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One year later…
Doug
“He is long gone,”Tavion says, lifting his snout to sniff.
“Caught a glimpse of Doug and shit himself,”Casper, Tavion’s second, says, and I hear his wolf’s amusement through the bond.
I have various duties within the pack, mostly patrolling the pathways closest to the den. But I remain in contact with the wolves out hunting and patrolling and can be called on if there is any sign of a threat. Tonight, it was a bear shifter harrying Jim and his hunting party.
“Good hunting, I see,”Tavion adds.
“Aye,”Jim, a lesser shifter and former Blighten bondservant, agrees, a tone of pride in his voice.“We have been following your advice, and it has paid off. We are heading back now.”
“Well, I reckon even Travis cannot hold onto his sour expression when he sees that fine feast in the making,”Tavion says—Travis might be his father, but he never acknowledges him as such and always refers to him by his given name.“We’ll escort you back. Doug?”
“I will finish up my patrol and return shortly.”
We part ways as Tavion and his patrol escort the hunting party to the den.
Jasmine and I have made a place for ourselves in the pack, albeit at a lowly level. I have always been a low-ranked orc, so that does not matter so much to me.
There are tensions here. Many of them. Mostly pertaining to the leader, Travis, who is constantly scheming in one way or another. Furthermore, he is lazy and leaves much of the pack’s protection up to Ashe.
Travis talks the talk, but, as the saying goes, he does not walk the walk.
It has not yet come to an outright challenge between the two of them, but I sense, at some point, it will. The matters of leadership are not important to me, I tell myself. Although I’m certain things would be better should Ashe assume the role of leader. He does not suffer the same prejudices that the older alpha does and judges people on their merits, not where they come from.
I’m a white, mute orc who shifts into a monster. I know that I’m never going to fit in here—or anywhere, for that matter. Although my beast is fast and has a certain grace when in battle—as the bear shifter who ventured close to Jim and the hunters found out—I’m not the same as a wolf. I do not have their agility or speed. I am big and brutish—an ungodly beast version of an orc.
I have ever been an outsider. I will always be one and I accept my place. Yet when I see the companionship that grows between Jasmine and the human women here, I wish things were different. I want to fit in for her. To some extent, I do, at least with the lesser shifters and with Tavion, the pack alpha’s son. I see much of Ashe’s ways reflected in him and, although the two are not related, it’s clear that Ashe has been influential in his growing up.
They had a different pack leader a few years ago, I have learned. But he left and mated an omega, making a home on the other side of the Lumen sea in Imperium lands.
Some pack members still hope that he will return, maybe bring his mate with him.
I have heard Tavion speaking about it, and he at least does not hold onto such distant hopes.
So the pack is strange and conflicted. And yet, I’m also happy to have a purpose here that does not involve the destruction of innocent lives and the assimilation of races toward that end. I’m not a natural hunter, more a battle beast, and I take pride in my role as protector.
As I finish my loop, the sun has risen, and warmth penetrates the thick forest canopy. I take in a deep breath and catch a familiar scent. My beastly nostrils flare, and my gait takes on a distinct prance. I’m a fucking orc, we do not prance, yet that is definitely what my beast is doing. I pick up my pace to an eager trot. Then, as I reach the next rise in the undulating forest path, I see my mate.
My bellow is all playful exuberance—my beast is very high-spirited when it comes to Jasmine. It is as though he turns into a giant fucking pup.
An alarmed squeal escapes her as we draw near—my prance has shifted into a full-tilt charge—and the basket in her hand goes flying as she takes an unsteady step back. “Don’t!”
I try to pull back, but my beast is so overcome with joy that I do not have a fucking chance. He adores our mate to the point of worship and knows no form of restraint.
He bowls her onto her back and licks up the side of her throat.
She bats at his snout. “Ugh, Doug! What are you doing?”
I lick her again. She tastes delicious. I think about licking herthere. My nose is under her dress, which is not easy when I have massive fucking tusks, but I am determined. I snort, taking in her sweet, slick scent. She slams her hands down, but not before my beastly tongue snatches a taste.
“Doug!” she says, scandalized.
I chuff my displeasure at being denied and seek to nudge her hands away.
The sharp slap to my snout rouses me from my beastly stupor, and I rock back, planting my ass against the ground.
