Page 31 of The Orc's Rage

“Leaving?” she asked, falling still. He had just stolen her and brought her here, and now he was leaving?

“For a few days. There is a village—we will return with fresh supplies.”

Cedar knew what he meant, of course. They would raid another town and kill everyone in it, just as they had hers.

She thought she should probably care more. What if they found the village where she grew up, where her family lived? None of them would survive.

Those people sold her away, she was keen to remember. They had turned over their daughter to a wicked old woman in exchange for a single cow. Cedar’s own mother, who birthed her and bathed her, who told her old stories and taught her to cook and clean, had traded her away like a few pieces of silver.

“And so I get Rathka instead of you,” Cedar said, too tired to cultivate what came out of her mouth.

To her surprise, Kargorr chuckled. “Yes. For a few days. But she doesn’t have a cock, so I will not worry.”

Cedar snorted at this. As she buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, she wondered if perhaps something was changing—if the wall built tall around him had a top that she could see over. What would be on the other side?

This time when she dreamed of the orc covered in blood, the air filled with the sound of wails, she was no longer standing in front of him.

She was in his arms, her body limp, swaying with the sound of his agonized roar.

Kargorr

He should not have kissed his concubine.

It may not have been the same as using hissargaon her, but it was still an act of intimacy he ought to be avoiding. But her lips had tasted sweet and succulent, and they had given so easily under his, pliant and yet eager, letting him invade and plunder her small mouth. The way she had come undone, all of her passion pouring out, her body clinging tight to his as he claimed her over and over—it had almost undone him, too.

Perhaps it had, and he wasn’t willing to recognize it.

Lord Kargorr awoke to the low, reddened light of dawn trickling in the top of the tent through the smoke hole. Cedar was burrowed deep into his side, her tiny hands curled up between them into fists. Her eyelids fluttered as she dreamed, and she let out a tiny sound of discomfort that unsettled him.

What was she dreaming about that upset her? He wanted to chase it away, because it had no place in the bubble of quietude that surrounded them in his furs.

Kargorr smoothed down some of her tangled hair, and Cedar jolted awake, her body stiffening in his arms. She let out a few startled breaths, then settled back down so her head rested on his bicep.

It was time for him to get ready, and rolling in the furs with her again was not an efficient way to do that. With a gruff grunt, he disentangled himself and slid out of bed, leaving her curled up there alone.

Cedar didn’t speak as he put on his sling, then his pants and undershirt, before pulling down his thick hide armor with the steel shoulders. The dagger he had given her lay out on the table, so he snatched it up and returned to the bed with it.

“Keep this close to you,” he said in a low voice, leaving it on the top blanket. Then he slid his axe into the belt on his left, his sword on his right, and left the tent before he could change his mind about abandoning that warm, soft place at her side.

Orgha was waiting outside, along with hisyapira. She had breakfast in her hands, and when Kargorr emerged, she wore an expression that was clearly displeased. Rathka slid into the tent without another word, leaving them behind.

“Did you sleep on the floor last night?” Kargorr asked Orgha with a chuckle. He probably shouldn’t take amusement in his right hand’s personal suffering, but Kargorr was in a good mood. There was bloodletting in his future.

The other orc gave him an odd look. “Yes. But Rathka will forgive me when I return with a fat turkey for her.” It was customary for a warrior to bring a prize back to their mate, something to show off a strong victory, but Orgha’syapirahad never been one for trinkets.

At the edge of the camp, Lord Kargorr summoned his cat with a whistle. Liga looked dirty and angry as she approached. He hadn’t put too much thought into how she might receive life in the lowlands rather than among the powdery snow of their home. He hoped they wouldn’t have to adopt horses, like the humans did, for travel.

The other warriors had gathered, too, luring in their reticent cats with slabs of raw meat. One of the youngergrrosekwas negotiating with a cat that didn’t belong to him, and the cat was snarling and quite willing to put up a fight rather than go with an unfamiliar rider.

Kargorr strode in, snarling right back at the big animal, and it instinctively shrank away from him. Then he turned to his warrior.

“What is the problem? Where is your own cat?”

“She gave birth.” The orc sighed and gestured to the livestock pens, where the mother cats would build their dens. “I have no way to ride.”

This piqued Lord Kargorr’s curiosity. “A new litter?”

“A few weeks old. Born right before the move.”

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