Page 11 of Orc's Claim
“Just how I like my females,” he says. “On their hands and knees.” With a snarl, he bears his tusks at us.
Paloma glares at him but says nothing. Instead, she pushes her way past the orc to return to her table.
“May I help you?” I try to keep my voice steady as my head tilts back, my gaze lifting from where I’m still picking up my supplies. Massive doesn’t begin to describe him.
The orc grunts at me, then turns to Paloma who’s turned her back to him, as if he doesn’t exist.
“I need boots,” the orc says to her.
“You have boots.” Her voice comes out clipped, but the orc doesn’t seem to pick up on her tone. Or care.
“I need boots,” he repeats, with a slight growl underlying his words this time.
“I don’t have any boots for sale,” she says, even though there are three pairs on her table.
He randomly chooses a pair and holds them in front of her face. “These.”
“They’re for another customer.”
“Not any longer.” He slams a knife down on her table, the hilt an inch from her fingertips. “Payment.”
Her eyes lock with his, and I hold my breath as neither Paloma nor the orc moves.
“Paloma,” I whisper, trying to break whatever spell holds her. “A knife is fine for payment. Let him take the boots.”
“Sold. Leave, orc.” Paloma flicks her wrist at him before snatching the knife off the table.
Like an animal scenting the air, his nostrils flare. There’s anger in those dark green eyes, enough that I fear for Paloma. But the orc merely slings the tied boots over his shoulder… and returns to my table.
Where are our damn guards?
The orc’s meaty hand grips my chin and forces my head up. “You are the submissive one.”
I can’t repress the shiver that runs through me. Thoughts of my orc and his confidence, his strength, return. That’s what orcs admire. Strength.
But I’m shaking too badly to do or say anything to save myself.
The massive orc releases my chin and I resume sewing an unfinished work glove so I can calm my nerves.
“We need to work, orc,” Paloma says. “Leave.”
The orc ignores her as he leans over me, blocking out the hot sun. Without asking, he runs a finger down my upper arm belowmy sleeve, against bare skin. I shiver at the touch but force myself to remain still. I must look like a deer caught in headlights, but I refuse to run and look even weaker.
“Are you a breeder, female?”
“Am I what?” My hands shake so badly I accidentally stab myself with the needle. “Ouch!”
“You humans are fragile.”
I don’t like this orc. Nothing about him. And I’m not sure how to get rid of him.
He’s massive and can snap my neck one-handed if he wants. Instead of gripping my shears in warning, I try Paloma’s tactic.
“Leave, or I’ll call the guards, orc,” I threaten, accessing some newfound strength inside me.
He leans in so close it’s impossible not to smell the dirt and sweat on him. My stomach wants to revolt, but I don’t dare recoil and show any weakness.
“You will call me Grak,” he growls in my ear.
