Page 1 of Loved By The Orc (Monster Orc Brides #4)

Quick Note : This wraps up the series! The first story is in the Monster Brides series (a shared author collaboration) and the other stories are together in the

Monster Orc Brides .

PRONUNCIATION GUIDE:

Negan —(NEE-gun)

Varguk—(Var-GUK)

Shalia—(Shall-LIE-yuh)

Hisa—(HEE-sa)

Oshin—(OH-shen)

Denruk—(DEN-ruck)

Solaya—(So-LIE-yuh)

Cara’jek—(cara-JEK)

Negan, goddaughter of Brachard, King of the West Mountain orcs:

“PRETTY NEGAN.” A soft voice rumbles.

Disgust makes me school my features before looking up because giving him attention is what makes Denruk thrive. I’ve avoided him for years—ever since turning him down. Most males in my clan acknowledged my choice, but not him. It seems to have made him more determined than ever.

“What do you want?” I ask bluntly.

“You.” His lips turn up, but instead of a true smile, one that reaches his eyes, his is flat and empty.

It doesn’t help that his lips are thinner than most, and the same color as his skin, a dusky grey-green that should be pretty, but instead is sickly with excessive ale.

His flesh is pock-marked and scarred; he’d probably be handsome with a beard to cover his weak chin but he’s smooth-shaven instead.

Mentally, I snort. More than likely can’t grow a full chin.

He twists his lips again, the move awkward and unpracticed, leaving more of a sneer than a smile.

I should feel sorry for him, a grown male who will never depart his geeky years no matter how much he matures, but I can’t.

Denruk has an evil side, one that most children outgrow once they learn empathy. His simply grew with him.

“Need we have this conversation again? I am not attracted to you,” I say bluntly.

“You don’t have to be. I can still take care of you—in all ways.”

Does that mean what I think? Disgust roils through my belly. One reason why I am still untouched is because it’s become a challenge to be the first male between my thighs. An honor that no one yet deserves.

“I don’t need your care,” I snap.

“Don’t you?” He leans in, his face suddenly cruel. This… this is the brat I remember, the whelp from a female who spoiled her son. Who gave him anything he wanted and who thinks he should possess the one thing I refuse to give him.

Me.

“You know, it just takes a parent’s permission to mate their offspring to another. My mother has given her blessing—”

“My father will never give you his permission. He knows I don’t want you.”

My words don’t faze him. He leans in close enough that I catch a whiff of his sour breath. It smells like he just roused from a night’s sleep, despite the morn being half gone. Come to think of it, he still looks unwashed and his hair looks mussed from the furs .

I stave off a shudder. Frightful male. I will never fathom how any woman will want him. Even if he were to make king one day, I doubt he’d get a mate.

“Doesn’t need to be your father, does it, sweet-knees?” He chuckles at the childhood nickname which shortens my name, Negan.

I find myself knitting my brow. Normally, two parents can go against each other’s wishes for choosing a mate for their offspring.

If they can’t reach an agreement, our King Jacovi steps in with the final decision.

However, this information has nothing to do with me.

It isn’t a secret that I have one parent. “What do you mean?”

“My mother and yours were best friends,” he reaches out and fingers one of my braids. “So it doesn’t have to be your father alone who makes the decision. My mother can reach out, find yours and you’ll find yourself within my arms in no time.”

Son of a biernak.

Of course, his mother is in contact with mine. The fact that mine hasn’t seen me in decades doesn’t matter. She’ll step in and mate me to her best friend’s son as a favor to them, surely. What will she want in return?

But then reason returns.

“My father will never allow it,” I say clearly and succinctly. Of this, I’m sure.

His smirk returns. “Your mother has half say.”

“And when they disagree, it will go to Jacovi.” My meaning is clear.

If it goes to Jacovi, we both know which way he’ll swing.

He won’t upset the balance we have with the West Mountain orcs by upsetting my father, who is best friends with Joanna of that clan.

In fact, I am the West Mountain king’s own goddaughter.

A sort of bonus granddaughter. I would say he’s more hopeful that I’ll mate with their clan, not one in my own.

A reciprocal smirk twists my own lips.

Take that, biernak .

“True,” he says easily. Way too easily. “I guess it makes more sense for only one parent to make the decision. No controversy that way. Since we know which way your father will swing, we’ll have to depend on your mother’s sole choice.”

