Page 1 of His Orc Warrior

Chapter One

Lucas

“Bolg! What are you doing?” I bent down and picked my little fur baby up. “You’re not supposed to go digging at that. You know better.”

He licked my face, as if that would make his incessant attraction to the box any less annoying.

The box in question was one of six that I’d brought home from my parents’ house when I went to dinner last week. My mother had insisted it was because I was really missing something in my life by not having them, but the truth was, she was doing some weird decluttering of her house. The funny thing was that the boxes were in the rafters of the garage. It wasn’t like they were in her way. But I didn’t argue and brought them back to my apartment, which, unlike my parents’ house, did not have a ton of room.

Bolg had ignored most of them, but this one in particular he kept going after, which meant it was time to unpack it and see what could possibly be in there. One thing I was confident of: I wasn’t going to like whatever had him going after it.Please don’t let it be a dead mouse.

When I came home from my first semester of college, I learned that my mother’s jokes about losing a son and gaining an office weren’t actually jokes. They had completely transformed my room and packed up my old bedroom. At the time, I was livid. Not so much because she wanted an office. That was fine, but touching my stuff? That had been a step too far.

I was over it before I went back to school that visit, though, and figured I’d come get my boxes when I got my first apartment. I’d been living the good life at school, but it wasn’t like the dorms had room for much. And besides, myprize possessions would’ve been considered “childish” by my roommates. Over time, I sort of forgot about all my things in storage. Apparently, my mom never did.

“With my luck, Mom threw a candy bar or a bag of chips in there.” Which was far better than a dead rodent, so maybe I needed to be crossing my fingers that was it. “I’ll empty it now so you can go back to playing with your squeaky toys.”

I set Bolg down on the couch and opened the box. Sitting on top was an action figure, the one I named my dog after. It was an orc from one of my favorite books and movies.

“Look at you. I should’ve brought these home years ago.” I hugged him close. “I missed you.”

I stood all the way up, brought him over to my shelf, and found him a new home. The apartment I’d lived in for the past couple of years felt more like home than it ever had. Funny how a plastic toy could make somewhere feel more welcoming, but it did.

Thinking back as far as my memory went, I’d always loved orcs. I mean always. And it wasn’t in the way that people loveStar Warsor Legos now. I loved them in a way that my wishes on falling stars had always been that they were real. Sure, they were big and green, strong, and to most people, scary. To me? To me, there was nothing scary about them. I got this warm fuzzy feeling when I thought about their tusks, their height, the way they just took what they wanted.

Yeah, I’d always loved them. And, even at my age, I wished they were real.

I went back to the box to see what other treasures might be inside, and there were a few, but there was also a whole lot of trash. My heart raced as I discovered a few more action figures, ones I thought long lost. There was also a paper I had written for my seventh-grade English class, back when we used to have to print things out, a cup filled with pens and pencils and acontainer of lead, and a sock. Yes, one sock. I just brought most of it straight to the bin.

In the end, most of the box was junk—things I wouldn’t have kept on my own. But the action figures were great. They reminded me of a time when I allowed myself to immerse in a fantasy world, one that was so much better than real life. If I was lucky, one of the other boxes would have my orc book collection and, if I was really, really lucky, one had my orc comforter. But those discoveries would need to wait for another day. I was exhausted and ready to call it a night.

I had to chuckle when I discovered the culprit for Bolg’s obsession at the very bottom of the box—a piece of already unwrapped beef jerky.

“Mother, what were you thinking?” She’d probably just tossed everything in, which meant there were a ton more surprises in my near future.

“Come on, Bolg. Let’s go for a walk.”

He was all about that. I put him on his leash, carried the trash—including the box—out to the garbage, and we went for a little walk. My apartment was one of six in an old home in one of the oldest neighborhoods in the city. Having a great place to walk Blog was one of the reasons I picked it.

Bolg was a social butterfly. He enjoyed galivanting around the block and visiting with the neighbors with one exception, Mr. Stevens. Bolg loved meeting women. He loved meeting children. But the taller a man got, the more he didn’t want any part of them. This included the nice old man who lived next door, Mr. Stevens.

I felt for Mr. Stevens, but he was six two, and Bolg wanted nothing to do with him. I’d adopted him from a local shelter, and my guess was that his fear of all people tall was related to something in his past.

As we walked by Mr. Stevens’ house, I picked Bolg up and carried him until we got to the back door.

It was getting late, and, after a quick shower, I grabbed my e-reader and climbed into bed. A book from my favorite author had just come out. It was a series about orcs, because I might be grown up, but that didn’t mean I had to give up the love I’d had since I was little.

The love of orcs. Only now, instead of wanting them to be my best friend or someone to go on an adventure with, now I wanted them in my bed. Maybe there was something wrong with me, but I didn’t care. It wasn’t as if my love of an imaginary being impacted anyone else’s life. And as long as reading about the orc that won the omega’s heart had me smiling, I was going to keep on buying them. I might not be able to have an orc on my own, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t go to bed with one every night…on my e-reader.

Chapter Two

Thrain

My parents didn’t just invite me over for lunch for no reason. There was always roasting with the roast or begging with the brisket. Still, I had to go. Orcs took care of their families, sometimes beyond when they should or the parents deserved. Tradition, I supposed.

“Mom,” I called out, opening the wide wooden door to their home. It had been built into the side of a mountain. Carved out hundreds of years ago by my ancestors as our rages began growing so large they overpopulated the land we once owned.

“I’m here, xenoc.” Didn’t matter how old I got, my mom would always call me little monster in our ancient language. Her voice came from the kitchen, along with the savory scent of roasted meats, vegetable stew, and freshly baked sourdough bread.

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