Page 3 of Loved By The Orc (Monster Orc Brides #4)

Negan:

THE EASIEST WAY to avoid a war is to roll with the punches.

By the guilt strewn across Bakog’s face, I know there’s something to the story that Varguk’s concocted. Even with my father’s death bellows echoing in everyone’s ears, I’m a fixer.

Rosemary looks miserable in hiring a guard that no one trusts.

Bakog looks guilty for inviting Southpeaks to the mating ceremony.

Hisa looks horrified that I’m an offering.

Shalia looks dismayed that my father’s been insulted.

What was supposed to be a happy occasion for them—my best friends—has broken into chaos.

“You booned my daughter? My precious Negan?” Father turns to Bakog.

“Nay,” Bakog says, scowling at Varguk and looking like he wants to smash in his face.

Varguk stands tall, refusing to back down. “But didn’t you? I could have sworn that was why I handed over the males who’d kidnapped your mate .” He speaks with a sneer, and I think this is the normal way for him. To fight for everything, even the right to live.

All around us, people suck in their breaths. And it’s okay, because I know Varguk’s telling the truth. His own version. Bakog would have promised anything to get his mate’s kidnappers in his hands. As how it should have been.

“Negan is like a sister to me. I would never offer her to anyone. I merely agreed to give you the chance to meet her. I did that by inviting you to my mating. Along with her father,” Bakog says coldly.

The first male starts laughing. “Figures you got tricked, bastard brother. Such an idiot. You really thought you’d gain my father’s favor by getting a boon from West Mountain? Wait until he hears this. He’ll have me in line for the throne, and you’ll be expelled like yesterday’s trash.”

It’s the expressionless mask on Varguk’s rugged features that get me. It’s pain—pure and simple. And no male that can feel that much can be bad, in my opinion.

I speak up and calm my father with my hand on his chest.

“I will stay with Aunt Rosemary,” I say loudly. “If this Varguk says he’s owed a boon, then a boon he shall have. He may be my guard while I’m in Creede.”

“Then the only thing left to decide is whether or not he’s the male for the job,” the other one says easily. “I challenge you, bastard brother. Son of King Vronas.”

“Don’t call me that,” Varguk snarls.

“Bastard?” the other says, a thick eyebrow raised, as if he knows Varguk can’t deny it.

“Brother.” Varguk’s tone is flat.

I give a surprised laugh—which triggers Rosemary and Hisa, followed by Shally.

My dad throws a protective arm around my shoulders and takes a step back. “Someone draw the challenge circle around them. First one to give up—or first one to die—loses.”

With a chuckle, Brachard comes to stand on the side of me and my father. I hear him asking Rosemary how she met the Southpeak who came to be her guard. She says he’d been shopping in Creede the last several weeks and seemed friendly.

“Huh.” By Brachard’s tone, I know what he’s thinking.

The male found out Varguk obtained what he thought was a boon from Bakog and thought he might sink his claws into his brother’s plan using Rosemary.

Everyone knew how guilty the human woman felt.

This would have destroyed her. First, having Shalia kidnapped in her care.

And then to find out she trusted a male to guard against other orcs when he may not be trustworthy?

By the way he taunts his own brother—bastard or not shouldn’t matter—he doesn’t seem so.

Rosemary bites her lip and Brachard rubs her arm, then motions for her husband, Paul, who’s approaching from the courthouse with the town sheriff.

Abigail and her mate, Azorr, one of King Brachard’s royal guard, come to get Rosemary, bringing her to a safer place to stand with the others.

She’ll be fine with her niece.

“There are no rules save for two,” Brachard bellows. “No intervening by others. No leaving or throwing anything in or out of the circle.”

Both orcs nod once to show they understand, but that’s not enough for my quick-witted godfather. He scowls and turns to the handful of Southpeaks who watch, and waits for their response. Once they nod, he gives the go-ahead and both males drop into a fighting stance.

I’ve been around fighting males. My own clan is known for their skills. But these two… brothers, have utter hatred for each other sparking from their eyes. It’s in every movement of their muscles, it exudes from every pore of their skin.

That alone sets them apart from the usual viciousness of orc fighting. Humans surround us—curious spectators to an orc challenge. Our orcs notice and with a nod from Brachard, several step forward to protect the humans in case anything happens .

My heart pounds. There’s a ratcheted excitement in the air, a power play that no one seems to be aware of but these two.

The brothers have the same moves. Slowly they prance around each other, one striking out just as the other mimics the move. They circle each other, and it seems that the brother is trying hard to get Varguk to strike first.

