Page 6 of The Orc Outcast's Conquest

He needed to pack.

Glancing about his small home, Govek felt a sharp pang of regret in his chest. He touched the place where he had ruined the design on his wall, glad that his outburst hadn’t gone too far.

This dwelling his father had assigned so many years past had become both prison and refuge.Destroying it would only prove he was the threat his brethren believed him to be.

Finally, he saw sense. Rolling his shoulders back, he stomped into his bedroom, where he yanked his pack out from beneath the bed. Govek had made the leather pack himself, painstakingly working the hide of a great boar he’d slain in his bid for adulthood. It was still sturdy—after a full decade of prolonged use.

He’d never packed it to the brim as he intended to now, never prepared it for a lengthy journey.

He should have left Rove Wood a long time ago, joined his cousin Karthoc when he’d invited him into his forge so many seasons past. But instead, he’d stayed because only Rove Wood could harbor conjurers—wielders of Fade magic. The gifts blessed to the orcs born under their Great Rove Tree.

Gifts he, with his violent strength and uncontrolled temper, should never have had. He should be like his brethren—peaceful, quiet, and serene—instead, he was a monster. Built like a warrior, with bulging muscles and a blood-lust that simmered under his skin and made the magic he was born with deadly and chaotic.

Tavggol’s words coursed through his mind, cooling his fury. “You’re a conjurer just like the rest of us, Govek. You belong here. The others will see that before long.”

Govek placed a hot hand over his burning eyes and took deep breaths into his lungs.

One full season had passed. Three miserable moons. Ninety-seven days.

Since they had killed his elder brother.

There was no reason for Govek to stay a moment longer.

He searched his trunk once more for extra clothing and discovered the cloak tucked away at the bottom. It was made from the same boar he’d proudly slain to make his pack. He’d worked tirelessly on it in his youth, when he’d been more foolish and prone to hope.

It was small in his hands and fitted for a female. A mate. He’d lined it with fox fur for warmth and treated the hide to be resistant to rainfall. It was in perfect condition, never worn. Not even by Yerina.

She would have scorned it, anyway. Demanded something prettier, something more delicate.

Govek scrubbed his hand over his face to push the thoughts of his former woman out of his mind. He turned his attention back to the cloak.

Perhaps he was still a fool because instead of tossing it away, he folded it and tucked it into his pack. It took up precious space that could have been used for other things, like extra clothes or tinctures.

Govek would carry his hope with him, though he held no illusion it may ever become reality.

He had only just settled it away when he heard someone walking up the darkened path. The slight creak of his bottom porch step alerted him, too quiet to be an orc, followed by the strong scent of sage wafting in.

Viravia.

He hefted his pack while bringing his lower jaw up to conceal his tusks and fangs. His jaw twinged with that familiar dull ache. The pain of contorting his face was almost like an old friend, allowing him to be in the presence of the few precious human females that made Rove Wood Clan their home without frightening them half to death. All his brethren performed this act, but with their much smaller teeth, it did not contort their features or cause them pain as it did him.

It couldn’t be helped. He had long resigned himself to it. He was loath to make anyone any more fearful of him than they already were.

Especially his late brother’s mate.

He came out of the bedroom and found Viravia still on his stoop. Her bright blue eyes were wide with shock after seeing his door half off its hinges. Proof that his fury was just as unhinged.

It was dangerous for her to be here, but she did it anyway. Tavggol’s mate had always been brave.

And far too kind.

Govek moved toward her, and she scampered down to the bottom step. He resisted the urge to growl in frustration at her blatant fear.It cut him deep that his brother’s widow would think he might harm her, even though he knew she had good reason to be wary.

“Control yourself, Govek. You are frightening the women,” his father would remind him.

Govek clenched his fists. He could feel his blood thrumming through the corded veins of his neck because of the effort. Working to follow his father’s advice, even though he despised it.

Why was he never in control? For the others, it came so easy.

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