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

“I’ll have your head on a platter if anything happens to my brat,” my father growls, his voice deep.

Varguk simply nods. It dawns on me that he’s exhausted—way exhausted. More so than a strong male should be.

“Was that your first fight today?” I ask.

He turns a shrewd eye toward me. “Nay. We were only allowed fifteen males to enter the gates. We fought to see which would get in.”

“And your brother did too?” my father asks.

Varguk shakes his head. “He was already in, apparently. Getting on the humans’ good sides.”

Looks like I got the better guard then, if he beat his well-matched brother while the other was fresh and he was exhausted.

“Well, let’s sit and eat, shall we?” I ask brightly, wanting to get this exhausted male off his feet before others try to test him. I have no doubt he’ll continue to fight and that makes me sad.

He’s a handsome male, rugged and brutal, even with his face broken.

“Negan, come sit with us,” Shalia says.

I head toward her and Varguk subtly follows, staying a discreet distance away.

Bakog, Brun, Brachard, my father—the males all huddle with Jacovi, our Blackheart leader, and I see their eyes as each looks toward the gates.

I know they’re going to slip away, make sure there are no other Southpeaks around.

Nothing like a bit of tenseness to make common enemies partner up. Not that my clan and theirs are active enemies anymore, but no orc clan is considered friends.

No one but my father.

Our status is envied and if anyone but Jacovi were in charge, I’m sure we’d be ostracized as traitors.

But Jacovi was around back when my father was a prisoner of the West Mountain clan.

Back when he became friends with Shalia’s mother, Joanna.

She’d fed him and some of the other prisoners who’d been tricked by her ex-husband, a human male, into kidnapping Bakog’s mother, who was a new bride to the clan.

After they’d been allowed to leave, they’d agreed to repay Joanna’s kindness by killing her ex, who’d demanded that she return to her human village.

That was supposed to be the end of it, and for most of the other males, it was. Except one Christmas, Joanna sent a gag gift to my father when they were passing through.

Ribs. The meal she’d fed him while he’d been caged.

He’d responded with a gift for Shalia, who’d been born. The outfit was leather with gold stitching, reminiscent of the Blackheart clothing.

Then I came along and my father, proud as can be, swaddled me up to his chest and rode to Solaya to show me off.

I wasn’t yet weaned, so some of the nursing moms, including Bakog’s, fed me from the breast and even pumped out milk for my father to feed me from a bottle.

We lived in the forest outside Solaya until I was weaned, and then we went home.

But every few months, excluding the coldest months, we went back to visit. The females grew attached, and even though my father no longer needed milk, he claimed I needed a female’s influence once in a while.

It didn’t take me long to figure out that my father told our clan we stayed in the forests of Solaya long after we’d been accepted inside the gates.

And probably Brachard—or his son Brun—found out, because trust has been established.

Somehow, things shifted in our clan to where my father can do what he wishes without repercussion.

I think Jacovi knows he’s the peacekeeper between our tribes.

“Your guard is kind of hot… in a scary way, right?” Hisa whispers, and I know who she’s talking about. “Probably less scary for Shally, since she’s used to Southpeaks.”

Shalia snorts. “I was fake-mated to a Southpeak for a moon. ‘Tis less scary because I got a reject of the group who’d been booted out. But Hisa’s right, yours is handsome.

And strong. Bakog says that tribe is vicious.

That Azorr once found out a male had twin sons and one was blind in one eye.

So he blinded the other brat so they’d match.

Apparently, it’s common to pit brothers against each other?

They either bond, a til-death-do-us-part thing, or they become mortal enemies and the strongest male wins. ”

“Wins what?” I whisper.

“The right to favoritism. To rule. They have one main king, like most clans. But because they’re a bigger group, they have smaller units within themselves. Kings for each of those lines. It’s constant fighting to the top. Survival of the fittest.”

“I’m glad you got him and not the brother. There was something creepy about him,” Hisa says. Then, like she just notices her mate is gone, she says, “Where’s Tok and Bakog?”

She glances around the crowd. Her father is in a false, relaxed position, watching over one side of our crowd casually, smiling as if he’s engaged.

