Page 3 of Rescued By Her Monster Mercenaries

Daria wrinkled her nose. “Hadron is not the best at collecting women or explaining things. It must be his ogre father. Not smart, ogres. But the auction is good for us. These males pay for the privilege of being chosen to be our mates. They have to pay and we get to select them.”

I don’t think I heard the other woman right. That didn’t make any sense. “I don’t think I understand. They pay to be a part of the auction, but we get to choose who we want?”

A broad grin crossed Daria’s face. “Yup. We decide who we’ll mate. The only catch is that we have to pick one from the available crop. You can’t decline to pick. And that’s a risk. You never know who has enough money to enter. Unless you set it up.” She gave a sly grin and sipped her tea.

“Why don’t you just marry outside of this? Find someone you love and marry, or mate or whatever it is?”

“You could do that, but there’s no guarantee they can afford you. You see, in auctions, they have to pay, which means they have the means to keep a mate. If your family doesn’t have prestige to demand that outside of an auction, this is the best way to ensure you can raise your circumstances. And your family gets a cut of the bride price.”

In my case, Hadron sold me like a slave and I still get screwed. Still a slave. “Well, not for me. No family. Only Hadron who will sell me and pocket the money. Still like a slave.”

Daria shook her head. “Believe it or not, he saved you. If you were near the orc lands, their king would take you a prisoner and force you into slavery or worse, his harem. If anyone else found you on the road, they could have force mated you. Hadron, while he gets money for you in the auction, protected you by bringing you here, giving you the protection of a respectable mating. Every female of a certain age has to be mated or they are fair game for males of ill repute. And the orc king? He’s hunting for females to sire a child on. He’s vicious.

“It may not seem like it, but he saved your life.”

Chapter 2

Kharag

"Another round, please," I said, and the din of the patrons fell away. It was just me, my hound, and the bartender. I listened to the sounds of the tavern—the clinking of mugs, the boisterous laughter, and drunken singing.

The ale was bitter and hearty, but not overpowering. It was the strong, earthy smell of barley and hops. Each drink I've ever had was the same—not enough to get drunk, but enough to fill my belly.

The tavern smelled of sweat and piss, and stale ale, but it was bearable. Some men pushed it too far by relieving themselves in the corner, but the large beast would eat their hands if they tried to relieve themselves near me.

My hound and prize stud, Nuar, a scaled beast with horns and smoke coming from his nostrils on the exhale, snored at my feet. Not exactly showing why we bred him to all the bitches, but he was tired from the journey here, as was I. But he trusted me enough to sleep, though I had no doubt he’d be awake in a second if he sensed any threat.

I hated being stuck in this town for longer than necessary, but the auction had been delayed a couple of days to allow for a new girl to be added. She was the chief topic of conversation around the fire, with the inn’s guest ranks swelling at word of a fire-headed female up for auction. She was a rare prize indeed and would command a higher entry fee. The delay would eat up some of the participants’ available funds at the inn for their stay and food, so maybe that would narrow the field.

I didn’t care if she was fire-headed or golden or raven-haired, as long as I could find myself a mate for the long winter season to come. I was tired of being alone and didn’t want to risk trial by combat in the Orc King’s tournaments, not that I could afford the exorbitant entry fees there. This wasn’t my first auction, and I’d been passed over every time before, since there were always more males than females and I wasn’t exactly the most attractive orc out there with a scarred face and broken tusk that turned off most females. Life as a mercenary brought in good money for my clan, but was hard on a male’s body. Now I was older than the much younger orcs, including the young lordling who was holding court by the fire, who probably never saw a day’s work in his life. If the females wanted a pretty face and fancy manners, well, I’d lose again.

This would be my last year. I wouldn’t put myself through this agony again. I was getting too old for this, too tired of the disappointment. I wanted orclings, a family of my own, but the gods had something else in mind for me. I was done with being a mercenary, heading home to my clan to take up my role as clan leader. But I needed a mate to complete my life and role.

A mug of ale slammed down in across from me and a large shape obliterated the view of the orc lord and his court. My hound, familiar with Jarrus, barely twitched. Lazy bastard.

“You’re not with your kind?” Like I fit in with an orc lord. Not likely.

A huge bull of a minotaur, Jarrus, sat on the bench across from me, the wood creaking under his weight. I glared at him. “You’re not with yours.”

Jarrus was a mercenary like me, and we often together and partied together while battling for various factions. He was one of my closest brothers, despite being of another species. I would trust him with my back. He was honorable and a true friend. I would miss him once we went our separate ways. His herd wasn’t far from my clan and our groups had ties to help each other, especially since my clan had fled the Orc King’s lands to save ourselves years before. We needed all the allies we could find.

Jarrus settled more fully and shrugged. “I was with them. Now I’m with you. You going to the auction tomorrow?”

I nodded. “Not sure why I bother. Not as many females this time. May not be worth wasting my coin. You?”

Jarrus looked morose. “I saw the women at the showing today. None of them looks sturdy enough for me. Most seemed terrified. A couple seemed intrigued by me but…”

We stared into the fire in shared sympathy. Jarrus had his own struggles. Few females were able to handle a minotaur without training and true desire to do so. Most females tended to avoid them, though there were some who wanted to try but often couldn’t. When a minotaur mated, it was for life and, if the physical side couldn’t manifest, the male minotaur was doomed to not find another chance with another mate. He had to be sure of his choice. And with few minotaur females, other races were their only hope. Which was why their race, like so many others, was fading. Human females were their best hope for success.

Like me, Jarrus had been alone for a long time, both of us often traveling together to the auction and leaving alone. I feared for the minotaur, that he could not last much longer alone, but a mate might not be in this season’s auction for either of us. Nuar shifted and groaned, then let out a fart that smelled like sulfur. Jarrus and I groaned.

“This is my last auction,” I stated quietly. “I’ll head home to my clan now that my fighting days are over. Devote myself to training the young who need it.” I might or might not be a clan leader if I could not find a mate.

Jarrus grunted. “You never know. This could be your season.”

Loud, raucous laughter drew our attention from the fire, and Nuar jerked awake. The young orc lord was dressed much finer than me or Jarrus, with fine spun fabric and rich cloth the likes of which were not often seen in a border town like this. Even his guards were better dressed than us.

“What female would choose me over him? Better I save my coin and buy land or stock for my farm and clan, help us survive against the winter and the Orc King. There aren’t enough women for both of us.”

---