Page 6 of Loved By The Orc (Monster Orc Brides #4)

Negan:

IT’S OBVIOUS TO everyone the orc and I have tension between us.

Surely, it must clearly be visible? My heart feels like it thumps so hard the beating shows through the wall of my chest, calling attention to my peaked nipples.

I keep stealing glances at Varguk, only to find his hot, dark gaze focused solely on me, a brooding look upon the harsh angles of his face.

But everywhere around us, the partying continues as normal.

And finally, my guard finds a moment to pull me to the edge of the woods. “I’m not sure if you’re more beautiful in the gold dress or the tight leather,” he grits. “Either way is tearing me up inside, wondering why some ingrate hasn’t tried to snatch you up.”

I feel like singing. He thinks I’m beautiful. The only other male who’s called me beautiful is my father. And Grandfather Brachard.

Both of whom are probably the reason why no other males have snatched me up.

I guess those mystery males don’t count because I don’t get the tingly feeling in my belly when they show interest.

“I want you to walk that way,” he says, pointing his finger away from him. All around us, people stand to watch. “And I’ll sneak up on you. Don’t let me steal you away.”

Much as I’d like that .

I turn to walk, listening for his footsteps. The crunch of grass, the snap of a twig. But I hear nothing. Instead, I feel his hand on my shoulder.

I jump and squeal like a frightened maiden.

“Watch this. I taught her this,” my Uncle Latsil says, almost ruining the move I have planned.

And now I have no choice but to clutch my imaginary pearls, sucking in a soft breath like I’m distressed. Varguk softens his stance, his rugged face becoming concerned despite my Blackheart gear that usually makes males wary.

I have him snared.

Instead of turning slowly—like he would expect from a terrified female—I turn in double time, raising my arm straight up in the air, and then dropping it down on his arm that still grips my shoulder. He grunts with pain and I take that moment to jab him in the abdomen.

Which reopens his wound and a gush of blood wets his tunic. It spreads nearly instantly.

A knife wound. The male has been hiding this all along.

“Varguk,” I gasp. I thought his brother tried to stab him in the testicles and missed. I wasn’t aware he stabbed him in the abs—and that Varguk has been walking around wounded. He must have packed it. Bound it tight.

And no one notices because my family is watching and laughing, exchanging I told you so’s as they clasp each other to pound their backs.

“Good job going for a weak spot,” Varguk says, panting through his pain.

“You should have told me it was a weak spot,” I snap. “You let me fix your face and never once told me about this.”

He shrugs. “I thought you didn’t want an ugly guard.”

I lean in, spitting mad. The stubborn male has been walking around with that wound, bleeding. Dancing. Pretending there’s no pain.

And I had no idea .

“From now on, I want you to tell me of every injury,” I bark, lifting the arm on his uninjured side to snake around my shoulders.

“A Southpeak doesn’t tell others of their weakness,” Bakog says quietly, approaching from the other side and lifting Varguk’s other arm to help me lead him back to a table. “Ever. It’s their way.”

“Right now, he’s my guard, not a Southpeak,” I insist, eyeing Varguk as if I dare him to argue. “You’ll tell me everything. Understand, orc?”

I think I see grins on both of the idiot’s faces. At least Varguk tries to hide his.

“Aye,” he grits.

“Var gets it. Don’t smother your guard, Neegie,” Bakog says, smiling at Shalia who approaches with a first-aid kit at the same time I lift the injured male’s bloody shirt.

And now I’m sure that something he says causes a shit-eating grin to spread out onto Varguk’s face, though the male could be stupid-drunk with pain right now.

I open a bottle of sanitizer and don’t hesitate when Bak holds his hands out. I pour half the contents on him and while he’s making a show of rubbing his big hands together in front of everyone, dump the rest of the bottle over the wound.

I know that hurts, but Varguk never utters a sound. When none of the watching males say anything, I take it as a sign of respect.

Bakog and I have done this routine together many times during practices. Every male here knows of the antiseptic burn.

Shally tears open the pre-threaded needle and Bakog pulls it from the package, then proceeds to stitch the wound.

I know it hurts, but Varguk never utters a word.

When Bakog’s done, I clean the wound again, using water this time, then spritz the area with peroxide.

Like he’s a child, I pull his shirt over his head and, whew.

Take a moment to appreciate the male’s fine physique.

The rounded muscles of his shoulders. The amazing pecs. The enormous biceps .

The dark green nipples, pierced.

