Page 19 of Orc Chained
“She’s awake, Rathhur,” Lathhan says. “Her breathing changed. Take a breath.”
“Maezii,” I croak, and try to push myself out of his arms.
“The greywing has her.”
The whoosh and the crash.
“Just some bruises,” I hear Hatthar say, his voice thick with the same rage I feel. The same rage in Rathhur’s eyes.
I turn my head, nostrils flaring as I follow the scent of bloody meat to see a body on the ground several feet from me. It’s in pieces, and Hatthar picks up an arm and bashes it against the corpse’s severed head.
“Motherfucker,” he spits. He drops the arm and crouches, searching the pieces.
“What are you doing?” I say.
“Identification.”
All the pieces seem like overkill; typical Uthilsen male behavior. “You were messy, Hath’a.”
He snorts, glancing at Rathhur. “This isn’t my mess.”
“There is one yet alive,” I hear Ya?onar say. His anger is as obvious as theirs, but rather than hot and seething, it’s cold and biting. “I will question him.”
“Orcs don’t break under torture,” Rath says.
Ya?onar chuckles.
“Remind me never to piss that male off,” I murmur.
Rath lowers his forehead to mine. “Hellsdamned, Ky’a. I said ten minutes. Why did you leave the tent?”
“They targeted us. Are they slavers?” He lets me sit up on my own but keeps an arm around me.
“I don’t know. Let the greywing work. Baby, your nose is busted.”
I know. I’ve been ignoring it.
Latthan brings Maezii to me, and they didn’t lie. She’s in much better shape.
“They were going to sell me,” she says. “But I think they wanted Kya dead. Why? Why waste a perfectly good breeding female?”
The males exchange a look.
Hatthar crouches next to me. “I can push it back into place.”
Rath opens his mouth, then grits his teeth and nods. “Gently.”
“She’s an Orc, Rath. Stop babying her.” But his touch is gentle, the forced expression on his face cheerful. “Did it this time, Ky’a. He’s going to break every line in the contract till you own him for life.”
My jaw clenches when he fixes my nose, but I don’t scream. I only did before in case the boys were close and might hear me.
That’s the story I’m sticking to.
Maezii drops to her knees next to me and grabs my hand. She lets out a string of insults in her Gaithean dialect, Uthilsuven, a sprinkle of Aeddannari, and even a few Icarian words.
“We will have time to correct your pronunciation on the road,” Ya?onar says, approaching. “I have questioned the male.” He glances at Rath. “I did not know politics among the Uthilsen female’s circles were so fraught. This journey will be more interesting than I anticipated.”
Silence.
