Chapter 1

Becca

W ith an icy trickle of unease down my spine, I peered carefully into the trees around the clearing, looking for any signs of orcs.

“We should head home,” I said, keeping my voice calm for the sake of the others.

We had entered the bog orcs’ territory that afternoon. Gleb, Ilya, and I guarded a group of women from our village, and I feared we had wandered way too close to danger in our search for wild cranberries.

“Just a bit more, Becca?” My best friend Faeena pleaded, lifting her heavy basket that brimmed with the red-and-white berries. “See? It’s almost full.”

The other women’s baskets and buckets had also been filling fast since we’d stumbled on a good patch of berries.

I nodded briefly, gripping my spear tighter.

“Just until the sun reaches the tops of the trees,” I conceded.

No one wished to run into the vicious bog orcs and die a horrible death for a few baskets of berries. But without the cranberries, there certainly would be more deaths in the village this winter.

Ever since the mountain orcs’ frequent attacks had pushed us out of the fertile mountain foothills seventeen years ago, our entire village had been on a move. Over the years, we’d crossed the valley and ended up settling on the outskirts of the wetlands. We’d lost everything—our fields, our orchards, and our houses. All our cattle were also gone during that long, perilous journey.

The wetlands proved inhospitable. Fruit trees just wouldn’t grow here. Potatoes rotted in the ground. The last winter had been especially harsh. The early frost killed the few root vegetables we’d managed to grow before we harvested them.

We’d been trying to hunt instead, but hunting meant entering deeper into the forest where the bog orcs lived.

Grim desperation had settled among the villagers, giving us the courage to move farther into the orcs’ territory in search of food. The threat of brutal murder by the savage creatures was no longer enough to keep us away when faced with the slow starvation threatening us all as another winter approached.

The women’s baskets were filling up. The sour berries would keep well when packed whole into jugs filled with water or squished into jams. They’d last through the winter, keeping disease and starvation at bay.

My stomach growled. It’d been a while since my breakfast of water spinach and warm cattail soup. I crouched by a plant sprinkled with small hard berries and picked a few. Bright red on one side, they remained white on the other. Their sour taste sent a shudder down my body when I crushed them between my teeth, but the aftertaste was pleasant and fresh.

My gaze drifted along the wet, mossy ground. Despite the late afternoon, fog still lingered around the mounds of moss. The forest always seemed foggy, day and night. Fine shreds of mist curled low along the ground, clinging to the tree trunks.

A slight movement on the clearing’s edge caught my attention. The fog around a thick half-fallen tree log shifted, revealing a massive foot in a black leather boot pressing down on a mossy knoll. Water seeped from the ground, pooling around the boot under the solid weight of its wearer.

Someone was watching us from behind the tree line, and judging by the size of his boots, it was not a human.

Orcs had found us.

It didn’t matter whether there was just one waiting to attack or a thousand. The best thing a human could do when encountering these beasts was to run. Fast.

The women had scattered all over the clearing by now, following the berry-rich plants. Gleb and Ilya, the two men tasked to guard the women with me, were both about five paces away.

Ilya, the seventeen-year-old boy, had his own basket that he was filling with berries, cheerfully chatting with the women.

Gleb scanned the surroundings, but didn’t appear to notice the hidden menace.

The orc’s boot shifted. He stepped from behind the log.

A burst of panic uncoiled my body like a spring. Jumping to my feet, I brought my arm with the spear back, then hurled it at the orc.

He growled as the weapon went through his chest with a thud.

“Run!” I yelled, drawing my sword. “Back to the village, everyone. Now!”

Used to the encounters with unexpected danger, the women and girls hiked up their skirts and sprinted away. Some grabbed their baskets. Others dropped theirs in a hurry, the hard, juicy berries rolling over the moss and splashing into the puddles of water.

A huge, bright-green orc stomped my way. His dark eyes burned with hatred as my spear jutted from the middle of his chest. Placing his feet wide, he gripped the spear with both hands and pulled it out, then flipped it in the air, aiming it at me.

I’d be damned if I let the bastard kill me with my own weapon.

Leaping aside, I drew my sword and yelled to Gleb, “Take the women back!”

Gleb frowned. Raising his sword in both hands, he lunged at the orc from the back. The tip of his sword pushed out from the orc’s chest in the front. But even that didn’t stop the monster. Bog orcs were ugly, vicious, and resilient, nearly impossible to kill.

With a wild roar, the orc turned around, swinging my spear at Gleb. The man ducked as I struck with my sword, slicing a wide gash in the orc’s thick neck.

