The Orc Wife Read online

  One thing is for sure: I have never seen anything of the like in Alaska.

  The man grunts and turns away from me. As he stomps away, I notice that his bare feet are as massive as the rest of him. A series of long, thick black braids fall down his back, swinging behind him with his every movement as he leaves.

  “Wait! Where am I?” I shout after him.

  Beast-man is scary-looking, but I sure as hell don’t want to be abandoned or kicked out in the middle of nowhere. I needn’t have feared though. He returns moments later with a thick bronze charm on a strap that he thrusts toward me. It’s thick and chunky with some strange swirling script. It’s pretty but doesn’t look particularly comfortable to wear. I imagine the weight of the thing strangling me any time I try to lie down.

  “Asar e miu.”

  “Uh, no thanks,” I say and push it away.

  He growls. “Miu dangor!” he insists, pushing it toward me again.

  “No, I don’t want it,” I snap and shove it away a bit harder. My fear is, perhaps foolishly, melting away and this guy is starting to piss me off. It has been said more than once that I don’t have much good sense. This guy could probably chew me up for breakfast without a guilty conscience, but at this point, I don’t much care.

  He leans over me, his nostrils flaring, and his eyes narrow with temper. Ooo, I think I am in trouble now. I don’t know if he’s of a mind to beat my ass—or turn me into dinner—and I decide right then and there that I didn’t want to stick around and find out. I’ll take my chances outside, thank you.

  I try to dart around him, but a huge hand snakes out, moving quicker than I would expect from a guy his size. I squeal and thrash against him when he hauls me up against his chest. He ignores my kicks that land rather ineffectually against his legs. In a last bid for freedom, I lean down and viciously bite his hand. I hear and feel his quick intake of breath, but instead of releasing me, he growls deeply into my ear and loops the heavy pendant around my neck before dropping me.

  My ass hits the stone floor hard. I yelp and rub my tush, glaring up at the brute. That fucking hurt! He has the nerve to fold his massive arms across his chest, his muscles rippling as he returns my glare like I did something wrong.

  “Look, asshole, that hurt!” At this point, I’m just going to let him have it.

  He snorts at me and rolls his eyes. “You are being unreasonable, female,” he growls. He literally growls at me!

  Wait a minute… I understand him.

  He gives me a disgruntled look and stomps away. He stops for a moment at the hearth to peer at something cooking in a large kettle before heading back to the thick cushion that he’d been apparently sitting on before I woke up. There he picks up some mending and sets to work, frowning at some really uneven stitches. Still, he keeps working at it, and I sit there like an idiot watching the needle move through the leather.

  “Don’t stare, female. You may begin cleaning or find some work to do,” he grunts.

  My jaw drops. I awaken after nearly freezing to death and this oaf only thinks about putting me to work, like… like his servant! I grind my teeth and put my fiercest glare upon him that has made more than one asshole back up. It’s completely ineffectual. He glances up and smirks, continuing to working as if I am not even there.

  My eyes rake over the room. It’s… primitive. There are no light fixtures. Not a single electrical outlet. Primitive is maybe a little too generous. It doesn’t look like this place has running water or electricity. I spy a small black rectangular shape and shout out happily, snatching it up. The beastly male just glances up at me, grunts, and shakes his head before resuming his work.

  Well, fuck him, because freedom is now within sight.

  I press the power button. Dismay floods me. The phone is on four percent and its screen cheerfully displays that it has no signal. Disgusted, I chuck the phone back into the corner.

  “Son of a bitch!” I snarl.

  He raises an eyebrow in my direction. “Is something amiss, female?”

  “I don’t know how I am suddenly understanding you, but—”

  “The medallion.”

  I blink. “What?”

  He sighs and thrusts his heavy jaw toward me. “The medallion that you wear. It was made and enchanted so that any who wore it would know the orcish tongue. It won’t help you with any other races of beings, unless they choose to speak orcish to you which is fairly common in these parts, but at least you know my words when I speak to you now, and you can speak mine. Take care of it. I traded a week of good hunt for it,” he says.

  “It’s heavy as fuck,” I grumble.

