Her Orc Warrior: A Monster Fantasy Romance (Black Bear Clan Book 3)
Her Orc Warrior: Chapter 4

I coax Wren from the tree—along with the food-filled satchel—and carry her back to camp, following the big orc.

“What do you mean, I’m your mate?” I ask.

He shakes his head, continuing on through the dark. A cloud obscures the moon, and I stumble over some branches, so he takes my elbow and guides me gently. He doesn’t offer to take Wren from me, though, as if he knows I’d never let her go. My little girl huddles in close to my chest, the excitement of the evening too much for her. I worry because her hands are cold, and she coughs from time to time, a dry, rattling sound.

We emerge from the bushes by the last wagon, the one we rode on earlier. A flicker of orange light tells me someone has started a fire, but I still haven’t gotten my answer from the orc.

“Stop,” I tell him. “I’m not going any farther if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

He lets out a weary sigh. “Would you believe I’m only trying to help?”

I stare at him, unconvinced.

“One day,” he says, “I’m going to replace the person who taught you not to trust your gut and kill them for you.”

My stomach flips at his promise. His words echo through my mind, and I want to believe him so badly. But if he wanted to kill everyone who’d ever hurt me, he’d have to go on a murder spree. While the sentiment is nice, it doesn’t give me what I’m searching for.

He must sense my determination, because he glances over his shoulder toward the flames. “If you come to sit by the fire, I’ll explain everything.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, debating with myself. If I go, he’ll see this as a win for himself. On the other hand, Wren is getting heavy in my arms, and I can no longer feel my toes. There’s a time and a place for an argument, and I concede that this might not be it.

“All right,” I mutter.

He gives me an approving nod, and I bite down hard on my tongue to keep myself from preening. We are not here to make friends. I want Wren to have a warm place to sleep, and if we can get some more food out of it, that’ll be grand. Most of all, I need to replace out what this orc means about the mate thing. Then, in the morning, we’ll be off on our own again.

We step around the wagon, and firelight blinds me, a blaze of orange and yellow against the black night sky. The ring of wagons and the forest hid it from me before, and I realize how hard it would be to see the camp from the road. That’s good—if anyone’s following us, they might pass us by in the night without even knowing we’re here. I blink to adjust, and a chorus of voices greet us.

There are four more orcs seated around the small campfire, three males and a woman. They stare at us unabashedly, some halfway through eating their dinner, others sharpening their weapons. They must each have been driving one of the wagons, as there are five of those positioned so they break the worst of the chill wind. The horses seem to have been rubbed down and are now tied not far from the fire, munching quietly on oats and hay.

“Hello,” one of the orcs says. He looks several years older than the orc who tracked me down. “I am Ozork, son of Bram.”

I stand still, unsure of what to do. “Hello.”

“And these are Korr, Ritta, and Lirg.” He points at the others seated around him.

I remain silent, chewing on my lip.

The orc beside me grimaces at his companions. “She’s being shy with her name.”

I glower up at him, and he sighs, then points to a spot by the fire. “You can sit there.”

Wary, I crouch and detach the sleepy Wren from me. “Here, let’s get you warmed up.”

Someone passes me a blanket, and I wrap it around her thin shoulders. Then a cup of tea is pushed into my hands. I take a careful sip to check if it’s suitable for children, then offer it to Wren. She holds the pewter cup and blinks at the fire.

“Has she had enough to eat?” the one-eyed orc speaks in my ear.

He’s sitting beside me, and I didn’t even notice it. He’s far too silent for my taste. My first impulse is to scoot away from him, get some distance between us, but then the warmth of his body registers, radiating from where his thigh presses against mine. I can’t move. I’m too cold, and it’s all I can do to fight the urge to crawl into his lap and make myself cozy there.

“She’s had some of what you gave us,” I tell him quietly, pinching my hand to focus my thoughts. “The bread and the meat. A bit of an apple.”

He nods. “And you?”

“I’m fine,” I say.

And I am. The heat of the fire is seeping into my bones, making me drowsy, and my belly is still full from earlier. We may be in an orc camp, but for now, no one seems to be a threat. The male called Lirg stalks away from the fire and circles the wagons slowly, patrolling in the night.

I look up at the big male beside me and lift my eyebrows. “You were going to explain?”

Wren climbs into my lap and curls up like a kitten. I hum a short tune for her, one I’ve sung to her every night these past years. She closes her eyes and is out minutes later, her breathing deepening. I envy her at that moment—she trusts me so completely to protect her that she can fall asleep anywhere if I’m close.

The orc stares at her for a long while, firelight dancing on his rough-hewn features. He’s handsome in a strange way, and the eye patch and the scar add to his mysterious, dangerous persona. But everything he’s done so far points at him being a gentle male—apart from the weapons at his belt and the calluses on his hands, which speak to the fact that he knows how to use them, too.

“I’m Vark,” he says after a moment. “Son of Haur.”

He pauses, giving me time to tell him my name, but I don’t. So far, he hasn’t held up to his part of the bargain, and he’s not getting anything from me until I get my answers.

The corner of his mouth pulls up in amusement, not quite a smile but softening his gruff expression. “We are part of the Black Bear Clan. King Gorvor is our leader.”

