They’re not the same orcs from earlier, that much is clear. They look brutally savage in a different way, wearing loincloths that barely cover their beefy thighs. They love their black leather; one has a bag flung across his chest, the intricate gold lacing standing out. Another wears a black leather armband with the same gold stitch. Each orc easily spans two of me, and I wonder how fast I can run. Next to me, Pegasus whinnies.

  “What have we here?” One moves right up to me. I move to jump onto the horse bareback but two move in, one grabbing me and the other grabbing Pegasus. They form a triangle. Pegasus rears in alarm.

  “Fine animal,” the one to my left says.

  “Fine female,” the other who grips me says and his tone leaves nothing to the imagination. I’m his to do with as he wants and he’s letting us all know he claims me.

  “She’s mine.” The first one growls, surprising me.

  And the two fire off in rapid Orcish. The one holding me pulls his belt and quickly ties my hands together and then ties me to a tree. The third orc seems more concerned with Pegasus than anything else.

  Like animals, the thundering orcs circle each other, feigning as if intending to make the other flinch, until it gets to be too much, and violence explodes. The sheer brutality keeps me watching spellbound as they throw each other into trees. When the one who’d tied my hands fails to get up, I think it’s over.

  But the other picks up a boulder and smashes his head—and then it’s over. The one bleeding on the ground waves his hand weakly, and the winner turns to me.

  He shifts his junk and the orc holding Pegasus grunts. The orc laid out on the ground groans. Then he slowly gets up and starts to build a fire as if nothing is wrong. They keep up a steady stream of Orcish, which I can’t understand, but then two of them leave.

  I’m left alone with the groaning orc who still rolls around on the dirty ground. If ever there was a chance to get away, this would be it. Quickly I pull at the ties at my wrists, but they hold strong. At least my hands are tied in front. I’m so busy messing with the ties I hardly notice when the two orcs come stomping back, with three small rabbits between them.

  The leader—or at least, the one who won me—unties me from the tree, not even caring that he’s getting blood all over my dress. He leaves my hands tied while he slices meat off the animals and then pushes it to me.

  “Cook.” His voice is a growl and... oh, God, when did I get used to being bossed like that? I find myself responding, jerking in place, and then hunting around their sloppy camp for a pot or pan. He laughs while I clumsily drag it to the fire and carefully place it without burning myself.

  The second orc tosses a few potatoes at me and a lone carrot, but at least it’s large. I grab the meat, throwing it into the hot pan while it sizzles.

  The orc dangles a knife in front of me, his eyes narrowed as if he dares me to take it. I’ll chop his potatoes, his carrots. And while I saw the strength and skill they fight with, it proves that I don’t have the strength to take three of them on tonight, but one day, I’ll gut him while he sleeps.

  I left my forced husband. I’ll leave the one who imprisons me too. It may not be with me untouched, but I lost my virginity a long time ago.

  A lone voice calls out from behind the trees and the three in the camp draw their blades. But, like a giant wall stretching around the small camp, a line of six scarred orcs and their unscarred leader step in.

  The ones from earlier.

  The same group I was afraid would seek me out for their gold. I would gladly turn back time and race Pegasus after them to return the coin purse now that I know what the alternative turned out to be.

  None of them act as if they know me in the slightest and why should they? They probably don’t want to call attention to how much of their gold I’m holding onto.

  The leader of the larger group speaks out in Orcish, and he seems calm when the orc who’s claimed me shakes his head, refusing to do whatever he’s asked. But then it’s obvious that the new group is pretending to be friendly—or else it’s obvious to my captors that they’re outnumbered more than two to one. So huge, tusky-toothed grins break out as the orcs become wary forced friends. Fake friends, as my captor gestures for the new ones to sit on a tree stump near my cooking fire.

  And my captor grabs me by the arm and pushes me toward the canteen cups to ladle out the steaming rabbit stew. He seems to take great joy in barking at me, then letting loose great bales of laughter when I flinch.

