Page 2 of Alien Orc Warlord's Captive Bride

“Unhand the brother of my bride-to-be!” He yells out the command, filled with anger, and the soldier quickly removes his boot from the boy’s back, extending his hand. The boy looks up, and doesn’t take it, getting to his feet unsteadily and brushing the dirt from his tunic. The woman looks at him, wanting to go to him, but stays stock-still, like a hunted prey when it knows the chase is over and can run no longer.

He watches her with hawk eyes. His eyes are nearly gray, emotionless even when his voice is filled with rage.

“Thank you, my Lord,” she says, finally.

“Good girl. You will find that I can be quite generous, if you serve your duties well.” I can barely make out his words as he approaches her. The next thing he says is just a mumble to me from so far, but it makes her cheeks flush with embarrassment or anger, I’m not sure which, when she looks down to the ground, defeated.

2

AIRA

Igaze at my reflection in the gleaming glass of the thin rectangular mirror that stretches seamlessly from one end of the carriage to another above the empty seat across from me, taking in the unfamiliar sight that greets me. I see a stranger. No more village girl, no more wild thing breathlessly stalking through the forest at dawn, evading patrols that would have my hand cut off for poaching.

I look like a bird in a cage.

The meticulously applied makeup, my hair in a mass of tall curls, the luxurious wedding dress that they squeezed me into. My features appear ethereal, the pearl and lace on the gown exuding wealth, and I feel like an alien put into it. I didn’t want any of my friends to see me, especially not my younger brother, seventeen and headstrong, thinking of himself as the man of the house when our parents died, when it’s me who keeps him safe.

He'll have food on the table this winter. That, I know. Grievous Ashbourne wouldn’t let the brother of his bride starve.

I want to poke at my blood-red lips, touch at the smokey blackness around my eyes, but any little hair out of place or smudge would only get the three women who primped and preened me for hours in trouble.

The Lord Ashbourne doesn’t care about how I can hunt and fish, that I’m clever enough to evade his patrols and feed myself and my brother from the bounty of the forests that he claims as his own. He cares only about the way I look, and what’s between my legs.

My cheeks flush red with humiliation as I remember the disgusting examination by the palace’s doctor, done just before Ashbourne left the village. The first time a man touched me there, and only to check if I was pure enough to be chosen for marriage. A great honor, everyone’s been telling me for the last four days as I waited in agonized stress, because though they meant it, and though many of the other women wished they had been picked for a life of ease and riches, they all have a slight hint of relief that it’s me and not them.

My eyes follow the rolling plains and beyond, to the mountains where the Orcs dwell. A shudder rushes through me, a mixture of fear and repulsion. The tales of their brutality and the horrors they inflict on the northern towns have haunted us for as long as I can remember, and it’s only the protection of Lord Ashbourne that kept us untouched. But, as my eyes trace the jagged peaks and the silhouettes of their distant homes, I get a twinge of envy at their wildness.

Behind the towering stone walls of the brutal stone palace that awaits me, I know I will be shielded from the Orcs' marauding raids. The looming presence of the rich man, with all his power and influence, offers protection and security, even if it comes at the cost of my own desires and dreams. A bitter choice to make, but my brother Aldrin forced my hand. I curse him for charging at the guard. Any other time, he would have been killed on the spot.

I look through the window up the long road to his imperious palace. That will be my life now.

As the carriage bounces along the cobbled road, my mind wanders to the stories I've heard about Lord Ashbourne. Some say he's a fierce ruler, others a cruel tyrant. But all agree that he's a man to be feared. A man with a taste for the perverse, a man who takes what he wants, when he wants it.

My stomach churns as I imagine what my wedding night will be like. Will he be gentle? Will he treat me kindly? Or will he take me roughly, without a thought for my pleasure or my pain? I shudder at the thought, feeling sick to my stomach.

After my parents died and left me to fend for me and my brother, I swore never to have a family until I could give them a secure future. I'd never even kissed a boy, and now, I'll be in the hands of the cruel Lord to do as he pleases. My life will be fancy dresses, make-up and singing and dancing for his pleasure, until he puts his child in my belly. That is my only purpose now, and there can be no escape. I'll be known as his bride across the country, and no one would shelter me, not when the price is their head.

“Orcs!” There is a cry from a soldier when three cannonballs of green muscle rush down the hillside into the pass. The front two have spears, but they just lower their shoulders, barreling through the nearest soldiers while their leader, a huge beast of a man with a blue-black blade that seems alive in his hand, lightning sparking from it, rushes straight for my carriage. I scream and back away as his blade pierces the carriage side like he’s shearing through paper, and he grabs my leg, pulling me towards him. I kick, my heel embedding in his chest, and he grunts in pain and pulls me, throwing me over his shoulder, my legs dangled over his back, my head slapping against his powerful chest. He takes off at a run, the two other Orcs in front of him.

“Don’t shoot! You could hit her!” yells a soldier, when I hear the crack of a rifle, and a bullet flies past us. I’m jostled up and down as the Orc sprints away with long strides.

My heart beating like a war drum, I try to struggle and fight but the Orc's grip on me is like a vise. He carries me effortlessly, his muscular frame moving with the fluidity of a predator. My mind races with thoughts of escape, of screaming for help, but deep down I know that it's futile.

Once we are over the crest of the hill, there is no one to hear my screams, or to see my struggles. The guards can't keep up with his long-legged gait. I try to break free, to punch at the Orc, but his arm is an iron band pinning me to his chest. My legs dangle, kicking at the air, but his strides are long and I tire quickly. The only thing that gives me hope is that he’s not trying to kill me. If he was, he would have done so already. That's something, at least.

He runs at a dead sprint for I don’t know how long. It must be ten minutes flat out towards the mountains, when he takes me over a hill. He speaks in the guttural language of the Orcs to his two men, and they slow. Then he sets me down. The three men are panting.

I look up at him. Standing in front of Lord Ashbourne, I felt only contempt. The old man is wiry and cold. I know he was the one who slaughtered the herds our village relies on to get through the winter, just to starve out the Orcs. He forced us to pay a greater tribute in grain because our village hunters were less successful, and that long winter my stomach gnawed with hunger while I did what I could to feed my little brother.

This Orc is nothing like the old man—except in one way.

He has taken me.

He is a huge beast of a man. He towers over me, over seven feet of bulging muscle and power. He’s got a long scar from his abs up to his heart, a white, thick old wound that should have killed him. Any lesser man would have been felled. He stinks, a deep, musky scent like distilled testosterone. His chest heaves as he gasps for air, slowing as he regains composure.

I panic and run.

He’s on me in a second. I struggle, but it's like fighting a mountain. His grip tightens around me, and I can feel his hot breath on my neck, making my skin prickle with fear and something else, something dark and insistent at the way he is able to manhandle me with such ease. He lifts me into the air with one arm as I kick wildly, my heart pounding, his groping hand rough against my body.

---