“There are gentler ways of getting me undressed, m’kirn,” he says. He has the audacity to tease, then. Yet his face is pale.

“Aye. But you’re not a gentle male, orc.”

“Says the one who’s been walking around with a make-shift bandage,” Father growls, eyeing the bloody patch of fabric Varguk had tied around his middle to disguise the wound. “Let my sweet child tend to you. She doesn’t want or need a broken guard.”

Which is odd for my father to say. While Varguk doesn’t know it, I know my father doesn’t mind that I have a guard during my stay. I imagine he and Brachard figure this is a way to have a hold over the Southpeaks. Because the clan doesn’t dare do anything to me with the King’s own son as my guard.

“We can’t have him sleeping outside on the ground tonight,” Brachard says.

“And Rosemary’s place only has one extra room.

Use your father’s room at the hotel tonight, sweet flower.

It has two beds, originally for you and your father.

He’ll bunk with me and Aga. Tomorrow night you can go to Rosemary’s and the male will manage. ”

I know what Brachard isn’t saying. He and my father are heading for Mont Grove, but he won’t let anyone know, lest they’re followed to the secret location. So, I nod.

“We have Abigail’s father’s wagon still in the yard,” Rosemary says. “He can sleep in there. Paul and I will clean it out tomorrow.”

“You still have that battered old thing?” Abigail asks, swaying the conversation from the attention of where my guard will sleep.

“Aye, it’s been quite a project,” her uncle says. “We’ve preserved the wood, replaced the wheels and used new canvas topping. Your father would be proud.”

Considering Abigail’s hated stepfather was killed in the wagon, I imagine so. This time, when everyone continues dancing until the sun begins to fall, I sit with Varguk, watching him carefully. Because now I know how well that male can mask pain .

“You have a loud family,” Varguk comments. There is something in his voice, almost a longing.

“Yes. Funny how family can be chosen, right?”

“Chosen?”

“Aye. There are humans, West Mountains, and I’m Blackheart. Now, you’re here and you’re Southpeak.”

“I’m not family.”

“You don’t have to be born in. It starts off as friends. Sometimes less. My father was a prisoner of the West Mountains. Today he and his offspring are family.”

Varguk stays quiet. Normally, I’d ask him about his relatives, but he just killed his brother, so there’s that. I’m sure either way he feels, he doesn’t want to be reminded.

“The humans are from different clans also, are they not?” he asks.

“Aye. Hannah and Joanna were from neighboring villages, though they didn’t know each other. Abigail’s aunt is Rosemary, here in Creede, but Abigail was raised elsewhere.”

“And yet you all refer to Rosemary as aunt.”

I shrug. “Yes. A few of us have stayed with her off and on during the years, sometimes together. Sometimes separately.” When there is silence again, I take the plunge to ask him personal questions.

“Is your mother alive?”

“Nay.”

I nod. “Your father?”

“Aye. He has sired multiple brats.”

“You were raised with a big family, then?”

“Nay. There is a pecking order in our clan. And my father has his favorites.”

From his tone, I’m guessing he isn’t one.

“Someday you shall have your own family, then. And you can run it how you like it.”

He looks surprised, as if the idea never occurred to him .

“You can’t turn your back on your clan,” he whispers.

“I know. We are still Blackheart, despite our family being West Mountain. But we do things differently.”

His gaze never leaves mine, and with his face softened, looking pensive, he loses the scowl he normally carries. He’s more… handsome.

“You know, your worth isn’t determined by what you don’t accomplish for your family, right? Your worth is determined by the male you are inside. The choices you make for yourself, right or wrong. Whether you learn from such choices, or whether you do them purposely without benefit for others.”

“Easy for you to say. You are cared for by your father and have the favor of everyone around you.”

“Not at all. My own clan resents that I don’t conform to our ways.

That my father allows me free reign. But my chosen family?

They are the West Mountain orcs. You see, my father made a choice that day when he was freed as their prisoner.

He decided to make an arrangement with Joanna and in following through, he earned favor.

Others did also, but that favor earned him a subsequent friendship with her.

A friendship that followed when he needed help raising a daughter on his own. ”

“What happened to your mother?”

I shrug. “She didn’t want to be tied down. She chose a way of life without brats. My father tried to compensate and he’s been more than enough parent.”

“The two of you are close.”

“Closer than most. I would do anything for my father, and he would do the same for me.”

There’s silence for a moment and I can see the wheels churning in his mind.