  My hands are so closely tied together that it’s like working one handed, since I have to grip everything with both hands, set it down, grab the ladle, scoop some stew, ladle it in, set down the ladle, pick up the cup and hand it to an orc.

  The pretty orc takes it and to my surprise, the scarred one who always sits next to him grabs my wrist. He swiftly unknots a couple of pieces to remove the rope, barking something at the orc who claims me, who shrugs as if it’s no big deal.

  More surprising is when he notices a burn and a couple of nicks with the blade I used and rubs my knuckle gently.

  He turns and I head back to the stew, ladling it out much more quickly without my bindings. I’m able to make it stretch so there’s at least a half a cup for all the males and nothing for me, but it’s okay. I’m still full from my own meager meal and the bountiful chili I’d feasted on earlier in the day.

  So, I sit, holding as still as possible, while they make small talk I can’t understand.

  I think I see the scarred one—the right-hand man to the pretty leader—look my way, but his look is blank by the time I swerve my gaze to him.

  When the meal is done, there’s more gesturing from my owner, indicating the newcomers are welcome to spread out near the fire.

  The orc who’d taken a beating earlier shoves some bedrolls to my new owner, who spreads his out away from the others and then points at me to come.

  He stands waiting, rubbing his swollen cock. He intends to take me in front of everyone. I’m not as brave as I thought because there’s no way I can do this, not without a battle. I get up to run, but he catches me quickly and grips my hair, then begins dragging me across the dirt.

  Chapter Two

  Latsil, first guard to Brun, the West Mountain Orcs:

  My blood boils when he drags her off to his bedroll by the hair. He intends to force her with all of us listening, with his own males watching. Mayhap he’ll even share the girl with them. Even though I’ve fought hard to reestablish my reputation, I can’t help but stand and utter the challenge to fight.

  The orc freezes, his eyes narrowed on me. Next to me, Brun also stills. I know what he’s thinking, I didn’t have to challenge. We outnumber them more than two to one and can easily overtake them. But I want the female clear and free and that means I have to kill him so his friends can return to the clan and repeat that it was a fair challenge, or the Blackhearts will always hunt her down as their property.

  It also gives him the upper hand as he is allowed to determine my crutch. Will he make me fight blindfolded? My hands tied? Bound to a tree? I wouldn’t put any of it past him.

  The female is lucky it was a quick meeting in Serenity, the town just north of hers. We’d stopped to scope the area around it, finding her town there, and then she served us, and we ate. When we left, we headed to Serenity, half of us hiding in the woods while some went into the city to sign a marriage contract between Prince Brun and the Lady Hannah. It was in the foul woods that we noticed an orc’s steed running for his freedom—and then my own horse was startled by a rattlesnake.

  My beloved steed broke his leg during the fall, and I was forced to give him a merciful death. The event made us decide to camp in the wooded area for the night, thinking we might be able to grab the runaway horse, but knowing another clan was nearby and lost him made us search out a camp.

  That the Blackheart orcs had the female from the eatery was surprising. Did they come upon her ghost town also and she fed them? But instead of leaving, they dragged her off as a prize? I shouldn’t care, it doesn’t concern me, but seeing her tied and forced to make food with her hands bound angered us all.

  “You want her so bad?” the Blackheart says in Orcish. “Then you’ll fight with her, and we’ll see who gets her when she’s gutted between us. Perhaps we’ll both take half, aye? I’d prefer the bottom, but I’m not picky. Her bottomless mouth will also do.”

  Even though my heart jumps, I keep my voice neutral. “And good for you if she’s gutted. She won’t bite off your brat-sized cock.”

  The female shrieks as he suddenly tosses her my way. I shove her behind me just as he jumps, all raw strength despite his weaker muscle tone. This orc has lived a good life, full of rich breads and butters. But there is immense strength beneath the layer of thick fat. He moves steadily and surefooted, his movements precise as I parry, careful to keep him where he can’t reach the fallen female.

