The Orc Wife Read online

  The Orc Wife

  A Ladies and Monsters Romance

  S.J.Sanders

  ©2019 by Samantha Sanders

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without explicit permission granted in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction intended for adult audiences only.

  Editor: LY Publishing

  Cover Art: S.J. Sanders

  Chapter 1

  Sammi

  I blew on my cup of coffee, frowning as I watched the snow fall outside. The weekend was a bust. I can’t believe I let myself get talked into this shit. What should have been a romantic weekend in a secluded cabin in the mountains had turned into anything but. Travis had called and canceled last minute, said there was an emergency, but he hadn’t been able to completely block out the female giggling in the background. So I’d told him in no uncertain terms to go fuck himself.

  He hadn’t even cared. He’d just laughed, and I knew exactly why. He’s confident that all he’ll have to do is snap his fingers and I’ll come crawling back to him. Let’s face it: I’m five-foot-two, thirty years old, and even though I have a trim figure, I still have thick thighs and a big ass. My large breasts are the only decent compensation, and they give me that old-world hourglass figure that went out of fashion with the Victorian era.

  But I like my boobs. A good set of boobs could make guys do stupid things. Dressing them up with cute lingerie makes me happy. Knowing Travis like I do, I’m pretty sure whatever girl he’s with this weekend is also generous of bosom, but probably a decade younger.

  Cursing my bad luck, I’d tried to storm out and leave the shithole cabin and go back home. This stupid getaway hadn’t even been my idea! Whoever thought a cabin in the snowy woods was romantic needed their head examined. I didn’t get more than a mile down the mountain before I had to turn around and battle my way back to the cabin. must have been crazy to agree to a cabin retreat in January of all months! No one in their right mind went into the wilderness in the middle of winter in Alaska when they couldn’t even pitch a tent or ski. The cabin belonged to his buddy, and Travis insisted. I was stupid enough to go along with it.

  Despite growing up in Alaska, I’m not skilled with survival… stuff. I grew up in Anchorage, the biggest city in the state. Unlike some kids who learned to ski, snowboard, and other winter sports, I spent mine playing Nintendo, watching cable, reading, and doing a little hiking in the summer. My hobbies never included running around on the ice and snow. I’ve never even been on a pair of skis or gone fishing in the dead of winter.

  Why? Because I absolutely hate the cold more than anything in the world. Ice and snow are not romantic.

  Travis had insisted it would be cozy and intimate, hidden away where the rest of the world couldn’t reach us. It had been enough to convince me, imagining scenic snowy views as we fed each other chocolates by the fire. Instead, I’m sitting on the couch, by myself, cramming chocolates into my mouth. Because of that philandering jackass, I’m stuck for gods know how long in the middle of nowhere. Worse, I’m hidden away where the rest of the world can’t reach me! I’m completely stuck in my private hell with two days’ worth of provisions.

  I am so going to murder Travis when I get back.

  I can’t even enjoy how pristine the flakes look falling outside the window—the only thing about winter I’ve ever enjoyed. Every snowflake is a horrific reminder that I can potentially starve to death before the road down the mountain is clear enough to drive down. I won’t get the opportunity to murder that creep if that happens.

  Priorities. Stay alive, murder Travis. In that order.

  The second day passes much the same as day one. I spend it nibbling on expensive cheeses and meats and dine on some excellent steak for dinner. I polish off my meal with half a bottle of fancy champagne that Travis likes, the name of which I can’t even pronounce, before passing out.

  On day three, I’m finishing the last of the food just before the power goes out. It takes me an hour to figure out how to start a fire in the hearth with my meager supply of wood.

  On day four, I have no food and little firewood. I let loose a string of foul words and glare at the flurries as I pull on my heavy coat. I have no choice now. I can survive a few days without food—I have plenty of stored fat deposits to help me out—but I need to find more firewood. Even with the heavy blankets that I’d brought up to the cabin, I won’t last long without it.

