Page 6 of Halfling
For a moment, her heart leapt with hope—it was a man, a human man! Was he another prisoner? Did orcs capture men, too? She didn’t know, didn’t care, was just thrilled to see a face like hers instead of—
He rocked forward on the balls of his feet, almost involuntarily, like pure astonishment drew him closer.
It was still dark, the tent still cast in deep purples and blues, but just enough light eked in from the front that she realized his face wasn’t quite…right.
His skin was green. Not just a patch or a tattoo, all of it, his whole body was swathed in green skin that caught the light and shadows like the browns and tans of human skin. But his was green. Just like—
Her stomach plummeted as she caught more of his face. It wasn’t human, too sharp, the nose too prominent and angular, the upper lip too bowed. A small gold hoop dangling from one large, pointed ear gleamed in the low light. Shoulders the size of boulders were smeared with enough blood she smelled the coppery tang of it. Wide chest, thighs like logs, and big hands capable of squeezing the life out of small, puny things. Like her.
At the sight of her, a curse wheezed out of him. Nothing she understood.
And then she felt like retching up her stomach and all her guts.
Orc. He was an orc, covered in blood, come to fetch her.
She wanted to sob again. Her time had already run out.
2
Cold dread washed over Orek as if he’d jumped headlong into a rushing river. A human woman for Krul. Just as his mother had been for his father, all those years ago.
His beast, already incensed, howled at the sight of her.
“Shit,” he swore, mouth twisting in anger.
He couldn’t help taking a step closer, his gaze devouring her. He’d never seen a human woman up close after his mother left. He’d come across a few men out on his hunts, wildmen who liked living apart from others. He traded or bartered with them sometimes, but otherwise, they didn’t bother Orek and he didn’t bother them.
But this…this was no wildman.
Her eyes were blown wide, skittering across his features but not quite landing on anything, as if she couldn’t quite make him out properly.
Holed up against a semicircle of boxes, she sat with her limbs bound and mouth gagged. Put amongst other goods like she was something to be bought, bartered, and used.
She’d been working her restraints, her hands twisted away at the wrists. Her eyes were big, bright, and terrified in her pale pink face, the whites stark against the darkness of the tent. But she didn’t cower, and something in Orek stirred at the sight of her squared shoulders.
She looked small to him, but perhaps she wasn’t for a human woman. Her shoulders were broader and stronger than his mother’s had been, her waist flaring out to thick hips and thighs. And even with her arms bound before her and in the dim of the tent, he could make out the contours of large breasts. Orcesses had much smaller breasts on wide, muscular chests, but humans had globes of soft flesh, and this one’s were generous handfuls.
He took a sharp breath and made himself look away, back to her face. Wild, unwashed curls of a brown shade framed her face, but he couldn’t quite tell the true color in the low light. But he could see the small, pigmented dots littering her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Freckles. A very human mark. His mother had had a few. He had some on his cheeks.
He opened his mouth; he didn’t know why, didn’t know what he intended to say, but shut it quickly again at the fear she radiated. It assaulted his nose in an acrid wave, turning his stomach.
She didn’t cower, but she held herself stiff, as if readying for him to grab at her. To do something unspeakable to her.
Like Krul will do.
Another growl worked up his throat, but he bit it back for fear of scaring her. None of him, beast included, wanted this creature anywhere near the Stone-Skin chief.
He’d do the same thing to her as was done to his mother. Keep her for as long as it pleased him, use her in any way he liked.
Orek hadn’t understood as a youngling what truly happened when his father came demanding his mother, when she hurried Orek away or his father shoved him out of the tent. Something deep inside told him never to go back in until his father left, even if it meant spending a whole night hiding from Kaldar and the other orclings who’d shove him and twist his ears.
But Orek was grown now. He understood what those nights were, what it had meant for his mother as she cried and bled for days. He’d tried to comfort her, tried to help her how he could, but she’d shuddered away from his touch and couldn’t look at him.
If she hadn’t left, she’d be dead by now. His father would’ve used her until there was nothing left. His father was a heartless brute, Orek had always understood that. And look what he’d done to a human woman.
Krul was all these things too, but there was something more inside him, a cleverness, a shrewd cruelty that had kept him in charge for years. What could such a male do to this small human?
Break her. Beyond degradation and pain and torment. Krul could break this female.