  His beefy forearm brings the hunting knife down across my eye, but it’s a move I’m familiar with—one that I’d nearly missed a decade ago if the scar over my brow and cheekbone is any indication. I deflect the blade by falling to the side at the same time I strike the soft flesh of his open underarm. He roars in agony and before he can strike again, I pull a dick move.

  My boot in his balls.

  It’s a dirty maneuver, but I have no other choice, not with the female behind me scrabbling to get away from the fierce fighting. She’s probably afraid I’ll fall and crush her beneath me.

  She has no idea she’s supposed to stay put.

  “Be still,” I command her in a hiss. I don’t want to pull her to the front of me and fight with one arm; she’s safer behind the width of my back.

  But the hellcat screeches and scrambles to run, even on all fours, as the Blackheart throws himself at me. It seems I won’t be able to get away with keeping her safe.

  I jab him in the throat at the same time I stick my foot behind me to trip her. When he chokes, I grab her by the arm and clasp her to the front of me like a shield. Her skirts rip as I fasten her legs around my waist and whisper into her ear.

  “Hold on tight if you want to live.”

  Her eyes grow wildly large and distrustful. Why? She was fine in the eatery but now she wants nothing to do with orcs of any kind. A small part of me hoped she would be fine with us should our paths ever cross again. This male has ruined her for all orcs.

  The male raises his blade, intending to shove it through her back now that she’s exposed.

  A rush of fury roils up my spine as I crush her to me and whip my blade across his jugular. Blood explodes from the gash, drenching both me and the girl in the instant red shower.

  He collapses at our feet with a thundering roar and then there’s dead silence.

  Joanna:

  Oh, God. The scarred orc from the eatery realizes he left gold in the pouch, not coppers. He came back for his coin purse—probably got the bags mixed up—and intends to leave me here with the orcs.

  That’s the last thought that crosses my mind before he jerks me to him, crushing my ribs in the process, and stabs the orc—which I realize once the hot spray of blood splashes across my back.

  It immediately soaks in, from the back of my skull down to my bum—warm, wet blood—living blood, a life force. And the vessel that it purged from drops like a tree at my feet. My horrified eyes fly up to the scarred orc to see the wash of blood across his face too.

  “Did they take your coin, m’kirn?” he rumbles.

  Aye, it is as I thought. He has returned for the pouch.

  “N-no,” I whisper. “He didn’t yet have a chance.” A drop of blood falls from the top of my head and trickles down my forehead like macabre rain.

  “We will bathe in the river,” he says to the pretty one, that unscarred leader of his. The other nods and begins barking something in their language at the unfriendly orcs. The two scramble, the one who’d previously claimed Pegasus heading toward him, but I screech out—brave as can be— “That’s my horse.”

  The unscarred leader barks at them again and they sullenly return to the body of their fallen friend. That’s the last thing I see before the scarred orc carries me toward the creek.

  He plunges us in, clothes and all, and my legs fall away from his waist as the sodden garments take weight.

  “Female clothes are heavy,” he says, placing a hand on top of my head to dunk me.

  I come up sputtering and he dunks me again, merciless with his prize. It could be worse. He could be yanking off my clothes like the last orc tried. He spins me around and scrubs at the back of my dress, brings my skirts up to rub. I wait for his hands to fall lower, to slap my arse even, but he never strays there. His hands are huge as he rubs the garment only, and I try to tell myself that even though he’s given me sore ribs, he probably doesn’t mean to. He just doesn’t know his own strength.

  I hope.

  I pretend that he’s good inside and that he’s rescued me because he wants to.

  Because there’s something about this scarred, ugly brute. He’s not conventionally handsome, not like his leader friend. But he’s handsome inside, if it makes any sense. He’s gruff, grumpy, growly, and harsh. But not evil. Not like the sharp tusked evil grin of the one he slaughtered. The one who had enjoyed beating his own friend for the human toy. Not like the one who gleefully chose my horse over me, knowing he wouldn’t have to tangle with one of the others.

  I’m shivering now, the sun long gone, and I almost swear he pulls me closer to his body than necessary, but perhaps he’s also patting me down for his coin purse. If my teeth would stop chattering, I’d just tell him it’s in the cleavage between my breasts. I’d hoped the other orc would just flip up my skirts instead of ripping the entire gown down from the chest and I could hide it until one day I’d break away.

