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He bares his teeth at me.
The crust turns to dust in my mouth. It’s all I can do to swallow it down. When he makes no move to assault me, I relax a small fraction. I’m also strangely mesmerized by this beastly male who is far gentler than Trent.
Wait? Is he smiling? I think he is. Goodness. It is not a becoming smile—it is near enough to strike terror into my young heart. Yet as I take another tentative bite, his fearsome expression never wavers, and I’m convinced he is, in fact, smiling.
I take up another chunk of bread and offer it to him.
He shakes his head and makes a shooing motion toward me before patting his belly.
I wonder why he does not speak. Maybe some orcs speak a different language. “Do you know the common tongue?”
He nods.
I frown. “Are you mute?”
He nods again.
My tension eases a little. Maybe he will soon put me on my knees, and I’m being foolish. I put the lump of bread in my mouth and chew. This strange beastly monster, this pale orc who is not quite an orc, doesn’t produce the same loathing that filled me with Trent. He is not dirty for a start and smells of nothing save a light, clean musk that tickles my nose. I eat another chunk of bread as we stare at one another beside the wagon.
“Doug!”
His head swings around. He looks toward me briefly before he strides away.
ChapterThree
Doug
“Somebody needs to break her in—uff!”
I cuff Trent up the side of the head and bare my teeth at the weak human male.
He takes a step back, raising both hands.
Cowardly bastard. I’d happily kill him, save my orc masters don’t appreciate killing useful humans, even bastards like Trent.
Bron chuckles as Trent scurries off. I’ve known Bron since we were whelps, and we often have each other’s backs. A lesser orc like me, he doesn’t mind that I don’t talk—he fills in the gaps and answers for me half the time.
I snatch my tarp from inside the wagon and, with a nod to Bron, stalk off. I do not seek the company of humans, save when my duty is to watch them, yet I’m also not fully an orc and exist in limbo somewhere between the two. I will never be part of the Blighten, even if I believed in their ways, nor will I be accepted by the humans or even desire the fate of a bondservant.
The life that leads out before me is a simple one, lived day to day. My mother was an orc, and my father was an alpha shifter. It was an unusual pairing, for sure. I do not know fully the circumstances leading to it, only that I was born as a result. Were my skin green or gray, I believe my mother would not have rejected me.
However, my skin is white and iridescent in daylight. It doesn’t change, even though I’m exposed to the sun. Then there are my eyes, the color of them the same as my birth father’s, or so I was told. My coloring sets me apart, for orcs all have brown eyes and green or gray skin. Yet in all other ways and appearances, I could pass for an orc.
It doesn’t help that I cannot speak—I’m considered defective in many ways.
There are plenty of thoughts running around in my head, but they cannot form words. It has been this way all my life, and frustrates me at times when I want to express myself and cannot. It also suggests that I’m stupid, which I do not believe I am.
I find a clear spot near the trees where I can set up my tarp. The material is long and wide, and folded in half. Two wooden poles are applied to each end to hold the top flap up. I have a blanket inside, although I don’t often feel the cold.
I prefer this, sleeping apart from the others.
I’m a loner. Although, save for when I take to my bed at night, I’m rarely alone. My role is a peacekeeper. I mind the human bondservants and make sure they don’t cause trouble among themselves. They are aggressive, quarrelsome little things, snapping and snarling at one another, often using their fists instead of common sense. I know what they get up to. How they rut and encourage the lasses to suck their cocks. How they barter pleasure for scraps of food. I turn a blind eye so long as it does not hurt either that I can see.
But tonight, the lass was not willing, and that bought out my rage. The last time I let it out, I got into trouble and a whipping. I would do it again. My reputation precedes me now, even as the war party and bondservants around me come and go. Tales have been shared of the white orc and his rough justice with humans who step out of line, tales that have been exaggerated over the years. Better the humans are kept in check by rumors of my beastly rage than they use a reluctant lass.
I take to my bedroll and lie on my back, staring at the tarp above me, listening to the sounds of the forest at night.
There are times when I dream of a simpler life: a mate and whelps, a cottage, and to work upon the land. I have only heard of such a life as I have listened in on stories told by human bondservants, but they fill me with a wistfulness for something I cannot have.