  He glances up and raises a thick eyebrow at me. “Maybe your male is doing it wrong.”

  Now I’m confused. “What?”

  “Fucking.”

  I stare at him. “What are you talking about?”

  He sighs again and sets his mending down. His thick arms stretch over his knees and he peers at me. “Did you not say your fucking is heavy? I do not know why you address it. Perhaps you are looking for better fucking. Although if you are complaining about a tiny human male being heavy, I would not recommend an orc,” he laughs, the sound rumbling like thunder from his chest.

  The little mental lightbulb clicks on. “No, I said this,” I lift the medallion and let it fall back against my chest with a thud, “is heavy as fuck.”

  “Again, you are speaking of fucking being heavy.”

  “No—” Okay, we are clearly having a translation issue here. “The word fuck is not just an action, but it is also a handy expletive used in many different ways. I have personally found the act of fucking to be more disappointing than not, and nowhere near heavy, but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway,” I rush on, “it’s used for emphasis. So heavy as fuck means really, really heavy. Get it?”

  He snorts. “I get that humans are strange.”

  “Uh-huh, and what did you say you are again?”

  His lips pull back into a smile, baring his tusks, which is a little unnerving. “Orc.”

  Huh. Orc. Orc…Orc?!

  “Wait, an orc?! As in Tolkien?” I say, immediately backpedaling. From what I recall, those orcs in his work weren’t exactly warm and fuzzy, nor were the ones in the World of Warcraft games that my brothers were obsessed with.

  His smile slips into a scowl. “I do not know this Tolkien, but from your reaction I gather he has misspoken about my kind. Fair warning, orcs do not care for insult against us.”

  “But… but that’s just fantasy! Fiction.”

  He laughs, his shoulders shaking with mirth. His eyes crinkle at me. “You humans have a short memory. Everything of the ancient past between our ancestors is nothing more than legend and lore to you now, eh? Are orcs nothing more than a bedtime story to scare your children?”

  It was my turn to snort. “Not even that. Most kids probably don’t know what an orc is.”

  He makes a noise in his throat and picks up his mending again. “Interesting. Expected though from a species that is not terribly bright.”

  Wait one damn minute. “Don’t you think you have that backward?”

  Both of his thick eyebrows arch. “How do you mean?”

  “Everyone knows that orcs, and ogres and all the like are just brutes.” I hadn’t watched Lord of the Rings a hundred times for nothing. Orcs were portrayed as ugly, violent, and bad-tempered. While this guy isn’t Johnny Sunshine, he doesn’t exactly measure up to the image I would have expected.

  He scowls fiercely and I don’t blame him. But hey, he did start it.

  The orc throws his mending down and pushes himself up onto his feet. It takes everything in me not to retreat as he stalks toward me. A thick finger is thrust in front of my nose threateningly.

  “An orc is nothing like an ogre. Pray you don’t meet an ogre, female. You wouldn’t be happy to be made a meal by that lot. Ogres and trolls are best avoided. Orcs are honorable. Elves may look down at us, their cousins, for our appearance, but in truth we a
re no less than them. You are becoming a troubling pet,” he growls.

  Pet? Oh, hell no!

  “I am not a pet!” I snap.

  A smirk curls his lips as he stares down at me from his greater height.

  “You are not an orc.”

  ***

  Orgath

  The female talks a lot, but at least she is amusing—when she is not being insulting. Her delicate, pointed chin is thrust out at me stubbornly, and her blue eyes spark at me with temper. She may be human, but I have to admire her fierce spirit. I didn’t think such a trait would be found in a human. It is almost orcish.

  I turn away from her, dismissively, and shake out the hemmed leathers. It is not much—a vest and a wrap skirt—but the clothes she wears are torn and bloodied. I throw the leathers at her and gesture.

  “Put that on. I will dispose of your ruined garments.”

  She looks down at herself, frowns, and then unfolds the clothing I made for her. Her lips part and a look of unmistaken outrage descends. I am not certain what she finds offensive. The clothes I have made for her are perfectly serviceable and are common among orc females when there is no woven cloth available.

