Page 16 of Alien Orc Warlord's Captive Bride

I want Lord Ashbourne to refuse. I want to claim Aira as my own, for eternity. I will sate myself between her legs while she screams my name in ecstasy, and I will make her belly swell up with my son. He will have my brutality and her intellect. He will be the king not just of these mountains, but of the entire planet, leading together the tribes in a true war against the human species, to take our rightful places as masters of this planet.

Guilt fills me. Shame, as I focus on the memories of Orcs starving, cold and shivering, most of our soldiers killed in the open fields. I can remember Silga coughing dryly, conserving her movements as she made a soup of herbs and bones, bones we boiled a dozen times before, to get any last nutrients from them. Gorak's father, who succumbed, refusing all rations so that the younger Orcs could survive.

How I went deep, deep into the caves to try and find something left behind from the time before that could save us, and finding the hilt of a blade with an orb inlaid. I got chills when I saw that thing. I stared deep into it, and it seemed to speak to my being, longing to be brought out of the recesses of the cavern systems and brought into battle.

I wrapped my fist around it, and it extended into a blade that could cut through stone.

I took it and went into the blizzard, not expecting to come back. I can still remember the fiery pain as the mammoth tusks split me open in a blow I knew would be my end, as I slammed the blade through its thick skull and into its brain, hoping that somehow, my people would find my grave and the food I died for.

But I did not die. For an hour I bled, holding my furs against my wound to stop the blood flow, and no one came.

I crawled back. Hours in the biting wind, I crawled, and I left a blood trail leading right to the feast.

I remember the gnawing hunger, the pall of terror in my helpless tribe, and I cannot damn them to another long winter without food.

I will provide, even if it means sacrificing the only woman who gave me hope for something greater.

9

AIRA

Irouse from my sleeping stupor, disoriented because…because I am not in my village home, or even the huge featherbed that Lord Ashbourne must have. A cold, fresh wind blows through the huge oval window, and my situation hits me like a slap.

I am alone, in his chambers, nestled in the furs that smell of his musk. The wind is the first chills of winter, harsh and vital, and this one will be long. I know it in my bones.

I shiver, and it's not from the wind, as I remember the night before. The warlord's tongue lavishing me, forcing out the most intense orgasm of my life, so that the cavern swirled around me. I pull on my loincloth, and hesitate at the cupboards. It's icy cold, and I want to drape myself in furs, but everything here is made in the size of Ragnar. I find a coat made of a bear, and don it, disappearing in it. The smell of him permeates it, and it makes me feel safe. It drags on the floor as I walk to the window, looking out at the wild lands to the north. There is a long stretch of tundra, a forest with towering trees, and dark mountains, black against the white of snow, a harsh, unforgiving land which I know is filled with more Orcs. Before the tundra, there are three lakes fed by rivers, and I can see the fish jumping, glimmering in the dawn light. To the northeast, I can catch a glimpse of the tall walls of the capital city, blurry in their distance.

I start as the door opens. It is Ragnar, clad in a fur, but without his crown.

"That fur suits you," he says, looking me up and down. Then he looks away, clearing his throat, and I know the night before was a mistake for him.

"I...I was cold, so I just took one at random."

"Take whatever you need. You have free rein of this village while I am gone. You are under my protection, and none will touch you." His voice is distant, too formal.

I shiver. "That other man. I don't know his name. But he...he hates me."

"Gorak. His father died of starvation after your people massacred the herds. He's lost many friends to Ashbourne's patrols." He licks his fangs, thinking. "Silga!" he booms out, and I hear her pattering steps. "Guide Aira today. Show her around the village, if she likes." The second Silga is in the room, he relaxes a little, as if the presence of another is enough to stop him from doing anything he will regret.

"It would be my pleasure."

Ragnar leaves, and I feel more at ease with Silga in the room. She's at least one friendly face in this mountain stronghold filled with the alien race.

Until she looks over at the rumpled furs on the ground, and I realize there's no other bed made up. My cheeks flush red.

"He seems to like you," says Silga, biting her lip in a smile.

"It doesn't matter. Whatever he feels for me, it won't get in the way of his duty."

Silga nods. "Sorry, I didn't mean to joke, I just..."

"No, it's okay. It's a weird situation."

She smiles. "I guess I'm one of your captors, then. So you should hate me."

I shrug. "But I don't. And my people killed your herds and nearly starved you to death. So you should hate me, right?" It's a touchy subject, but I dare the joke.

"And I don't hate you either. In fact, I'd quite like you to stick around more. Would you like to see how we live?"

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