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Chapter Four
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JOGUG:
“JOGUG! FETCH ME another bowl.”
I still don’t feel the love for my mate. He has the breath of a whore and the face of a goat.
I’m forced to sleep in his furs, though I’ve slapped his hands away. He’s warned me that as soon as we get to our destination, I’ll spread my legs the way I used to. I was so stuck on that horror—thinking I’ve obviously had his cock between my thighs and surely, I’ve never enjoyed it—that I threw up.
At least I know the smell of vomit salts his amorous mood. In retaliation, he told me I may have to service all the males, at least until they found their own mates. Not at once, though, he said as though offering me a boon.
Cue the vomit.
While I’m aware I can’t stave off the males forever, I made a major mistake in letting them see me take down their king. Now that I no longer have the element of surprise, they make sure there are at least two males together at all times. But it’s okay, I’m biding my time, growing stronger. Plotting and planning in my mind, making mental lists of their weaknesses.
It doesn’t appear Stug is fully trusted by the clan. His closest ally is Shodun, but the others prefer Shodun to him. That male doesn’t seem to be quick-witted, but he’s not cunning and untrustworthy like Stug.
Doparth is paranoid and I need to find out why. I can use that against him, though how I can find out is beyond me. None of the males talk to me willingly and definitely not one on one.
Grilud looks at me with a gleam in his eyes. He’s one who licks his lips when Stug talks about sharing my charms.
Gnark tries to butter me up sometimes. Not overt and not with others around. And he’s not being kind. Nay, he’s an expert in manipulation. Maybe more dangerous than my sneaky Stug, because no one seems to recognize it.
Speaking of my mate, I bring the idiot his bowl of mashed turnip root. He has a backtooth that’s rotted through and through and the fool should have pulled it before it got to the point of him suckling foods like a wee brat.
Or perhaps if he trimmed that nasty beard, he might not have introduced vermin into his pie hole.
“I’m going to bathe,” I announce, shoving the bowl at him and trying not to wince at the wispy ends of his beard nearly dragging through it.
“Make sure you don’t speak to anyone who tries to approach,” Gnark grumbles. “Ye know those orcs from West Mountain steal humans to bear their brats. You are proof of that.”
Aye. I noticed when I looked in the broken mirror that I’m not as green. That I don’t have tusks. I found out why the others snickered and called me Stug’s wife. Apparently, they were making fun of me for being half human, though, back then, I didn’t even know I was.
Stug told me my mother was a stolen human and died under the hand of my orc father when she refused to bear another horror like me.
And because I wasn’t sure who to be angrier with, I swore to kill my father if I ever came across the biernak. My clan couldn’t be more pleased and a strange feeling of acceptance hit me.
Stug has still not told me how he and I met. He seems to find it cute to give me bits and pieces of my life each day that I work for it—preparing the meals, cleaning the camp.
The creek is the only place I find relaxation. It’s clean and calming, the water cool against my heated flesh, the gurgling sound of the rush of water hitting the smooth rocks like music to my ears.
Sometimes I dream about my mother. I cannot see her, of course, but I can smell her scent. Fresh lilacs that waft in the breeze. And roses. Always roses. In my dreams, she’s sweet and good, and loves the gruff male orc who holds her hostage. She’s too sweet to complain about captivity, and laughs with me, holds my hand. I can’t imagine she would have complained about being bred a second time, but mayhap that’s wishful thinking.
When I try to look up at her face, the dream will vanish.
I prefer the other dreams. A handsome male I’ve conjured up, probably to assuage the need in real life because has any female ever had such a horrid mate as I?
Quickly I knot my hair onto the top of my head and wash my leathers, laying them out on a heated rock to dry.
I just washed my hair yesterday, and re-greased it with the elderberry grease, and I certainly don’t want to go through all that again.
