Page 47 of Orc's Possession
Okay, Paloma Marie, get your ass in gear and find a way to connect with this woman, even if she is a grouch.
When I spot a woodpile nearby, I head over and grab a few split logs with one hand while struggling to hold up my ripped tunic with the other.
“Here,” I say, holding out the logs to the woman tending a fire a few feet from Ossa’s workstation. The orc looks up at me, her light green eyes going wide as she realizesthe humanis talking to her. Without even a nod acknowledging me, she glances at Ossa.
Yep, that confirms it. These women defer to Ossa. She is definitely the woman in charge.
“Yilika lisk, Ossa?”
“Tak,” Ossa replies.
The female orc with light green eyes grabs two of the four logs I’m holding and tosses them onto the fire. As I set the remaining two down for the woman to add as needed, I glance over at Ossa. She narrows those dark green eyes, scrutinizing me in a way that tells me to watch myself, that this isherdomain.
Fine with me. I’m not staying.
With the addition of new wood, the fire flares to life. It’s a shame the orcs don’t cook inside the mountain, as those tunnels and Atox’s chambers could use some heat, but aside from minor fissures there isn’t any ventilation inside.
I glance around, looking for something I can do to keep busy while thinking through my escape plan.
Ossa picks up her knife, points at me, and motions toward the tunnels. “Yar, hooman.”
I get it. She doesn’t want me here. Too bad.
“I need thread and needle.” I point to the stitching up the side of my tunic.
When Ossa shoves me away with her elbow, I move to the other side of the table, out of her reach. “I’ll sew it myself, if someone can show me where the sewing supplies are.” I release my top where Atox tore it down the middle.
When she sees the long rent in my tunic and how I have practically no coverage for my more than ample breasts, her eyes widen. “Vekk az hooman flick aus Atox im grak!”
I understood two words in that. Human and Atox. This woman doesn’t like me or the fact that Atox chose me. I wish I had the language to agree with her.
She calls over to my shadow, Evve, and barks out what I can only assume are orders. Evve races off and returns a moment later with a basket full of sewing needles, string, a leather hole punch, and leather cords like those I used to secure my knife at my side.
“Thank you,” I say, accepting the basket with a smile, neither of which changes that sour expression on Ossa’s face. But Evve’s mouth kicks up, revealing cute little tusks that have begun to jut out beyond her lower lip.
When did I start thinking of tusks as cute?
Heat surges through me the moment I recall my post-spanking encounter with Atox. The memory of him pleasuring me will never leave me. I still don’t know if I should remain mad at him for that humiliating spanking, though. If he had truly wanted to hurt me, he would have. He seemed to be trying…
Trying to do what? What is the huge orc trying to do beside get me pregnant?
“I have to get going, Evve.”
I head down to the river where I’ll have privacy and sufficient light to work on my tunic. When I reach the river, I strip, and cut holes along the torn sections of the tunic before sewing the rough edges to prevent further tearing. With one of the leather strips, I lace the top to give my breasts the room they need, but not leave them fully exposed.
As I finish tying off the thread, dark green eyes catch my attention. I yelp and hold the tunic in front of me before realizing my shadow has returned.
“You scared me, Evve,” I say as I slip the tunic over my head, feeling so naked beneath. I miss my panties and bra, but I don’t know Orcan to be able to ask Ossa where she put them.
Evve maintains her distance as I scoop up the sewing materials and head back to the main part of the settlement. The moment I hit the edge of the clearing, I stop. There it is. The cart, newly arrived with a cargo in the back. No wonder I couldn’t find it. I’d assumed Sojek had already returned.
“Hooman,” Ossa calls, full of anger, her hand cupping Sojek beneath his chin. She points to the cuts on Sojek’s face. “Gavo ak grak tiki hooman!” Then she spits on the ground by my feet.
I see the way she looks at Sojek, with the compassion of a mother as she touches the week-old scars on his face. Sojek is her son.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize, hoping she’ll hear the regret in my voice even though she doesn’t understand my words. “I didn’t know Atox would do that.”
The moment I say Atox’s name, she barrels over to me, slaps me across the face, and continues spewing angry words.
