Page 12 of The Orc's Wife

My head rang when he slapped my mouth so hard my teeth rattled. I pressed my hands to my mouth, and tears sprang to my eyes. I couldn’t hold them back.

“There’s nothing your beast can do to us that the orcs haven’t already done,” the bald man spat at me. “Go on, tell me. What will he do? Take our land away from us? Kill our parents, rape our sisters? Force us to a lifetime of slavery?”

I only half-listened to him while my mind was working faster than ever. Two men were behind me, and one on every open side between the bench and the table. The bald man wasn’t holding my throat anymore, but his hands were balled into fists, and I was certain he would hit me again soon.

If I became unconscious and they dragged me away from here, I wouldn’t stand a chance.

I gathered all my strength and pushed him hard. He didn’t expect the attack, so he stumbled back, and I pushed past him, breaking into a run. I had to get to the palace gate. The guards would have to do something to protect me.

But it was so far away.

Curses broke out behind me, shouts, and thundering footsteps. I was running as fast as I could, the dress tangling between my legs, but there was no time to lift the skirts higher.

I knew I wouldn’t make it.

I stumbled back with a cry of pain. One of them was holding my hair and dragging me back. I screamed, trying to rip my head free, but it hurt as if all my hair was being pulled out by the roots and the skin of my scalp tearing off. I succumbed, sobbing with pain and fear.

There was no getting away from those strong hands. When the man reached to grab me, I kicked and struggled, trying to bite him, but one hit of his hand to my head left my dizzy and confused, my body going limp.

I was vaguely aware that one of them took hold of my hands while another grabbed my calves, and then the world disappeared as they were carrying me, each step rocking me further out of consciousness.

Chapter 4

Urgan

He shot out of the dungeons, barely noticing how servants scattered before his violent charge. Only one thought was beating in Urgan’s mind: She didn’t listen to me.

Fury fueled him, but there was something else, too. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Cold fear.

Where had she gone? There were so many dangers lying in wait for a careless female, and as his mate, she was even more at risk. Had Urzulah already laid her claws on Una? Had another orc seen his mark on her and dared to contest it? Had she fallen prey to the scores of resentful human slaves who were itching to take their anger out on a weaker victim?

Or had she been trampled by a horse?

Urgan stopped only to query the guards outside the palace gate. As soon as they told him she had left with Mina, he was running again, his gear clanging and thudding with every step.

And then Mina was in his way, her face red and sweaty, tears running down her cheeks.

“Thank the spirits,” she wheezed. “The Horseless Rider. Four men…”

Urgan broke into an even faster run, vaguely registering that Mina was following him. He rounded the bend and took a second to take everything in.

The street, empty of passers-by, with only few carts riding along as fast as they could. Orc and human faces flashing in the small windows of the surrounding buildings. The tavern’s employees peeking through a crack in the door.

And Una, unconscious, her body jostled as the four humans carried her as if she were a butchered carcass. The pallor of her face. The red swelling on her cheek.

He bellowed, his rage all consuming. If she was dead, he would kill every last human male in the city. There would be no stopping him. He would raze their homes to the ground, slaughter their children, bathe the land in their blood.

They heard him and dropped her to the ground, breaking into a run, but they were stupid in their blinding panic. Instead of scattering to distract him, they all fled in one direction. Urgan drew his axe and threw it. It buried itself in one man’s head. The others sped up, screaming like slaughtered pigs, but he was on them now, so much faster on his longer, more powerful legs.

He swung his curved sword, once, twice, and two heads rolled to the ground, the bodies following, lifeless. The last man fell to his knees, whimpering and shaking, and Urgan took pleasure in lifting him slowly by his reddish hair and looking into his face, twisted into a mask of terror.

The smells of piss and shit filled the air as the man lost control of his bodily functions.

“You’ll come with me,” Urgan said, his fury still running through him like a lightning. He was far from done and everything inside him was itching for him to slay that last man who had dared touch Una.

But his training prevailed. When killing enemies, one must leave at least one of them alive. Learning the enemy’s secrets was a greater kind of victory than just killing everyone.

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