Page 12 of The Orc Chief's Baker
Brovdir’s ears prickled with every word, and he grappled with his own instincts.
“Give them.”Karthoc snarled into his ear. Each word shivered through him like the slice of a blade. He may as well have cut his neck then.
And then Trinia’s face flashed again. Her red lips. Her round cheeks. Her eager words.
She wanted to trade with him.
He couldn’t do that if he wasdead.
As if sensing his submission, Karthoc dropped his head and got up from his back. Brovdir fell flat onto his stomach, hissing with agony. Pain radiated up his spine with even the most minor twitch.
But he struggled past the pain. Orcs were not so easily broken, and he’d been through horrors far worse than this.
He got to his knees, assessing the damage in a swift instant. Both lungs were punctured by his own ribs. His legs were partially numb from the crack in his spine. His arm hung limp and was drenched in blood.
He sliced the beeswax pouch away from where he’d tied it to his sheath and with his good arm, held it toward Karthoc, though his whole body buzzed with the desperate need to keep it.
Karthoc snatched it from his grip and Brovdir watched in muted devastation as he threw back his head and upturned the bag over his unhinged gaping maw. Not a single crumb was spared from his brother’s jaws.
He swallowed thickly as the memory of the taste of them coated the back of his tongue and made his mouth water.
Then Karthoc took the bag and brought it over his face. The Warlord’s deep inhale brought agony slicing though Brovdir anew. He was taking in Trinia’sessence.Pulling her vanilla and sunshine deep into himself and learning it in a way that Brovdir could only dream of.
His brother’s ruthless and relentless strength was nothing compared to the powers he kept hidden. Powers Brovdir sensed but had never spoken of. Secrets that had never been vocalized even when they were alone.
His blood skittered in horror as Karthoc’s green eyes dilated until they were nothing but black and his muscles fought to rise. To meet the challenge. He wouldnotlet his brother take this woman from him! He’d rather be dead than?—
“Fuck, Brovdir.” Karthoc’s voice was a low whisper on the wind. So quiet that had Brovdir’s ears not been so keen, he would never have heard it. “How’d you find her likethis...?”
The tension drained out of him with a pop and shock took its place. Warm, tingling shot down his every limb. Vanilla curled up in his mind and sunlight baked his broken flesh.
“Give him a fucking tincture before he dies,” Karthoc snapped, throwing the beeswax bag onto the ground. “I’ve won this challenge.”
Brovdir collapsed, unwilling to expend any further energy as he waited for someone to give him a magical potion. Relief had sapped his strength. Challenges between orcs were the main way warriors resolved their conflicts and most did not end in death, but the warlord was not typically one to be merciful.
Ogvick appeared at his side and pushed him onto his back. The pain was nearly enough to make him blackout but then the tincture was thrust between his lips and the familiar taste of bitter swill thundered into his muscles like the spike of an electric shock. His bones knitted back together with agonizing snaps and his lungs refilled. The blackness of his eyes faded. His arm stitched itself, leaving only a coating of sticky cold blood to remind him it had nearly been slashed off.
The moment it could function, Brovdir snatched up the discarded bag out of the muck and hid it in his fist. It still smelled sweet despite being covered in mud.
“I’ll challenge you, Warlord.”
The silence that descended was so chill it was like winter had come early. Brovdir managed to his knees, though his healing was only half done, and stared at the foolhardy male that had just challenged their warlordmomentsafter Brovdir had been cut down so easily.
Toj stepped forward, looking only half as burly and not nearly as swift as his warlord counterpart. But still he repeated strongly, “I challenge you!”
“What?” Karthoc’s single word was a breathy, shocked hiss. He had not a single mark on his hide to heal. Brovdir hadn’t even gotten a chance to strike.
Toj rose his square chin. “I will fight you for the right to meet these humans of Rove Wood.”
“No,” Karthoc said, more in disbelief than anger.
“I challenge as well.” Hendr spat thickly upon the ground and Brovdir was not surprised in the least that the obstinate male had stepped forward. “You know how dire our numbers are. How can you, as our leader, not give us a single fucking chance to woo these humans? How can you deny us the opportunity to find a conquest? To havesons?”
There was a hum from the other warriors. Murmurs of agreement.
And Brovdir exhaled low and slow, releasing tension as his plan was set in motion.
“This ismy command,” Karthoc growled low in his throat. “It is the agreement that Ergoth and I came to.”
