The Orc's Consort: Book One

Chapter 4 - Bear Fight

Brenna Blackwater

I stood in a trance, staring into his gaze. He was a different orc than the one who had escorted me to the room. This orc, who now had me in his grasp, was much taller. I quickly took in his features. Like Sten, he looked nothing close to what I thought an orc would look like. He did not look much different from a human male.

In comparison, his complexion was cool. He was not necessarily pale, but he had a grayness about him. His iris patterns were different in some ways; they were less uniform and chaotic. His brow bone was a bit more prominent. I had also seen some men with this bone structure. I thought it made them appear to be more masculine.

There were only two other discernable differences between his face and that of a human. The first difference was the two prominent teeth on his lower jaw. They reminded me of boar tusks, but they only protruded from his mouth by maybe a centimeter, no more than at least half an inch. His lips otherwise looked normal. They appeared to be soft and had a prominent cupid's bow.

The other indication was his ears. They looked pointed, like wolf ears, and were the same color as his skin. I wondered if they resembled elves because orcs descended from them, or so I had learned. Suddenly, I realized his expression had changed. Oh gods, how long had I stared at him, I wondered.

One of his thick eyebrows raised, expressing concern as he looked back into my eyes. The corner of his lip curled slightly, causing his expression to soften. I soon realized I had my hands on his bare, broad chest. I was not the shortest of women, but the top of my head barely stood taller than the center of his sternum.

After my brain snapped out of its stupor, I jumped away in embarrassment. I could feel my cheeks glow red. Now that I was a few steps away, I could take in his entire being. That is when I realized his right shoulder was injured. A thick layer of linen was secured diagonally across his chest, under his arm, and back around, then wrapped snuggly around his shoulder. I watched as the blood stain grew wider as more fresh blood seeped from beneath the bandage.

"Are you alright, woman," his voice rumbled, but it was clear that he attempted to speak gently to me. "You do not need to be afraid of me or the others. You are not a prisoner here."

I tried to speak, but my mouth was so dry that my voice cracked. "Then why was I taken from my home and brought here," I said shakily.

He paused like he was deciding on what he would say. "I only wished to protect you. It's not the time to discuss why. It is very late, and I don't want to upset you more than you already are," he said admittedly.

Why should I believe him? I was taught from a young age to be wary of the Orruk. They were not to be trusted. They brought nothing but violence and terror wherever they went. But, so far, they seemed nothing like the orcs in my storybooks. He seemed so sincere that it was difficult not to believe him. He looked more gently at me this time before speaking. "I just came to check on you to see how you were fairing. Is there anything I could do to make you more comfortable," he said, pleading.

"I would have been more comfortable at home," I said, arguing back.

He huffed in frustration, "That is not something I can and am willing to give you right now. I can't allow you to leave, not yet, at least."

I could feel the anger surge inside me. I was angry at my father for allowing these Orruk to take me. I could not understand what had occurred for him to be in a position to feel this was his only choice. I was infuriated by his vague explanations. "Then there is nothing else you can do to accommodate me," I said boldly before trying to slam the door in his face.

His large boot jutted out, stopping the door. Who does he think he is? He leaned over and picked up the poker from the floor. He entered the room and walked over to the fireplace. He kneeled to light it with the poker still in his grip. He studied me as if he wanted to say something but chuckled and continued tending the flames. He then dipped the poker into the fire and held it there until it glowed red.

"Why are you laughing?" I asked, becoming even more flustered.

He paused, "I just recalled seeing you dash out the door wielding this thing. Were you planning on taking out the entire horde with nothing but a poker," he grinned. "You seem quite the little warrior. I took it as cute. You must have bigger balls than your father."

Before I could protest, he approached me with the red-hot poker. The hair on my body stood on end. My thoughts ran wild. Gods, please help me. I prayed to myself. I just knew he was about to brand me in some horrific manner. But, to my shock, he stopped a few steps away from me and spoke. "Remove my bandages, will you," he ordered.

I hesitated, but he caught my eyes with his commanding gaze. I approached him slowly and then gently unwrapped the blood-soaked linen. The tips of my fingers grazed his skin. I gasped once I had revealed a large puncture that barely missed his shoulder blade and went through to the other side. "Gods, what happened to you?"

"This is the work of your father," he said in a malicious tone.

"My father? Why would he do-"

"A great question for another time," he cut me off.

He looked down at the hole in his chest and lifted the poker to it. He pressed the red-hot tip onto it, causing the skin to sizzle. The stench of burnt flesh stung my nose. He reached above his head and somehow managed to do his back. I stared in horror as he cauterized the wound. The only sign of pain he showed was scrunching the bridge of his nose. There was a light knock at the door before it opened. "Here is your meal, my lady," a sugary voice announced.

I stood with my mouth ajar. He turned to me and placed the poker in my hands before heading out the door. I felt faint at the sight of the piece of burnt flash stuck to the end of it. "Goodnight, Princess." Then he was gone.