  Muttering every foul word I know, and inventing a few on top of that, I strain until the door slowly pulls open—and reveals a crap ton of snow piled up. I dig my way out through the thick snow, my strawberry blonde curls long since flattened against my head and damp strands in the process of gluing themselves to my skin as they cling to my face while I work.

  When I finally manage to scramble up through the snow far enough to give me an unfettered view of my surroundings, I can’t help the groan of dismay. The closest trees are some distance away in a small valley in the opposite direction of the road. There will be no miraculous chance of being discovered or even having some reliably packed snow to walk upon. But I need that damn wood.

  Huddling deeper into my parka, I stumble through the heavy drifts of snow, my feet sinking, sometimes as deep as my hip. The air is painfully icy every time I draw it into my lungs, intensified by the panting breaths as I feel more and more exhausted. I snarl every time my foot gets caught and bite off a loud screech of anger when my foot twists hard enough to make me stumble and fall face down in the new powder.

  Choking miserably, I claw it from my face as quickly as I can. I know enough to know that lowering your body temperature is never a good idea. I need to keep warm as I walk.

  I walk for what feels like at least two hours, maybe three. My fingers and toes are beginning to tingle and burn from the cold and I begin to worry that they will soon go numb. Every step feels increasingly labored. After the third time, my knees buckle and I fall. I swear to any of the gods who are listening that I will get a gym membership soon as I get back home. If only they’ll be merciful and get me to the trees.

  When I finally break the tree-line, I breathe a sigh of relief and thanks. My eager hands grab up every limb that comes within sight. A few take a bit more work as they are partially buried, but the wood rapidly builds up within my arms. Once I determine that I have enough wood to last me a few days, I turn to retrace my path back toward the cabin… and freeze. The falling snow muddled the landscape, and I can no longer tell, except for my most recent tracks, where I’d passed through the snow.

  The horror of the situation quickly descends on me. I’m terribly lost. Fuck! I turn and stride quickly to what may be the edge of the forest that I’d entered through. I barely take note of the strange shadow on the snow before my foot steps into it.

  The snow immediately gives way beneath my feet and down I fall. I have a genuine Alice in Wonderland moment, except instead of falling into a magical world I hit the hard, icy bottom covered with boulders and sharp rocks. I think my head might have struck one of those not so magical rocks because a sharp pain shoots through it, and my vision goes blurry.

  I blink, trying to clear away the fog behind my eyes, but despite my best efforts I sink into darkness. How cliché.

  ***

  Orgath

  The snow crunches beneath my feet and I wrinkle my nose at the soft, powdery flakes falling from the skies of the human realm known to us as Ov’Ge. I have been here for several days, burying my caches as I hunt before I return to Ov’Gorg. I am eager to return home; everything feels different in this realm. The air is heavi
er and oppressive, and it carries the taint of their pollutants that foul their air and water.

  I don’t care for Ov’Ge, but this region is not as bad as others. The air is crisp and somewhat clean. A few times a year my hunt follows the long-limbed, shaggy omvulo herds that migrate between the two worlds. This is my last hunt for the winter; it will fill my stores and I will be set until the herds pass again into Ov’Gorg in a couple of weeks with the return of spring.

  The wild portal between Ov’Ge and Ov’Gorg is unpredictable. Sometimes it lands me in fruitful hunting ranges, and other times barren stretches. I am hoping for the former. At least it never fails to return me home.

  Ethiel, my delfass, nudges me with his large snout, his thick fur brushing my neck. Likely looking for food on my person. I lightly shove his face away. We’ll be eating soon enough.

  “Back off, Ethiel,” I grunt.

  I hum to myself as I go about the task of checking a few of the traps I’d set the day before. It isn’t often that I catch something, but when I do it makes a nice complement to add to the heavy omvulo meat. Omvulo is a staple of the orcish diet, rich in fats and flavors, but a male gets tired of the same thing all the time. I smile when I see that one of my traps has been disturbed. I stomp through the snow over to it, wondering what sort of animal native to this realm I might enjoy feasting on tonight.