  “I’m fine in what I have on,” she insists, setting the leather vest and skirt aside.

  I grind my teeth. “You cannot continue to wear what you have on. It is stained with blood and needs to be burned before you start attracting predators to my cottage.”

  “I don’t want to change clothes,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Very well. If that is how she wants it.

  I dart forward and she shrieks when my hand takes a handful of her clothing and rips it from her body. With steely intent, I pull every bit of clothing off her, ignoring her angry shouts. Her small fists beat at me, and I chuckle because they have no more force than a hissing delfass kitten swatting at me. Every bit of material I throw into the fire as she rages.

  “There,” I grin down at her, my eyes taking in the supple, pale flesh, and I try to ignore the hardening of my cock beneath my breeches, “you can either wear that or go naked.”

  She thrusts her arms over her breasts and glares. Her left arm has an intriguing series of thick red flowers vining down in a tattoo from her shoulder to her forearm. Unlike the clan tattoos, I can see that this is entirely decorative. Most orcs only ink themselves for ceremonial purposes, although some warriors have powerful wards placed on their skin too. For most of our kind, it is otherwise considered wasteful to ink for any other reason. Yet on her, the decorative ink is beautiful.

  Her lips suddenly curve into an angry smile. “Naked works for me just fine.”

  My mouth drops open. I wasn’t expecting that. Humans are weak of spirit and mind. Shouldn’t she be fainting or speechless with shock? I rub my jaw thoughtfully. Very well, if she thinks she is an orc woman, we will see how long she can keep that up.

  “If you insist,” I assent, and her eyes widen. Not what she was expecting, I see. I push down the urge to gloat like a youth. “It is fortunate, because this gives me the perfect opening to examine you. I wasn’t even sure if you would survive the trip over the mountain.”

  “Oh, I’m fine,” she says hastily, but I just grin.

  “It is not for you to judge. Hold still, female.”

  My hands cup her neck and then travel down her shoulders before sweeping forward to touch her fine collarbones. Her skin feels soft and delicate against my hands. I can feel her pulse quicken and if I listen close enough, I can hear the rapid beat of her heart.

  “Tell me to stop, and I will,” I murmur, my hands running down to palm a heavy breast in each hand.

  Her breath hitches and her nipples jut out into little hard peaks against my skin.

  She manages a cocky, challenging grin. “If you can stand it, so can I. Do your worst, orc.”

  I chuckle and move so that my fingertips can pluck and toy with her nipples, but my eyes are fastened now on her face, watching a flush run over her skin and her lips part as she pants.

  I listen closely for her to change her mind and tell me to stop. I am not a monster. I will stop if she asks, but she does not. Instead, she leans into my touch with an eagerness I find surprising.

  She doesn’t flinch when I lean down to stroke my rough tongue against one nipple and then the other. Her skin just barely shudders when my hands trail down the curve of her belly. I reach around her to sweep my hands down her buttocks, to make the skin leap beneath my touch. Her muscle jumps as I lightly smack my hand against the mound of flesh, relishing its give beneath my palm and her surprised squeak. I imagine her bottom flushed red from the work of my hand, but I leave it for now.

  At the apex of her thighs, I see a down of hair like orc females have, but hers is softer in texture. It is fragrant with the scent of her musk. The little human is aroused despite the angry glare in her eyes and the sharp words I am certain are just barely leashed on her tongue. I draw my fingers through the reddish curls, burrowing a thick finger into her soft folds, my thumb toying with the pearl of flesh crowning her weeping slit.

  Her breath turns ragged as I play with her, my fingers drawing out every sensation. Her little nub is swollen and hard now, her lips engorged and dripping wet. I add a second finger into her tight channel, and she moans, her eyes sliding shut. I work her body until I see the shudders of her skin and the feel ripple of her muscles against my hand—and then pull my fingers from her body. Her eyes snap open in surprise, desire and anger burning in their depths.

  I smile and slowly lick her slick off my fingers.

