with Harry. It wasn't fair to him, especially not now. No matter what discomfort came next for me, I knew I was the villain of the story in this moment.
Harry's golden skin turned pale and ashy, and his eyes lifted to the full room around us for the first time since he'd taken that horrifying bend to his knee minutes ago. Suddenly aware of our audience, Harry sank into his seat.
No, Harry wouldn't make a scene. His temper wouldn't flare.
"You said..." Harry blinked at me.
I'd said we weren't ready. "I should've said more. Sooner. I just… I didn't know if I was sure." I bit my lip immediately. No excuses.
"Sonya, you're never sure!" Harry spat in a whisper.
I flinched back, gaping at him. "What?"
"You hate making decisions, you always leave things up to me! I thought… I assumed—" Harry paled again after the outburst and shook his head.
Was that true? No, I made decisions all the time! I ran my own social media brand and independent business, offered advice to others, directed my own career
Harry's eyes narrowed on me. He knew me well enough, even with all I'd kept from him, to read my expression.
"Well? What do you want to do now?" he asked.
And there it was, on the tip of my tongue. I don't know. What do you want to do?
Huh. Was he right? Did I shy away from big decisions? A year into dating, he'd asked if I wanted him to move in and I'd…left the decision up to him.
"I'm going home and I'm packing a bag," Harry snapped.
My shoulders sagged with relief. Okay, so maybe Harry was right.
"You're paying for dinner. And calling a ride. Give me… Just give me an hour to get my things without you there. Enough for a few days. I'll move out as soon as I'm able," Harry said.
I shrank slightly in my seat, aware I deserved this anger and just slightly disappointed I'd never seen this authority in Harry before now. Still, I wasn't completely fickle, and his rightful command over the events of our unraveling breakup wasn't enough to change my mind.
We were over.
You're free, a little whisper in my head hinted shyly.
Harry rose from his seat, staring down at me a moment longer, a brief flicker of sorrowful hope on his face. I ducked my chin, heard the huff of his breath, and watched his feet march away from the table.
Free to do what?
Across from me, Harry's plate was half-eaten, and I noticed a shaggy yeti eyeing the steak with faint interest. A smile quirked my lips, and then a tear coursed down the side of my cheek, curling into that smile and bringing the taste of salt to my tongue.
There was a meal in front of me too, a duck confit Harry had remarked on with surprise, but I'd entirely lost my appetite. I didn't want to eat, didn't want to remain here staring at Harry's empty seat like nothing had happened.
A shadow appeared at my side. Oh, an actual shadow. I blinked up at the murky face of the wraith waiter and wondered if I imagined a twist of sympathy in their smoky expression.
"Would you…like boxes?"
Boxes of the last meal, moldering in my fridge, reminding me of this mess I'd gotten myself into every time I opened the door?
"No, thank you," I said, my voice sounding somewhat shredded, thin and tight. "Just the check."
The wraith floated away, and I sighed. Maybe I would walk home. It was a long walk, through at least four Chicago neighborhoods, and I was wearing an unfortunately high pair of heels, but it would give Harry time to grab whatever he needed.
You're not even going to fight to keep him?
No. I wasn't.
I'd spent almost three years trimming little pieces of myself away to fit into a life with Harry. Not because he'd asked me to, but because I was scared of what I secretly wanted. Because what Harry offered was safer, simpler. I told myself that I was cultivating a life that made sense for me.
Without Harry, I would have no excuse not to let those dangerous parts of me grow. Already, my skin tingled, as if new sprouts would suddenly burst forth right here in the trendy restaurant, thorny vines newly vengeful for their years of being stifled. I wanted them to cut through the shell of me, yet I was terrified at the idea of discovering what really grew beneath.
I would learn soon enough.
"Do you think your subscribers will even notice he's gone?" Natalie asked, watching me hold up a piece of art to the wall in front of me, examining it against the rest of my collection. She had her son, Emmett, on her hip as she bobbed in place, rocking back and forth in the steady movement of motherhood while Emmett cooed and yanked on a stray braid of black hair.
"Umm…" It was true, I hadn't made much use of Harry in my social media. Harry hadn't seemed interested in being a part of my "brand." In fact, he'd been more confused about my work than anything.
Why an illustrator and an interior decorator influencer? he'd asked.
"I don't think I'm going to make a thing out of it," I admitted with a shrug, pulling down the art I'd been considering and staring at the new blank space on the wall—the spot where a portrait I'd drawn of Harry reading had been placed. There were little pockmarks all over my small carriage house now. The places I'd made room for Harry's interests, now subtracted. He'd been texting me instructions of what to pack up for him for almost two weeks since our disastrous dinner.
"Is he taking the portrait?" Natalie asked.
I sighed and turned to face her and the table where a few unhung prints of mine were resting. "I have no idea. He's… He went to stay with Jimmy and Kenley. He texted to tell me he found a place. He wants a week to be able to move out."
"What do you mean?" Natalie asked, frowning, her warm brown eyes zeroing in on me.
I flicked my gaze up and darted it away just as quickly. "A week without me here."
Technically, Harry had asked for "at least three days, no more than a week." Considering the situation, I thought being generous and offering as much time as he wanted was only fair.
"No way," Natalie scoffed, pulling her hair free from Emmett's grip with a wince. "What if he trashes this place? Or takes stuff that doesn't really belong to him?"
"It's Harry," I reasoned with a shrug.
Natalie snorted. "True."
Harry was mild. Responsible. Fair.
"You don't deserve to have your place trashed just because you broke up with a nice guy," Natalie said, voice lowering.
"What?" I gasped, staring at her.
Her lips quirked. Emmett was falling asleep in her arms now, her steady, repetitive motion slowing down.
"I know you, Sunny. I know why you stayed with Harry for so long. Maybe I don't know why you felt like it wasn't the right relationship for you," she said, one eyebrow raising, an invitation for me to fess up. I pressed my lips firmly together, and she continued. "And I know you feel guilty for finally being put in a position where you had to be the one who broke things off. But just because you hurt Harry, doesn't make you a bad person," Natalie whispered.
Natalie did know me. We'd been friends growing up in the suburbs together, friends through college, friends here in the city, constantly marveling that we were now adults living somewhat adjusted versions of our childhood dreams. I'd only really been able to make a living through my art after my PicsApp account grew popular with my daily decoration and documentation of this carriage house. Natalie wasn't the famous fashion designer she'd predicted, but she was a stylist for the young wives of the financial district. We'd grown into our new dreams together.
And maybe a little part of me had found Harry comfortable because Natalie had just married her husband Theo—a friendly werewolf who burnt off his pre-full moon energy at the same gym as Natalie. Natalie had taken the next adult step, and I hadn't wanted to be left behind.
"I just felt like…I wasn't totally myself with Harry," I admitted.
"Harry was boring," Natalie reasoned without batting an eyelash. "Nice-boring. Like what other people think normal is."
"I'm not normal?" I asked, voice squeaking slightly.
Natalie huffed a soft laugh. "You're lots of things. You're the girl who screamed at those gargoyles for me when we were ten. You're a twee and charming social media influencer. And you're the woman whose imagination sometimes produces images that I can't even begin to understand where they came from."
She nodded her head over at one of the frames on the wall, an illustration of a strange tangle of figures and weeds and teeth and chains. It was one of my favorite things I'd ever drawn. Harry had 'genuinely disliked' it, as strong a term for hate as he would use. He'd found it disturbing and confusing, and I’d caught him studying it occasionally with a twist of disgust on his usually placid features.
