Page 15 of Scoring the Orc

But I do.

My short legs are barely keeping up with him as he leads me back to the clan, the other orcs having taken off and leaving the two of us alone, and I’m stumbling so bad I’m surprised I haven’t tripped. Or vomited from the nerves.

I open my mouth but no sound comes out. Jurto just grunts, the noise sounding dangerously like an angered animal. With a grumbled “got to be fucking kidding me,” he stalks toward me and grabs my bicep, nearly yanking me off my feet as he jerks me into a half-jog, half-stumble at his side.

The fear coating my tongue is nearly suffocating at this point. I’m trying to hide it, trying not to anger him, but I can’t stop it. He beat the shit out of Aleryn. He’s absolutely terrifying.

What the fuck have been thrown into?

Jurto’s grip is unyielding as he drags me through the clan’s encampment. My legs struggle to keep pace with his long strides, and the ground beneath my feet feels uneven and treacherous. The other orcs barely glance our way, too engrossed in their own celebrations and spoils.

We approach a sprawling estate, its dark, imposing structure looming against the twilight sky. The air is thick with the smell of smoke and sweat, and the sounds of revelry fade as we enter the quieter, more secluded part of the compound.

Jurto’s grip tightens as he steers me through the emptier areas, and the rough stone walls that encircle the camp feel like they are closing in on me. My heart pounds louder with each step, echoing in my ears. His brusque manner and snarling voice terrify me, and I can barely manage to keep from collapsing in fear.

I hardly get a glance at his house as we approach it. I’m too busy trying to keep up, but I do notice it’s massive. It’s rougher than dark elves’ homes, more in line with the brutish nature of the orcs, but I can tell it was made with care. Even as I’m dragged through the wide living area and down a tall corridor, I’m impressed that this is how he lives.

Finally, we stop in front of a heavy wooden door. Jurto shoves it open with a grunt, revealing a small, bare room. The only furnishing is a narrow cot pushed against the far wall. The room is cold and unwelcoming, the air stale.

“You’ll sleep here, human,” Jurto growls, his voice dripping with disdain. “And you’ll serve me obediently.”

I nod mutely, unable to find my voice under his intense gaze. His eyes are dark and piercing, filled with a mixture of contempt and something else I can’t quite identify. He lingers for a moment, as if ensuring his command is understood, before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

The door shuts behind him with a solid thud, the sound reverberating through the small space. I’m left standing alone, the weight of my situation crashing down on me. My legs give out, and I sink to the cot, my body trembling with exhaustion and despair.

I can do this. I have to do this. But as the reality of my predicament settles in, I feel the first tears of hopelessness welling up in my eyes. The room feels like a prison, and the narrow cot offers little comfort. I curl up on the thin mattress, hugging my knees to my chest, and let the tears fall silently.

Over the next few days, my life becomes a cycle of fear and confusion. Jurto's presence is a constant, looming threat. Each morning, he storms into the small, bare room, barking orders with a snarl.

"Get up, human," he growls one morning, kicking the cot's leg. "Don't just lie there like a useless lump."

I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding. "Y-yes, Jurto," I stammer, trying to avoid his piercing gaze.

"Stand over here and clean," he demands, pointing to a dusty corner of the room.

I hurry to comply, grabbing a rag and starting to wipe away the grime. But no sooner have I started than he changes his mind.

"No, wait," he barks. "Go over there and tidy up the shelves instead."

I hesitate for a split second, unsure whether he means it, but the flash of irritation in his eyes spurs me into action. I rush to the shelves, my hands shaking as I try to organize the clutter.

"Never mind," he snaps, his voice dripping with contempt. "Go cook in the kitchen. I'm hungry."

My head spins from the rapid-fire commands, but I nod and scurry to the kitchen, desperate to avoid his wrath. The kitchen is a chaotic mess, pots and pans strewn everywhere. I start by lighting the fire and gathering ingredients, my mind racing to figure out what to cook.

"Faster, human!" Jurto growls from the doorway, watching me with a predatory gaze. "I don't have all day."

I fumble with the knife, slicing vegetables as quickly as I can without cutting myself. The heat from the fire makes me sweat, and I can feel his eyes boring into my back, judging every move.

As I stir the pot, trying to make something edible, he steps closer, his breath hot on my neck. "Pathetic," he mutters. "You can't even cook properly."

I bite my lip, fighting back tears. "I'm s-sorry," I whisper, knowing it will do no good.

"Sorry won't feed me," he snaps. "Hurry up, or you'll regret it."

Finally, the meal is ready, and I serve it on a crude wooden plate. Jurto takes it, sniffing the food with a sneer.

"This better not be as disgusting as you look," he says, turning and walking away without another word.

---