  “Very well, female. Stay as you are.” I rise to my feet and go back to my cushion. The heavy iron bar between my legs makes movement difficult and uncomfortable, but it will pass. She will see who holds the power in this cottage, and it is not a tiny human female. I pull out a book of orcish history and settle in to read, hoping that it would dismiss her presence from my mind.

  Sadly, it fails. My cock remains hard and my mind keeps returning to her. She sits beside the fire, her eyes like daggers desiring my blood. My cock leaps. I want this female, but I won’t take her unless she begs for it. She is not an orc. Forcing my attention back to my book, I continue to read.

  Chapter 3

  Sammi

  I cannot believe what he just did. This… orc not only stripped me naked but had the nerve to get me worked up to the edge of orgasm and then just stops and acts like I’m no longer even in the room.

  Oh, I’m not stupid. It’s a blatant power play. Everything from his caress to the dirty way he licked his fingers clean, leaving me in want, is all to demonstrate that I am a helpless human subject to his whim. His dismissal of my presence unexpectedly cuts me, though. A clear message that he’s not as affected as I am. To be honest, it chaps my ass.

  After a while, the orc sets his book down and lumbers over to the pot hanging over the fire. Whatever he’s cooking does smell good. He gives it another stir and grunts in approval.

  “Human, go fetch some bowls from the cupboard,” he says, not even bothering to look at me.

  I grit my teeth, seething inwardly at the beast, but stand up and get the bowls anyway. I may sometimes do foolish things, but I’m starving. I’m not about to let him get between me and dinner.

  Stopping beside him, I thrust out the bowls a bit less than graciously. He glances down at them and frowns.

  “Where are the spoons?”

  I swear it is by great effort that my jaw doesn’t hit the ground right then and there. That imperious bastard!

  “Why didn’t you say to bring spoons?” Silence. “Where are the spoons?” I grit out.

  He frowns at me like I’m being the difficult one and takes the bowls from my hands. “In the drawer inside the cupboard. Go look again.”

  I stomp back over to the cupboard and fling it open. Sure enough, beneath the shelves holding bowls, cups, and plates is a long drawer. I pull it open and see rows of various-sized knives, odd two-pronged forks, and wedge-shaped s
poons. Muttering to myself, I grab two spoons and return to the fire with them.

  He arches an eyebrow at my obvious show of temper but wordlessly hands me a bowl as he takes a spoon from me. He says nothing more when he turns away from the fire and returns to his cushion. Absently, he reaches over, grabs another cushion, and chucks it at me. He throws it with just enough force that it lands just inches in front of my feet.

  “Sit. Eat. When you are done, I will bring in water for you to clean the dishes,” he says, and he begins to spoon stew into his mouth.

  I sit and watch him for several minutes, trying to wrap my mind around the fact that he actually expects me to be some kind of domestic servant in this little cottage. I huff and sink down onto the cushion. At least he isn’t making me sit on the floor like a dog. I don’t doubt that it didn’t cross his mind, though.

  I take a bite of stew and almost groan with the flavors that burst over my tongue. Whatever this is, it’s delicious, and I eagerly dig into my meal. Out of nowhere, a chunk of bread lands in my bowl with a thwump, splashing a bit of the cooling stew over my breasts. I let out a curse and look around for something to clean myself with. The beast chuckles and tosses me a stained rag. I grumble out my thanks and hastily wipe myself clean.

  When the last bite is gone, the orc gets up and goes outside. Moments later, the door swings open and he carries in a bucket of water and sets in front of me. He pulls off the now empty pot and sets a clean one over the heat.

  “Heat the water and get the soap from the small chest by the hearth. I am going out to chop more firewood. I expect you to be finished by the time I get back.”

  Seriously? He just expects me to know how to clean this mess up? He doesn’t even have a dishwasher! Or running water. I scratch my head, glaring at the pot.

  Well, common sense says that I can’t heat all the water in case I get it too hot. I pour most of the water from the bucket in the kettle and sit back to watch it heat. I hunt down a ladle. Once the water seems hot enough, I begin to scoop it into the larger dirty pot that we’d used to cook our dinner. It makes a grayish greasy soup at the bottom of the pot, and I wrinkle my nose at the sight. Barf.