Why?

Varguk keeps his cool, deflecting for a while. But then, the other grows more vicious, stepping forward with his arm sweeping out suddenly.

With a grunt, Varguk jumps back, avoiding the blade his brother viciously slashes at his midsection.

“Oh, my goodness,” I mutter, staring in awe as the orcs battle, slicing, ripping and trying to shred each other.

The other male grins. “Just making sure you won’t produce any bastards yourself.”

He wasn’t aiming for Varguk’s midsection.

I hear the growl that rumbles in my father’s chest at the dirty blow.

Bakog calls out. “You got this, Var.”

Varguk looks surprised—either because Bakog shortens his name or because he is on his side—and his brother takes that moment to strike again.

But Varguk isn’t fazed. He deflects the blade and it flips through the air at the crowd, easily bounced to the ground from kicking off a shield held by one of our guards.

The male leans over and steps on the blade with the weight of his foot.

My father’s gaze follows and he catches the eye of Brachard. Ahh, then they’re making the fight more fair since this Varguk doesn’t have weapons.

None of the Southpeaks do… except for his brother. With a sinking feeling, I realize that he had to agree to dump them to attend the mating while the brother did not.

“What’s his name?” I ask under my breath. “The brother. ”

But the biernak hears me.

“Leviton,” he says. “You’ll call me Levi, sweet.”

“Over my dead body,” my father says flatly.

The male grins, distracted for a moment and Varguk’s fist sails into his face. Someone gives a grunt of satisfaction.

Leviton kicks out, catching Varguk in the throat, which stuns Varguk for a moment.

He falls backward and Leviton comes at him.

But the male is smarter than he pretends because he uses both legs to kick Leviton in the midsection and jumps up.

Apparently, Leviton expected Varguk’s reaction to getting kicked in the throat and it makes me wonder if he’s kicked his brother there before.

I wonder if that’s why Varguk’s voice is so deep and raspy, like he speaks through broken glass.

I knew Southpeaks were the stuff of horrors, but then again, the same can be said of my own clan.

My father speaks over my head to Bakog while the fight continues. “Ye gave a boon to one of the leader’s sons?”

“Never introduced himself as one of the line,” Bakog says grimly. “Now I know why. I’m sorry, Negan.”

“No need.” I wave my arm. “So I’ll have a guard. He’ll either die defending me—and the world will be rid of one more Southpeak—or he’ll do a good job and no one will touch me. Either way, we win.”

“What if he tries to steal you himself?” my father grits.

“We all know who to blame if something happens. A son of the royal line. Bastard or not, they’ll find themselves at war for touching one of ours,” Brachard growls.

My father grunts again, but I know he feels good because Brachard referred to us as theirs.

When Varguk lifts the other and throws him, the male lands at the edge of the circle across from me. He lifts his head and looks right at me, grinning through a mouthful of blood.

“You would have preferred me, wench. I have my father’s favor. ”

What does that mean?

I don’t have the chance to find out because Varguk takes him in a chokehold and Leviton loses consciousness, his face turning a sickly gray as his oxygen is cut off right in front of me. Varguk doesn’t let up. He continues his hold until Leviton is still.

And doesn’t wake.

But then Varguk stands, his brother’s body crumpling to the ground. Varguk is breathing heavily, one foot between Leviton’s shoulder blades.

“Is he dead?” I ask, horrified.

“He may well be,” Brachard says.

The other Southpeaks dispersed throughout the crowd move forward and calmly pick up the body of the king’s fallen son, one voice starting a trilling sound that the others chant to. They lift him above their heads in some sort of ceremony.

“Southpeaks, be gone,” the sheriff calls out. “Except for the one who’ll remain to guard, ye all git and take that one back to yer king.”

Varguk comes to stand before us. He never loses eye contact with anyone as he raises his arm to the crowd and introduces himself as my new guard. Then he turns to me.

“Milady, I would be honored to protect you.” He drops his head and raises his fist to cover his heart. “ My life for yours .”

Blood is dripping from the side of his mouth. His knuckles are bruised and bloody and he looks exhausted.

“Well matched, were you?” Brachard asks. “Trained with your brother?”

“Aye. Born on the same day of different mothers, yet a year apart. My father pitted us against each other.”

Ouch. Not even Blackhearts make brothers fight.

“Do you have other siblings?” Bakog asks.

Varguk nods, then gestures with his head. “His brother, Auglesh. Two years younger than Leviton.”

I eye the males leaving with his brother’s body as they march in a line away from us.