“All right,” I say. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Patience, woman.” He leans forward and throws another log on the fire. “What do you know about orcs?”

I purse my lips, thinking through all the stories I’ve heard in taprooms or told on cold evenings when I’d crowded close to the other orphans at the care home.

“Your people like war,” I say slowly. “You live underground, in burrows, like badgers or foxes. You kidnap women from the border villages—and sometimes children, too.”

“What I want to know,” says an orc from the other side of the fire, the one Ozork introduced as Korr, “is who is spreading these rumors about us.”

I would quake under his frowning gaze, but one of his tusks is chipped, making him look adorably lopsided. His presence doesn’t throw me off nearly as much as Vark’s, even though his words are harsh.

“Hush, Korr,” Ozork says. “Let Vark deal with this.”

The other male grumbles but goes back to dragging a whetstone over the curved blade of a long knife. I squint at him, my mind churning. I’d been speaking quietly, and with the crackle of the flames, the soft noises the horses are making, and the conversation of the other orcs, he shouldn’t have been able to hear me.

Maybe orc hearing is better than mine. Their eyesight must also be better, at least in the dark—Vark had guided me through the forest earlier, even though I kept tripping over my feet. They’re also clearly stronger than humans. Considering all of this, I might as well be a lamb sitting among a pack of wolves. If they wanted to hurt us, they could have, easily. The fact that Wren and I are still alive and well means that they are—at least for now—serious about keeping us safe.

“We do not kidnap people,” Vark says, his expression serious. “There are other orc clans who might do things differently. But our king allows no such behavior.”

“And you all obey him?” I ask, letting doubt seep into my voice. “Even if he’s not here to enforce the rules?”

“We are loyal,” Ozork interrupts in his deep voice. “We would not go against him.”

“I thought you were going to let Vark deal with this,” the orc woman, Ritta, says, smirking at the older orc.

Ozork clamps his mouth shut and stares into the fire, his scarred face grim.

I glance from him to Vark and back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you were dishonorable. But do you understand why I’m worried?”

He jerks his head down in a curt nod. “Aye. Humans are tricky like that. They’re the ones who hurt you, and yet they made you fear us.”

The older orc’s words settle deep in my chest. Shame blooms instantly, and I peer up at Vark to replace him studying me closely. Heat rushes to my cheeks that has nothing to do with the flames, and I drop my gaze to my lap, focusing on Wren. Tears prickle my eyes, so I blink fast, not wanting to show them any weakness.

Vark reaches forward and takes my chin, then tips my face up. He brushes his fingertips over my cheek and frowns when they come away wet.

Turning to the other orcs, he growls, “Now you’ve made her cry.”

I shy away from his touch, embarrassed. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”

He jumps to his feet, lopes off into the darkness, and returns a minute later with another blanket. He settles it around me, fusses with me until I’m all bundled up, and presses a bread roll into my hand.

“Forgive me,” Ozork says after a while. “I did not mean to upset you.”

He gets up and disappears in the direction of the horses. I glance up at Vark, and he shakes his head slightly, as if asking me to drop it.

“I’m Hazel,” I tell him. “And this is Wren.”

Ozork might be a growly orc, but he’s not wrong. They’ve done nothing to deserve my suspicion.

Vark settles beside me, his leg brushing up against mine. With his large body, he’s all up in my personal space, and his attention is on me, unwavering. I don’t think he knows how intimidating he is—and for some reason, I don’t want to tell him. He’s not trying to be scary, he’s just an orc. With a missing eye and enough weapons to outfit a small army. But I’ve hurt one orc tonight already, so I don’t want to insult him, too, by moving farther away from him.

“So,” I begin, “will you explain the mate thing to me?”

He sends me a sideways glance, and I realize he has seated himself so I’m on his good side—with his eye patch all but hidden from me.

“You’re my mate,” he says quietly. “It means you’re the one woman in the world who is perfect for me.”

I draw back. “Like a wife?”

“No.” He picks up a stick and pokes the logs, sending up a shower of sparks. “It’s more than that. The moment I recognized you, my entire life changed direction. You are the only one. It is not a choice.”

“Oh.”

I gently lift Wren and lay her down on the blanket next to me. My legs are going numb, and I need a moment to process what Vark is saying. He watches me warily, fingers fidgeting with that stick.

“You don’t sound happy about this,” I remark.

I don’t want to look at him as I say it, because I don’t want to see the disappointment in his expression. But my gaze is drawn to him anyway, so I see the wince I might have otherwise missed. He likely thought his mate would be like Ritta, a beautiful orc woman, and not a human street urchin.

“It’s all right,” I say quickly, not wanting to hear his reasons for rejecting me. “I’m sure this is temporary. We’ll be on our way tomorrow, and you’ll go back to your old life.”

“No, that’s not—” he says, but I interrupt him.

“It’s fine,” I say, swallowing the hurt that pops up out of nowhere. “I’d like to go to sleep now.”

I don’t need to hear any more explanations. Whatever impulse has him thinking I’m fated for him or whatever is clearly wrong—we want nothing to do with each other.

I lie on the blanket next to Wren and pull her into my body, curling around her. She barely moves when I put my arm over her and cover her with a corner of the blanket that Vark brought for me. Then I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend I’m asleep, even as I’m aware of him sitting next to us, guarding us through the night.