  I look down and pause. My head tilts in confusion. That is no delicious treat within, although some orcs are not averse to eating whatever they find. My lip curls with disgust at the thought.

  The small human lay on its side, a bit of blood staining the snow around its head. I blow out a breath in disappointment and consider leaving it to the scavengers but reconsider when I see its chest rise and fall. Miraculously, it is still alive. I scowl thoughtfully. I can’t leave it now; I doubt that it will be able to get itself out of the hole, and there are no human settlements nearby that I know of.

  I must admit it is a cute little critter, small and soft-looking. I can’t tell if it is a male or a female. All humans look small and soft to me from what I have seen from illustrations in some of the orcish books about their physiology. Humans are also said to be intelligent. Not like orcs, but serviceable for menial tasks, I would imagine. It might make a fine pet.

  With a grunt, I crawl down into the hole. I scoop the tiny body up and toss it over my shoulder, giving me both of my free hands to climb back out again. Once I am out of the pit, I drop the human in the snow and scrutinize it.

  It doesn’t have facial bristles like a male does. I am pretty sure human males have such things like our males do, if I remember correctly. With a thick finger, I push the head back to an angle where I can see it better. The skin is an odd and unhealthy pale color that I find disturbing. My eyes follow downward along the line of its body and notice the heavy swell of breasts and hips.

  Ah, a female.

  I rub my jaw. It would be an extra mouth to feed, but she might be a sweet and amusing companion. I cannot see this small, delicate creature plotting to do harm. She looks as harmless as a delfass kitten.

  I pinch my lips together and tap a claw on one of my short tusks. My ears move slightly to catch the sounds of the valley, listening for any other humans that may be nearby. If there are others, I will leave her, but if not, it would be cruel to leave the helpless creature to freeze and starve in the cold.

  There is nothing but the sounds from a few resilient winter birds and the creak of branches under the weight of snow. I grunt. Very well then. I grab her arm and hoist her up over my shoulder once more, trudging over to Ethiel. The strange scent of her teases my nostrils; it is pleasant but makes me sneeze. I hope I am not allergic to the female.

  I adjust her so her face doesn’t hit Uagoral strapped to my back. It would’ve perhaps been easier if I had left the ax at home. I don’t need it for hunting. A moot point to consider though. Truthfully, I feel naked without Uagoral close to hand. I would never leave my hut without it.

  Satisfied that my human won’t get slapped with the flat side of its head, or suffer any unfortunate slices on her limbs, I swing up onto Ethiel’s back. Once seated, I lower her so that she lies supported against my chest. Her body is starting to shiver, and she seems to burrow into my warmth instinctively. It’s a good sign. I give Ethiel his command and set out at an easy pace, making my way to the first of my caches.

  There, I construct a crude litter from two long poles lashed together with a large hide I brought with me for this purpose. This I tie to the hooks on Ethiel’s leather saddle. He turns and flattens his ears briefly. He never does care for dragging litters. I gently pat the side of his massive jaw. It is a slow process loading the omvulo, but they have been cleaned and packed with snow so there is little left to do.

  I consider throwing the human down on top of the pile but decide against it. I am not sure I will like having her in my home if she reeks of omvulo carcasses. She doesn’t weigh much of anything, so it is no great hardship to continue carrying her over my shoulder while I pull my game behind me.

  I settle in, humming a coarse melody under my breath as I make steady work through the day. My human doesn’t wake, and I wrap her in the thick fur of my cloak to keep her warm when I see her skin take on a strange bluish cast. Humans are apparently fragile, delicate things that are vulnerable to a bit of brisk winter air. I snort to myself, realizing that this human may be more trouble to care for than I want. Still, I can’t abandon her out here.

  When I have finally dug up all my caches, I give the pile a critical eye and huff in approval. That should be more than enough meat for the rest of the winter, even with a human to feed. She is so small. Doubtlessly, she won’t eat more than a few morsels at most.