  And now that I realize how close I came to the skirt flipping actually happening, my body starts to tremble. If these orcs hadn’t come, I’d be suffering right now.

  But I shut that part of my mind down. I refuse to think about it, just like the nights I had to endure Homer. Until a whore passed through Granby and slipped me some herbs from the mountain.

  Made the male part of him go as soft as a rabbit.

  The whore had looked at me with knowing eyes and I’d been embarrassed to think about what she might have heard the night before. But eternally grateful. And perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad occupation, if I could find another in Serenity, one who might teach me the ropes. Teach me about their teas for birth control, these herbs that can control a man’s temper—and erection. If there isn’t a seamstress position available.

  The orc hauls me from the creek and uses his much larger palms to twist my skirts, wringing as much water as he can. I shiver as I hold the sodden dress up from getting muddy.

  “You will remain untouched,” he says, looking me over as if I displease him. “Take off the dress to dry.”

  I do it quickly, not because his voice is so growly, not because I’m afraid he’ll rip it off himself if I pause, but because I don’t want the coin purse to fall out and anger him further. To remind him of his mistake.

  He barely looks at me as he takes the dress from my trembling white hand and gives it one more good wringing, then drapes it over a branch. He removes his tunic, which fits tight, the sleeves barely fitting around the obscenely bulging of bicep muscles. If we were alone, I’d offer to split the seams and stitch them into seamed V’s.

  But I don’t.

  He removes his leathers, and I have to avert my eyes from the huge swinging dick. And then, like I’m a doll, he picks me up and heads back toward the camp site. I’m okay with curling into his massive chest because he’s warm and well, he washed me instead of attacking me.

  The body has been hauled away and the two orcs are tied together, back-to-back. Their ankles are bound and there’s a guard watching them.

  “Wh-what’s your name?” I ask the scarred one.

  “Latsil.”

  “I’m Joanna.”

  “Hmm.” Latsil grunts. Then after a few moments, he says, “that one is Kreele. Over there is Terk. Our prince is Brun. That one is Azorr. And the one keeping guard is Gorvan.”

  Terk wiggles his fingers at me, and Kreele nods his head. Gorvan hisses, showing me his tusks, before turning back to watch the prisoners.

  “What will your prince do with them?” I ask as he lays me down on the dead man’s furs.

  He curls up next to me, his large body warm as the fire crackles just beyond us. My thin slip is already dry.

  “They are free to leave in the morning when we leave. They will return to their clan with the news that their leader lost his life in a challenge. Now, try to get some rest, m’kirn. It will be a busy morn.”

  I’d like to ask why he challenged for me, but I’m afraid the other orcs are listening. I’m sure he doesn’t want to admit to the coin that I hold. I’m determined to stay awake and think all these things through, but the prince has lain down and Kreele is staring drowsily at the fire. I’m warm and safe and exhausted.

  The camp stirs to life with the first dawn’s rays. I come awake to find Latsil staring at me. Of course, he is, I guess I’m lucky he hasn’t rummaged in my slip for his coin.

  “Come,” he growls. “We shall get dressed.”

  If there was any moment of warmth last night, it’s gone in the early light of day. He’s brusque and short tempered as I follow him to the tree where our clothes have dried during the night.

  I wring my hands as I pull my dress over my underthings, the bulge between my breasts weighing heavily. “Do you wish your coin back?” I ask.

  “What?! No.” He scowls as if I gave him the ultimate insult. “That was payment for our meal.”

  “It was too much,” I whisper, afraid he’s still unaware that it was gold instead of copper.

  “Female. It was given freely,” he all but barks and I find myself cowering, which makes him scowl even more. I stay out of his way after that, watching as they send the two orcs that had been bound on their merry way. They seem grateful enough, having two horses to ride away on. I’m not sure what happened to their third, but it seems to be missing along with the dead one’s body.