An offer to the orc, p.1
An Offer to the Orc, page 1
AN OFFER TO THE ORC
THE PERISHED WOODS
MONSTER BRIDES COLLABORATION
TRACY LAUREN
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Epilogue
Epilogue II
Author’s Note
Also by Tracy Lauren
© 2023 Tracy Lauren
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by U.S. copyright law.
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CHAPTER 1
Arron
With the coin purse gripped tightly in my hand and my dark cloak whipping as I sprint, I hear the bellows of a dragon in the distance. Is it fear that I’m feeling? Such an unfamiliar emotion, but so potent once one has friends. I worry over Thorn and his woman, Alba. She’s human, the delicate kind…though there is a slice taken out of my middle suggesting she’s capable of more than simple femininity.
Strange little creature. I can’t say I’ve known many humans. My nature, however, is to protect. And so, I clench my fist tighter, driven by the importance of my task. This coin is for Alba’s people. Women, left alone and homeless after the orc raids. They’ll need coin to escape the Kingdom of Pontheugh. I don’t know that it will be safe here for much longer, for the Queen of Envercress has her sights set on this land.
Guards rush past, headed in the direction from which I came, toward their abandoned castle. Back to where Thorn is surely facing the Queen in her most monstrous form—a dragon, red and angry. There’s no use thinking of that now. I must trust my friend and focus on the women Alba sent me to protect. Beatrice and Wendy. Her chosen family, awaiting her return at the Copper Coin.
“DRAGON!” someone screams—a dirty-faced peasant with hollow cheeks. The muscles in his neck are strained. He doesn’t notice me, an orc amongst the chaos, and he begins running along the street, banging on houses and warning his neighbors.
I could have done without that, I lament.
Doors fly open. There are more screams. People abandon their homes and rush for the gate. They’re fleeing and blocking my path in the process. I trip and stumble over the puny townspeople, cringing at how pathetic they are. I thought the humans at Pontheugh would be heartier, that maybe there would be more warriors amongst them. Yet I find these men even more woefully inadequate than the villagers we fought to get here.
There is shouting all around me, people bump and crash into one another—desperate to break away. I try my best not to crush anyone underfoot as I scan the buildings for the one Alba pointed out. Finally, I see it—a wooden and weathered sign bearing the image of stacked coins.
Darting down an alley, I cautiously check my surroundings. I’ve got the protection of my cloak and the added guise of the commotion on the streets, but if someone were to look close enough there wouldn’t be much I could do to hide the truth. I am an orc and an unwelcome sight in man’s land.
But being welcome or not does little to change the fact that there are women here who need my help. With a sense of conviction, I find the door and wrap my hand around the knob. Am I heroic, I wonder. With one swift motion I bust it down…utterly shocking myself.
Blinking and surprised, I confess that the move was entirely unintentional. I suppose I expected some heavy barricade to be barring my entry. Instead, the hinges gave way. I stagger into what appears to be a kitchen, gaping like a fool. I’ve got the knob and the entire door still in hand when the screaming starts.
A wispy woman, not much more than a stick, is wailing at the sight of me. Clumsily I try to return the door to its frame. That’s when an old crone comes in, grabbing up a wooden spoon and wielding it at me like a sword. She isn’t as incoherent as the flimsy one—there are actual words to her shouting.
“What in Hells do you think you are doing in this kitchen?” she demands, waving that spoon with menace.
I stammer, but don’t know that I can be heard over the screams. “Alba sent me…coin…I’ve got coin…!”
I fumble with the purse and toss it onto the table, hoping that the sight of it will set everything right. And for a moment I think it has worked. The women’s eyes shift to that soft, little bag. And the thin one, I guess that’s Wendy, she snaps her gaze to me. “That is Alba’s.”
I nod vigorously, glad she understands.
“Does that mean…are you Thorn?”
I clear my throat and peel back the cloak, revealing my face. Green and scarred flesh, teeth like a beast. I’m not much to look at, even for an orc. “No. I am not Thorn.”
There’s a gasp of surprise from the old one when she sees what I am, but Wendy is glaring with narrowed eyes. She knows then, that Alba’s lover is not a man but an orc.
“Then who are you and what did you do to our Alba?”
Not waiting for an answer, Wendy dives at me, taking a running leap for my throat. She claws at me like a feral cat. The old one, Beatrice—a busty woman with a matronly demeanor and white hair tucked beneath a scarf—she’s shouting and trying her damnedest to tear Wendy away. I do the only thing I can: block the little one’s attack as best I can until Beatrice is successful in coming to my rescue.
