Page 33 of Alien Orc Warlord's Captive Bride

Tusk steps forward, his head bowed. He’s one of two civilians allowed in the great hall, along with Silga, who has a place of honor as my Queen’s chosen servant. Tusk has aged a decade in a night, but the cunning old Orc has fire in his eyes. "Your rifles cut down two of the King's birds, which repelled the attack. You are granted your pick," I say, motioning to the pile of gold and gems.

"One of these, and I'll be able to buy tools to expand my warehouse," says Tusk, picking a small ruby from the pile. It is a modest gem compared to the others.

"You may have your pick of any. I owe you a great debt."

He grins. "This is enough for me. Thank you, Chieftain Ragnar and Queen Aira."

He steps away, walking towards the entrance to the cave. "Stay. Feast. You earned it."

"I've got work to do. I'll have another two rifles made while you lot drink yourselves to a stupor. That pine throne of yours set me behind schedule," he says, with a wink to Aira. She smiles, graciously, nodding her head at her subject.

"Ulric. You are now captain of the patrols. You alone will be in charge of sending out scouting parties, to gather information. You've proved yourself in battle, and to be loyal. Take your pick of anything you wish."

"I don't need gold or gems, Ragnar. Just a blade." He grins at me. "Do you wish me to start my patrols now, or can I feast?" He took Gorak's death hard. The three of us had grown up together, wrestling and fighting as kids, and he could not believe that he had betrayed me. Despite his sorrow, he's keeping his head up.

"Barton is keeping watch tonight." Barton is the sharp-eyed Orc who shot down the first metal bird before it got to our villages. He's got ten men with him, good soldiers who I trust with my life. They will pledge their fealty on the morrow…

If I can tear myself away from Aira for a moment.

"Then I'll take my pick of reward. Mead, and lots of it!" He yells it out, and my Orc warriors grin.

"Then let us feast!" I boom out, to cheers of my men and women warriors.

I take a bite, but the juicy meat is tasteless in my mouth as I look over at Aira. She sits, straight-backed, her full breasts exposed shamelessly, and she looks up at me, smiling. I want her. Desperately. The firelight licks at her, the paints gleaming, and I drink up every inch of her curves, my eyes resting on those perfect, exposed nipples, running down the taut, pale skin of her belly. My heartbeat quickens. I pray to the Gods of this land that tonight is the night I put my sire in her belly, that my seed grows inside of her. She’s brought life to the valley. Where we faced the icy cold of winter without hope, she has filled us with a future.

Civilians are waiting at the bottom of the stairs in the square below the great hall, families, some still wounded, in bandages and with plant medicine balm on their cuts, but they must wait, because there is one final thing to be done before they can share of the meat.

A King and his Queen must be united, as the rituals of our tribe decree, in front of every warrior who pledges his blade.

I can't wait a second longer. I stand from my seat, and take my Queen’s hand.

20

AIRA

On the outside, I am ice, portraying myself as a worthy Queen.

On the inside, I'm as terrified as the first time I went out poaching. Silga told me that this part of the ritual is a union. To act natural and let my body guide me, that inside me, I know what to do already.

But as Ragnar stands, towering over me, the Orc warriors stop eating. They put down their food and drink, staring at me. My nipples harden instantly, heat growing between my legs, hot and tingly. I've been picturing it all day. Ragnar taking my virginity in front of his tribe, claiming me forever. A low moan escapes my lips. I don't try to stop it. I let myself feel my need for Ragnar without shame.

There is no malevolence or distrust like the first time they saw me. Instead, I see something new. Hope. Some brute warriors, covered in scars, are smiling as Ragnar wraps his huge hand around mine, gently stroking his fingers against my skin.

Him standing is all the signal needed. Two Orcs bring a huge pile of furs, moving the thrones and placing them down against the floor. I swallow, nervous, and try to act the queen, but I don't know what to do. My body is petrified, not out of shame, but out of fear I will do something wrong. Will the Orcs see something in our union that negates me as their Queen?

Ragnar stands in front of me, turning to face me, blocking me from the view of the Orcs with his massive body. He runs his finger up my cheek, down my freshly braided hair, then traces the line of silver painted blades over my collarbone. His touch centers me, as I stare up into his pure green eyes.

The Orc is a behemoth of a man. Pure power incarnate, his skin hard and rugged compared to my softness. He is carved from jade, his black, wild hair down to his shoulders framing that powerful jaw and his face like a mountain. His protectiveness and possessiveness radiates over me. I run my hand over his long, white scar, earned protecting his tribe, and I know he would die for me in a heartbeat. His green eyes stare into my soul, filled with love, lust, and aching need, wanting me more than I thought any man possibly could. His calloused fingers are so gentle as he traces my collarbone, as if I am a piece of art, yet he knows my strength.

"You are my Queen, Aira. Tonight, you will be my mate."

He leans in, and his lips brush against mine, soft, gentle, calming me yet igniting passion through my body. His smell intensifies as his lust grows, the heady stink of man, and he wraps his huge hand around my lower back, pulling me into his kiss as his tongue invades my mouth. My hands are shaking as I press them against the wall of muscle that is his chest, feeling his heartbeat pounding like a drum. His Orc cock surges up, pressing against the loincloth, and I bring my hands down, undoing his clothes, his member rearing up to full height.

The feverish flush of lust fills me, this primal desire for him to claim me. It is his sheer size, his protectiveness, how he would do anything for me that makes my nipples pebble, sensitive and begging for his touch.

Ragnar kisses me hard as he rips my loincloth from me like it is made of paper, exposing me fully, and he grabs my ass with both hands, lifting me up and pulling me against him. I can't even wrap my legs around him. His biceps are huge under the crook of my leg, his hands on my back, my arms wrapped around his huge, thick neck, and I stare into his beautiful green eyes as he positions his cockhead against my soaking wet slit.

Ragnar growls, low and deep, his eyes wild and furious as he fights against his brutal mating rage, every instinct in him telling him to impale me with his massive cock that is thicker than my wrist, to ruin me forever and bind me to him, his muscles tensing as he grips me tight, grinding his cockhead against my slit. His dick throbs, spitting alien pre-cum against me, soothing me, making my pussy tingle as I breathe in his scent. He's sweating, rivers dripping down his forehead, and it is not from the heat, but from the brutal, aching need welling up in his being. The smell of my Orc intensifies, testosterone and distilled masculinity that fills my nostrils and makes my head swirl.

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