Page 1 of Orc's Pretend Mate

1

PHOEBE

“No!”

My scream is involuntary, but the two hulking Urr’ki don’t care. Their dirty gray robes hide their well-toned bodies, but it doesn’t matter. I know they are stronger than me. Much, much stronger. Despite knowing it, I struggle. I don’t think anyone would consider it a fight since it’s more than pointless, but I cannot not try.

They grab my arms, ignoring my protests, and drag me out of Kinto’s home. Kinto stands to one side, impassively watching. The worst part of it is that he is not malicious. He’s just so apathetic that he doesn’t even consider that he could try to stop them.

I’ve been living in his home for quite a while. I don’t know how long it is because time has lost all meaning for me, but it’s long enough you’d think he’d care. But no. He’s too far gone into his apathy. There have been days I was certain he wouldn’t eat if I hadn’t been there to guide him to the plate I’d made.

He blinks as I fight then his brow furrows as if he’s only now figuring out that something is happening in his home. His mouth parts and for the briefest of moments it looks as if he might protest but he snaps his mouth shut and turns away.

“Stop, you will come with us,” one of the Maulavi barks, painfully jerking my arm

They have one of my arms each, squeezing so hard it is going to leave bruises. I scramble my feet, trying to keep from leaving. It’s not like Kinto has been great, but he has the safety of I know him. I know he’s too apathetic to hurt me. Or rape me, or anything else which is all the comfort I have been able to find on this stupid mission.

I never should have come. I’m an idiot.

“No,” I protest, trying to dig my feet into the bare stone floor, but there is no purchase, so it does no good.

“We do not ask,” one of them barks then he backhands me.

It rocks my world. I’m stunned and the room is spinning. It takes the fight out of me for the moment at least and lets them get me out the door. I haven’t been outside since the last quake. There is an acrid odor in the air that burns my nose.

“Where?” I ask.

The one who didn’t hit me glances down with a deep frown.

“Does it matter?” he asks.

“Don’t… want… to die,” I say, speaking through the spinning that is making me nauseous.

“When the Shaman orders it, you will,” he says.

Fear fills my heart and head as they drag me through the streets. People, Urr’ki, stare but not one of them dares to intervene. The Shaman and by extension the Maulavi rule with an iron fist.

Everything that I see is a mess. Buildings have collapsed and those that remain standing have visible cracks. The acrid smell grows stronger as they pull me through the streets. I get my feet under me at last, both tired of being dragged and wanting to exert some control. If I’m going to be killed, at least I can walk to my death on my own two feet.

Neither of them eases their grip on my arms. It hurts but I’m not going to give these bastards the satisfaction of acknowledging it. Rubble and debris fill the streets. It forces them to navigate around the mess.

As my head stops spinning, I continue looking, trying to find an opportunity to escape. As we continue, they finally ease their grip. Maybe, just maybe, I might be able to get free. I look around while trying to appear that I’m not.

Before I find an opportunity, they approach another house. One of them pounds violently on the door. Nothing happens and the impatient Maulavi pounds again. He strikes the door so hard that it leaves an imprint of his hand.

One of them mutters what sounds like a curse in their language. At last, I hear the locks sliding then the door cracks open. Without introduction one of them shoves the door open, pushing his way in and dragging me along with.

My fear is so great that I want to cry. I’m trying to be strong. I’m trying to hold my shit together, but I’m feeling faint. My heart is racing. I know I’m hyperventilating as a sticky cold sweat coats my body.

As soon as we’re inside the small house, the Maulavi shove me. I stumble and fall to my knees between them and the occupant of the house. The Urr’ki, who’s home this must be, stares at me for a long moment.

He has the same air of apathy that Kinto did. The same that lays over the city like a miasma. When he blinks it happens in slow motion. As if he’s rousing from a deep sleep. Lifting his head he shifts his gaze from me to them with a languid motion. He grunts in the Urr’ki language. I know some words, but not enough to follow the grunts and growls that follow.

“I’m right here,” I say, still struggling to not cry.

One of the Maulavi slaps my face. My head snaps with the force of the hit as blood fills my mouth. I fall over onto my hands before the homeowner. He growls. It’s the most lively thing he’s done since we arrived.

“Shut up,” the Maulavi barks.

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