She shoves Wendy behind her and points that spoon like a rapier. “Explain yourself you…you…” Her eyes rake over me, questioning, even though she can see exactly what I am.
“Orc,” I supply.
Her mouth drops open. Cheeks puff and lips sputter. “Oh my…” is all she manages.
“Alba sent me to give you that.” I point to the coin.
“Why?” Beatrice demands, not trusting me.
“So that you might escape.”
She crosses her arms over that massive chest of hers. “We aren’t escaping anything without Alba.”
I shake my head. “You’re going to have to. She’s with Thorn.”
“Thorn?”
“The Orc King.”
Gasps all around. I guess Wendy didn’t know that particular detail.
“The Orc King has captured our girl?” Beatrice’s voice threatens to break.
“No, it’s not like that.” I explain. “They’re running away together. Or they will be after Thorn defeats the dragon.”
“Dragon?”
They’re horrified and I realize I am quite terrible at telling stories.
“The coin is for you, from Alba, it is meant for your escape.”
“And who the Hell are you?” Wendy shouts from behind the safety of the old woman.
“I am Arron, General to the King.”
“Are you going to take the castle?” Beatrice asks, not in a fearful way. But scrutinizing.
I shake my head. “No. I think I might just run away too.”
“Coward,” Wendy accuses.
I level her with a cold stare and she withers, sinking lower behind Beatrice’s shoulder. “Is it cowardly to come to the aid of two defenseless women?”
“Who says we’re defenseless?” Beatrice demands, her chin held high.
“You plan to fight a dragon off with that spoon?”
“There can’t really be a dragon,” Wendy says. “There is no such thing.”
I move the unhinged door out of the way and welcome the ladies to have a look. Clinging together, they inch their way outside to view the mass exodus. Hundreds of people running through the streets, screaming “dragon” as they go.
“Where are they headed?”
“To the gates?” I offer in speculation.
“But the orc army is beyond the gates.”
“I guess they’d rather take their chances against an army than a dragon.”
The women shuffle quickly back inside and suddenly Beatrice is looking to me for more answers. “Truly, there’s a dragon in Pontheugh?”
“There is.”
“And our Alba is with the Orc King?”
“Yes.”
“Then, orcs are friendly?”
“I would not go so far as to say that.”
“But you are here?”
“I am.”
“For what purpose?”
“To save you, damn it.”
“How? I don’t understand. What are you saving us from? What is all this really about?”
I shrug, trying to think of the most concise way to explain. But this journey, this trial, it has been years in the making. “The Queen of Envercress is an evil witch who was controlling the Orc King. He’s freed himself and so now he must fight her. If they survive, he and Alba will run away together.”
“Run away together? Where to?”
“To the Perished Woods.”
More gasps of fearful shock.
“Alba can’t go to the Perished Woods! That’s a cursed land!”
“It’s the only place an orc can live freely.”
“And she sent you here?”
“Of course she did!” I grab up the coin purse once more. “To bring this. From Alba. So that you might escape!”
“To the Perished Woods?” Wendy asks.
“Gods no,” Beatrice and I reply in unison. The old woman’s expression softens and she shoots a sly smile in my direction…one that makes me shift uneasily.
“No,” Beatrice says. “He’s right. I think we can trust this…orc. We have to get out of here.” But the declaration is quickly followed by a wince as she draws up the memory of the crowd outside. “If there are any boats at those damned docks, they’re going to be overwhelmed in minutes.”
“I will ensure you get aboard one of them.”
“How?” Beatrice asks, finally setting her spoon down. Her tone has changed and she inclines her body toward mine. The old woman’s fear is gone and she seems…bold. It has a disquieting effect on me.
I clear my throat, regaining a bit of myself. “If I have to throw you over the starboard side, I’ll do it. Alba needs to know that you’re safe. It’s important to her. So…so it’s important to me.”
“My,” Beatrice says, taking me in. “How heroic.”
She’s fanning her chest with her hand. I think she might even be batting eyelashes in my direction. The angry and mistrustful Wendy doesn’t seem to notice, she’s too busy glaring at me. But all I can feel is Beatrice’s gaze growing steadily hungrier. I shift on my feet once more and feel the urge to tighten my cloak as her grey eyes skate up and down my body in a devouring sort of way.
“Wendy dear? Run to our room and gather our things.”
“There isn’t much time—” I start, but Beatrice ignores me, ushering Wendy up the stairs. The younger woman doesn’t look back. Though I wish she would. Somehow I felt safer with her in the room. Beatrice rounds back on me.
