Page 19 of Sacrificed to the Orc

And that I cannot see a vision of her throat slit.

“The Gods tasked me with guarding the sacrifice. Too long away from her, and the future is in danger. This, I know.”

“Tomorrow, perhaps.” Daegon’s voice is gravelly and wise. “For now, return to your charge, as the Gods decree.”

“Go ahead, strong one. We are old, and you are young yet. Do not let us hold you behind,” says Vorkar, his ancient, raspy voice carrying a warmth that was not there a moment ago.

12

HAZEL

Isit cross-legged on the floor on the fur coat that smells of him, my back to the wall. An orc woman, perhaps in her forties, watched me curiously as she brought a bundle with dried fish and a few green, tangy plants. She was nervous to get near me, putting the food down near the bars then making a quick retreat. I ate greedily, bringing the food near the back of the cave to avoid the jealous looks of the guard as he watched me dine. I rub my wrists where the ropes bit into me.

The cave air is dank and wet, the moss growing on the far side giving off a strong, musty odor. Water drips down the wall, and I used it to wash my hands and face, trying to get a semblance of control. The prison descends into darkness, where skittering noises put me on edge, and I keep glancing over compulsively, looking for any sign of animals moving. The rivulet of water streaming down the wall is icy cold, likely glacier fed, and I drank deep. There is even a small stone bowl of sweetgrass, which I chewed, freshening my mouth.

I grab the furs, pulling them to my nose, and inhale his familiar scent.

Askan, my captor, my ruin, the only man who has ever made me feel the deep pangs of need, the only man who has made me yearn so deeply it terrifies me. He’s been an alien, a savage stranger since rejoining with his war-brothers, but his smell is his and his alone, reminding me of his protectiveness that makes me long for him.

The young orc guard stiffens. Heavy bootsteps make my heart jump. Askan. I can see him through the bars, broad and powerful, towering over the younger guard by a head.

On his muscled chest, between the twin, mirrored black crescent runes of stealth, is a violent addition.

The blood moon. Crimson, dripping with his own blood that mixes with the fresh ink. It is the image of the night sky, the same sky that will be the last thing I see, staring up, before the knife opens my artery and my blood flows on the black altar.

Askan states something in orcish, his voice low and cold, his green eyes intense on the young orc, who practically jumps to obey, bowing his head in a rushed series of nods and handing over the keys. In his eagerness to retreat, the young orc knocks over the stool, which clatters to the ground. He is about to bend over to right it when Askan’s glare sends him scurrying away.

“Come closer, prisoner! Where I can see you!” Askan commands me, his booming voice echoing purposefully.

I jolt upright, my body responding to his command instinctively. Clutching the heavy fur, I walk with trepidation towards the man I thought I knew. His savagery terrifies me. The ivory sharpness of his fangs, the rich green hues of his skin, the piercing emeralds of his eyes that delve into my soul, pulling out my deepest, darkest secrets. The blood-red orb on his chest pulses in the dim light, radiating its own primal power.

He rights the stool and sits, his gaze unwavering as I position the furs near the bar. I’m close enough for him to reach out and touch.

I’m torn between longing for his fingers against my skin and dread at his grasp.

“I’ve postponed the feast until tomorrow. Every warrior and orc of fighting age will be there…except a few guards. I could only get us an extra day to plan.” His voice is low and whispered.

“Forgive me if I don’t feel much like celebrating.”

The skin around his eyes tightens. “Your forgiveness is the one thing I do not deserve.”

Orcs are approaching from the village, torchlight glinting on the swords at their belts, come to gawk at the offering.

Askan sniffs, smelling their presence. Without turning, he raises his hand imperiously. A subtle flick of his fingers, and the orcs immediately bow their heads, making a swift about-face.

Askan’s lips curl back. “I will break you free of this cage. I alone put you here.”

“How?”

He looks down, a flash of pain overcoming him.

“I…I don’t know.” His eyes shut, tight, then open again. “I wish I could touch you. Even speaking to you is dangerous.”

“Then don’t speak to me.” I wrap myself in the furs, wishing I had never met him. “I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you,” I say, my voice venomous, knowing he is hurt, not caring, wanting to wound him, wanting him to feel just a sliver of the intense terror that has infected my being since he first kidnapped me.

“I deserve your hatred.” His voice is raw, strained.

“And if my death brings the herds back, when your village is fed and happy and I am nothing more than a distant memory, will you regret bringing me here? Or will it have been worth it?”

---