But Shalia’s father—his right-hand guard—is near him, watching the next section with a similar stance.

We’ve spent enough time around them to know when they’re on guard.

“I say we sneak away and check to see what our mates are up to,” Shally whispers.

“Go on. Step behind the table and go around the tree to the front gates. Send the Southpeak and I’ll distract him by cleaning him up. No one will notice you two are gone if the table isn’t empty.”

Shally snorts. “Sneaky Blackheart. Sister of my soul.”

“Why do you think we normally wear black?” I wince, looking down at my bright, attention-grabbing gold gown. While beautiful, now I have to use it to catch their fathers’ eyes, trick them into thinking we all sit here.

They both casually slide out of their capes, the color matching their dresses, Hisa’s in peach and Shalia’s in pink.

Definitely less eye-catching than my gold, but that’s good.

Easier to trick the fathers. They drape their capes across the back of the chairs so someone glancing over still sees our three colors as if the three of us sit.

Then, one by one, they slide out and slip between the trees.

Before she disappears from view, Shally whispers to Varguk, who looks my way. Then she slides behind him, his bigger body mostly blocking the view of her as he approaches the table, and she disappears where Hisa did.

“You wished to see me?”

Goddess, that voice. So smoky and deep. Raspier than the human devil himself. Than the orc god of sadism.

“Aye. Have a sit, orc. Let me see that eye.”

He narrows his eyes, but one is so swollen it barely budges.

“Come on.” I gesture to the seat, acting impatient because I want him to sit before his brutish bulk draws attention to our table.

Warily he sits, and I reach for the cup of ice on the table, dumping some cubes into a napkin spread out.

“I don’t need that.” He scowls.

But I need to keep him here. An empty table will bring curiosity whereas two people will be ignored. Mostly.

“Have you seen yourself?”

“Nay.”

I smile grimly. “Well, I have and you’re a mess. So, hold still.” Gently I place the wrapped cube of ice on his swollen eye and cheekbone. My touch is light; it looks sore.

He clears his throat, but the sound of crushed glass remains. “You really don’t have to. I’m used to fights.”

Obviously. But yet, that’s sad. “Hold still, orc. We have to keep you pretty. I’m sure you have a Southpeak female back home, eh?”

He huffs. “Nay.”

I take another piece of ice and use it on his split lip, mindful of how sore it must be to have been cut near his tusk.

“’Tis cold,” he complains .

My lip twitches. “You’re covered in cuts and bruises and you’re complaining of a little ice?”

“Hmph. You have a heavy hand, wench. Can probably slay most males yourself.”

“He’s not wrong.”

I freeze at the sound of my father’s voice. He’s discovered me. I use the word that softens him up. “Daddy.”

“Don’t you butter me up, fruit of my loins. The Southpeak is supposed to keep you safe. Not get tended to.”

“And I am,” I say calmly. “But I can’t have my guard ready to collapse, now can I?”

“I should have raised you with spankings. Mayhap you’d have better sense now.” He scowls.

“Aye, daddy. Would you like me to ask my future mate to spank me whenever I misbehave? Make up for your failings?” I wink at the shocked guard across from me to prepare him for my father’s roar.

“Negan Natalya! Hischen ‘ef galyan gi yaman —”

But Grandpa Brachard’s booming laughter smothers my father’s curses. “Oshin, such language. These are happy times, eh? ‘Tis no one’s fault ye spoiled yer daughter.”

“I spoiled her? Yer one to talk!” Father shouts, throwing up his hands. “Ye bought her a steed before she was three!”

Each slips into their accents, as if feeding off each other.

Then another voice laughs and a sheepish Shalia and Hisa take their seats, escorted by their mates.

“She distracted you,” Brun says wryly to Varguk. “So these other two could spy on the males. You can never trust when these three are together. Lesson one, Varguk, you’re not just guarding Negan from others. You’re guarding her from herself also.”

That’s all he says and I’m sure it’s because he doesn’t want the Southpeak to wonder what Tok and Bakog were actually up to that we decided to spy .

For a moment, both father figures are quiet. They know we’re watching them. “We raise strong females,” Brachard says.

“Too strong,” mine says.

“Aye.”

The two wander off, muttering about the old ways.