“Now, now. There is always time for a big, strapping thing like you to have a meal. Tell me, Arron, how does a nice, hearty stew sound?”
My nose has been acutely aware of the delicious scent hanging in the kitchen, but now truly isn’t the time. “I think we would want to hurry.”
“Nonsense.” Beatrice takes me by the arm and forces me down onto a bench before the table. Nervousness creeps a little closer when her hands linger on my bicep.
“You are a strong one, aren’t you?” she asks, unleashing a girlish giggle. “And I don’t see a ring round your finger.”
“No, ma’am.”
Beatrice crosses the room, emphasizing the sway to her hips as she does. I watch as she picks up a human-sized bowl and pauses, reconsidering. Choosing instead a large serving tureen, she ladles it to the top with steaming broth, chunks of meat, and chopped root vegetables.
“Ever been married?”
I shake my head and keep my eyes on the dish she sets before me.
“I’m single too,” she confesses coquettishly as she slides onto the bench beside me.
At all costs I avoid making eye contact with the elderly woman and instead begin shoveling stew into my mouth. The sooner I eat, the sooner we can be out of here. I can get these women on whatever boat will take them, then I can return to the safety of my friends. I might be crazy, but I’ve the distinct impression that Beatrice is coming on to me. An uncomfortable scenario to say the least.
My suspicions are confirmed when Beatrice puts a hand on my thigh. My eyes shoot wide and the shock nearly causes me to fall out of my seat. “I’ve always had a thing for big men,” she purrs.
“Wendy won’t be long, will she?” I glance toward the stairs. “It is imperative that we hurry—”
“And leave that stomach of yours empty? Never!” She slips a hand inside my cloak to rub my stomach and I do indeed pull my cloak tighter at the neck.
“Ma’am!”
Beatrice flutters her eyelashes and leans in close. “You’re a shy one.”
I huff, not liking the accusation. “And you do not seem to fear my kind.”
“Well, you’re a friend of Alba’s and I’ve had plenty of time to think about orcs, now haven’t I?”
“I suppose,” I say, picking up the tureen to drain it.
“Long, lonely nights…one’s thoughts can go all sorts of places. I confess that mine have.” Her hand finds my thigh again and I move it back to the tabletop. “Even the naughtiest villains can visit a lonely woman in her dreams. And I think you might be just the right amount of naughty.”
With my stew gone, I shoot nervous eyes at the old flirt, and her gaze lands on my lips.
“Oh…you’ve a little stew right on your… Let me get that for you.” Beatrice’s hands reach towards my lips and I jolt, toppling backwards off the small, human-sized bench with a crash. Wendy chooses that moment to come stomping down the stairs, a small case in each hand.
“What are you doing to Beatrice?” she demands.
I bound to my feet. “Nothing!”
Scrambling for the door, I watch Beatrice hang her apron on a hook. She smiles over her shoulder at me as she tucks the coin purse between her bosoms. My cheeks heat and I look to Wendy for help, but she’s fiddling with the cases. Damn naïve girl.
“Are we leaving now or what?” she wants to know.
“Yes, please. We should leave as soon as possible.”
“I’m all ready,” Beatrice tells me with a smile. Her hands find my arm as if I am her escort.
“Does the girl need to eat before we travel?” I ask.
Beatrice waves the question away as if it’s unimportant and gives my arm a squeeze.
“Fine, let’s just get out of here.”
I put my hood back on, covering my face so that the townspeople don’t see me for what I am. I would like very much to hurry down to these docks. The sooner I can be rid of these women, the better.
Wendy pushes past us at the door, marching out into the street. She’s hardly more than a child, yet somehow looks ready for a fight. Right away, a man knocks into her as he scrambles through the alley. She nearly topples. “Hey! Watch it!” she shouts after him.
“Get behind me, both of you.”
“Don’t be silly,” Beatrice says. She takes the cases from Wendy and places them in my hands, before returning her clinging hold to my arm. “Wendy, you walk in the back.”
“Why do I have to walk in the back?” she complains.
“To keep you safe, dear.”
“Then why aren’t you walking in the back?”
“Oh, I’m plenty safe…with Arron.”
Clearing my throat, I agree.
Beatrice melds closer to my side and I begin forging a path through the unruly crowd. The only thought in my mind is ridding myself of these charges and getting back to my friends. A pinch to my ass startles me and when I look down, I see Beatrice beaming a smile in my direction. Neither Black Mountain nor a war with man ever made me half as uneasy as the come-ons of this elderly woman. Sweat forms on my brow and I quicken my pace, desperate to get to the boats.
CHAPTER 2