  I seat myself again on Ethiel’s back and adjust my grip on the female. With a muttered command, we slowly make our way through the rocky pass of the mountains. The travel through the mountains is a rougher ride, but Ethiel’s steps are always sure. I check back frequently to make sure we don’t lose any of the game. The progress is slow, and daylight is waning when we finally arrive. The subtle shift of light and a stone that vaguely resembles an orc standing sentry is the only marker of the portal.

  As usual, cold nothingness seizes me that seems to last endlessly, and then just that quickly I am breathing the clean, cool air of Ov’Gorg. The sun is warm, and I can’t help but smile to myself as I make my way back to my cottage.

  The gray stone grows closer in the distance, a perimeter of trees to the rear of it. In those woods, a spring feeds fresh water into a river that runs through my territory, and a lake is nestled in a secluded area just paces away from the cottage. I take a deep breath, admiring my home.

  I built this with my own hands a decade ago since resolutely leaving the nearby orc village. Secluded but near enough that I can easily get to the village for supplies, or a drink at the tavern. Just thinking of a tall glass of mead makes me lick my thick lips with thirst. Perhaps after I unload, a quick drop-in would do me some good.

  I drop the human on a pile of furs near the hearth that has slowly been accumulating until I feel inclined to haul them all in for trade. I am in no hurry. Sheoul never gives me a good price on the furs, so it behooves me to take a large lump of them in to turn a reasonable profit. The human doesn’t look dirty, so I don’t worry about her soiling them lying there.

  With a grunt, I strip off my heavy belt of knives and set Uagoral on its stand above the hearth. It takes little time for me to remove the heavy leathers I wear for hunting and the heavy-soled calf-boots, leaving me in nothing more than my soft-weave tunic and leather breeches.

  After so many days in my gear, it feels good to be free of it. It takes me little time to build a fire to thaw my human out. After warming my hands before the flames, I stand and stretch languidly. I rub my hands over my tired eyes. I look longingly toward my bedroom, but there is work still to be done. I tie on a long leather apron and stomp out of the house to see to the butchering.

  Chapte
r 2

  Sammi

  I don’t want to open my eyes, especially since I’m blessedly warm for the first time in what seems like days. There is a pleasant, meaty smell that permeates the air and my stomach growls noisily. Did someone find me lost in the woods? A deep chuckle rumbles just behind me, and I turn toward the sound and peel my eyes open.

  Immediately, I want to shut them again when the dim light of the room jabs into my skull like a hundred shards of glass. Blinking my eyes, I whimper against the pain.

  “Ofor miu asak?” the deep voice growls.

  With great effort, I focus on the direction of the voice and instantly wish I hadn’t. I don’t know if I’m hallucinating or not—it’s possible with how hard I hit my head—and at this point I don’t care. I unleash a scream in the face of the man who leans over me. But he isn’t a man, not a human man, anyway.

  His long, pointed ears seem to flatten against his skull, and he winces as he backs away from me. All seven feet of half-naked male, thick with fog-gray muscle and abs that would put most gym rats to shame. His massive hands lift to cover his ears and he mutters what sounds suspiciously like a curse.

  Cat-like yellow eyes narrow at me, set in a broad face with high, defined cheekbones and a broad, flattened nose. His face is the same gray color as the rest of him, but one side is completely covered in swirling tattoos down to his collar and across one pectoral. Gold glints from a large septum ring and a series of hoops and earplugs studding his ears.

  His lips pull back, baring teeth almost human-looking except they have a sharper edge to them, and two tusks sprout from a heavy lower jaw roughened with a thick beard into which he has several braids woven. These braids have bits of metal beaded to the ends, much like the metal decorating the two braids hanging behind his elfish ears.

  This guy is no elf, though. What the fuck?

  “Efak! Ofor miu magor.”

  “I don’t understand,” I whimper, wiggling further back into the corner of the room. That’s when I really notice my surroundings. A warm fire burns in a hearth in a room that resembles all the quaint old-world stone cottages I’ve admired from time to time in random photos. You know, the ones coated with ivy surrounded by gardens.