Page 13 of Orc's Claim
As I head back to Pen’Kesh, an eerie silence fills the woods. I turn a full 360, only to realize I don’t know this area. I strayed from the path. Damn it!
My hand settles on the knife Paloma insisted I take so she wouldn’t have to deal with it. I didn’t argue because I remembered my orc—damn it, not my orc!—suggested I carry a knife out here. It seemed wise especially after dealing with the vints and that huge orc today.
When a twig snaps behind me, I turn and slash outward withmy knife. A hand with the strength of ten men locked around my wrist like a steel vise.
“Better,” my orc says as he releases me. “You brought a knife and reacted properly, but you are still walking like a herd of yenga flattening the forest.”
“You’re the one who snapped a twig,” I say, a little insulted. And hurt that he wasn’t here earlier. That he made me think he didn’t care to show up.
His lower lip curls back, flashing the full length of his tusks.
He meant to snap that twig!
“You’re testing me?”
“You have skills to learn. Walking these woods is dangerous.”
“As dangerous as being alone with you?” I know I’m being unfair, an ass even, but the sting of knowing he never returned to the river to look for me hasn’t dulled.
His eyes lift, though I’m not sure if he’s surprised by my insult or thinks I still fear him.
“I saw you watching me in the market, but you didn’t approach.”
He nods, understanding my anger. “My grak has forbidden me from seeing you.”
“We only met the one time.”
“But he knows.”
“How…wait, did you say Grak? That was the orc who bought the boots.”
“Yes. That is my grak.”
Mygrak?Is this a language difference or… “Is Grak his name or a title?”
“His full name is not for me to speak, as he has not given me permission.”
“What is a grak precisely?”
“My grak is our leader. Our king.”
Damn. I wish I’d known that earlier today. Not that it wouldhave changed anything. He behaved like an ass and I was relieved when he left.
I look at the knife lying in my palm. There are no jewels or anything special about it, other than it appears well-crafted. A silver metal forms both blade and hilt. One continuous piece of metal. Too large for my hands, but beautifully balanced.
He knows we met in the woods. Is that why he came to my table?
“How does your grak know we met? That was days ago and we didn’t enter the market together.”
“A grak has skills beyond most warriors. That is why he is grak.”
I don’t quite follow that answer, but I don’t want to talk about his king. The orc looked at me as if I was nothing more than a body to fuck. He’s probably the reason my people think all orcs are monsters.
I push the orc king out of my mind and focus on my orc… who still has no name. My smile returns, because it’s hard staying mad at this sweet male.
“Do you do everything your king orders?”
“Yes,” he says, glancing over my shoulder, scanning the area. “I always follow orders, though admittedly, not very well. Today is an example. My grak ordered me to stay away from you but when that vint intentionally knocked your tools off your table, every part of me wanted to draw my sword and gut him.”