For a moment, his words make no sense. I stare at him in confusion, as if I can see his hidden meaning written on his ugly face.

Then his gist sinks in. There’s only one way for my mother to have sole decision. If she’s my only parent .

The blood drains from my face and there’s a roaring in my ears. I barely catch the whisper that drops from my lips. “Daddy.”

My father. Where is he? He set off early this morn. I figured it was a little difficult to find game… mayhap he’d run into some trouble, or lost track of time. But the taunt in Denruk’s beastly face makes me realize he knows my father ran into trouble.

“Where is he?” I snarl.

Denruk shrugs. “Out hunting?”

“I swear to the Goddess, if something happens to him, I’ll crush your balls. You’ll never bear brats.”

“That’s the whole point, my frigid future mate.

You own my balls,” he laughs and from up on the hill, I hear two other fools guffaw along with him.

Mitrek and Ugrik. And suddenly, I think I know where my father is.

I know the first place I’ll check, anyway.

The traps. They’re not for animals, of course, but carefully laid for intruders.

Each Blackheart knows the vicinity of the traps but that doesn’t mean that my father hasn’t fallen in one.

These two are in charge of keeping track of our hidden traps… making sure the pits are camouflaged, and stay empty.

I head off in the opposite direction, toward my house. I don’t want them to know I suspect. There’s three of them and one of me. I may end up with my father and there’s no one to bail us out .

Adrenaline pounds through my limbs. I want to race to the pits—he may be trapped with a wild beast—but I force myself to bide my time, ignoring their laughter trailing behind me as I head home.

But instead of entering the house, I mount my faithful steed and head the back way through our territory. I ride like the wind and as soon as I reach the first pit, I notice my father’s beast, Hellsfire, snorting and pulling his rope in a fit from where he’s tied to a tree.

I knew it. Father is near.

I lead Helena to the opposite side of the tree and dismount. My heart pounds and my breath escapes in deep, labored huffs as I tie her nearby. Adrenaline races through my limbs as my legs pump. When I reach Hellsfire, he’s huffing, steam pushing from his flared nostrils.

“Shh, my love, calm,” I soothe him from a distance.I approach Hellsfire warily, letting him smell me before I ease the blindfold from his eyes. He stares about wildly, his eyes rolling, but finds some comfort as I cluck my tongue.

“‘Tis alright, beast. I’ll find him. You’ll be safe here with Helena.”

As if she understands, my mare whinnies softly.

The sky flashes with light. Warily, I glance around. The sky is darkening with gray storm clouds and the biting wind is whipping my hair back and forth, the Goddess shrieking her anger.

Carefully, I brush aside the netting barrier and peer over the edge, but the trap isn’t triggered.

Something in my belly sinks. I had banked on finding my father in this pit.

But no matter, there’s one nearly diagonal to this, though how he would be in that one and bypassing this first means he would come from outside the village.

Of course, that could be exactly what the sneaky orcs intended.

Mayhap pretend my father had wayward intentions and left the village without letting anyone know.

Droplets of rain start to fall, hitting me across the face as I race across the terrain. My legs are pumping hard; my heart is pumping harder, but I don’t care. I’ll do anything to find him .

A crack of thunder sounds, making me jump, just as I see the disturbance of the second trap’s barrier. That’s got to be it.

“Daddy!” I scream, hoping he can hear me with the wind shrieking like a banshee, praying to the highest Goddess that he is there.

I reach the edge and peer down.

“Daddy!”

He doesn’t move, his body sprawled in the pit below, jagged pieces of flimsy wood from the trap’s covering all around him.

My chest heaves from the muggy air. It’s like I can’t drag enough into my overworked lungs.

Still, I study him, hoping to see the rise and fall of his breath.

But my own breast is heaving so hard, my vision wobbles with dizziness.

I think I may see movement from his chest, but I’m unsure.

“Daddy!” I call again, but he doesn’t budge. I’d give anything for him to wake up, to sit up, to groan… anything.

The rain is falling harder but even the wet doesn’t rouse him.

I hold my breath to keep my eyesight straight. Just as soon as I’m sure my vision may darken, I see it. The slight rise of his ribcage.

He’s alive. Blessings to the Goddess.