With rivers of blood gushing from his wounds, the orc finally dropped to his knees. His huge hand was still gripping my spear as he crashed to the ground.

The wet noise of water squished from the moss by heavy footfalls betrayed the orc was not alone. His buddies must’ve heard his dying roars and now were rushing to his aid, furious and craving blood.

“Shit,” Gleb cursed under his breath. “There are more.”

“Go with the women,” I ordered.

He gripped his sword, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

“I’m staying,” he rasped. “Ilya will bring the women back safely.”

With his eyes open wide in horror, Ilya looked torn between staying and running. At Gleb’s words, he nodded eagerly and ran away as fast as his long, lanky legs would carry him.

Two huge shapes barged into the clearing from behind the mist-shrouded trees. Their shoulders squared, their weapons raised, they charged at us like two raging bulls. Bog orcs weren’t just taller than humans, they were as wide as bulls, too.

Shoulder to shoulder, our swords ready, Gleb and I met them head on.

I swung my sword, aiming for the orc’s neck, but only managed to slash at his arm, drawing blood. It didn’t stop him. He didn’t appear to even notice the cut, swinging his nail-studded mace at me.

I jumped out of the way, then sprang backwards a couple of paces, getting out of his reach.

The only way a human could survive in a fight with a bog orc was by keeping a distance. I was the tallest woman in our village, skilled with every weapon. I’d been winning at arm wrestling with boys and men since I was twelve, but I was no match for an orc in hand-to-hand combat. If I let him come close enough to grab me, I’d be dead.

Two more orcs ran out into the clearing. Four of them against us two. The odds were stacked badly against us.

The one whom Gleb was fighting with had a wound in his chest already, but it wasn’t nearly enough to bring him down. Gleb panted, out of breath, holding his own against the creature twice his size.

Gleb used to be a farmer. He’d only become a village guard because there were few abled-bodied men left to guard women, children, and the elderly. During the long, perilous journey across the valley, we’d lost a lot of good, strong men and women.

His orc suddenly seemed to lose interest in fighting Gleb. Spinning his mace in the air, he pointed it in the direction where the women had gone. My orc joined him, taking off after the women. If they caught up with them, Ilya wouldn’t be able to protect the berry pickers alone.

“Stop them!” I yelled to Gleb while evading a crashing blow of another orc’s mace. “Lead them away from the women!”

Gleb hesitated, clearly worried about leaving me to fight the two remaining orcs on my own. He should be worried. I stood no chance against the two, but I could delay them. Either way, I’d be dead. But at least, the women would get back to safety while I kept these orcs occupied and Gleb with Ilya took care of the other two.

“I’ll be fine,” I barked at Gleb and ordered, “Go!”

With me being the unofficial leader of the village guards for years, Gleb used to obey me, but he hesitated this time. We’d been friends since childhood, and it must be killing him to leave me to certain death now.

“Go!” I urged. “They’ll need you.”

With a poignant look of regret, he finally obeyed the order, running out of the clearing and after the orcs.

I ran, too, but in the opposite direction. The orc with yellow-green skin and not a single wisp of hair on his square-looking skull gave chase. And his buddy followed.

Jumping from one moss mound to another, I weaved between the trees and ducked under the fallen trunks. They kept up with me easily enough, their heavy footfalls splashing close behind me.

For once, my smaller size gave me an advantage, allowing me to fit between the tree trunks and under the low-hanging branches. The orcs’ incredible strength, however, let them crush through any obstacle, keeping them on my heels.

I squeezed through a narrow arch in a dense shrub. They crashed right through it, broken twigs and branches flying everywhere. My heart pounded. My lungs burned. I couldn’t feel my legs, pumping my arms hard.

A sharp whistle sounded in the distance. Then a different set of footsteps came from behind me, not feet running after me this time, I realized, but paws.

A giant beast leaped on my back, knocking me off my feet. Dropping my sword, I fell face down into the moss. A jaw closed around my neck, sharp teeth almost piercing my skin.

“Don’t move,” a deep voice rumbled above me. “Or my dog will break your neck like a twig.”

I couldn’t move. His “dog” must’ve been the size of a bear. It stood on my shoulders, squishing me into the moist ground. Cold water seeped past my leather chest armor and soaked my linen pants and tunic. All I could do was to angle my head barely enough to keep my nose out of the moss to breathe.

The orc grunted approvingly, clearly taking my immobility for compliance.

“Now get up. Slowly.”

With a soft whistle from him, the dog climbed off me. I gathered my shaking arms and legs under me and got up.

The huge river hound stood right in front of me. Its short brown fur had a slight sheen like that of a muskrat or a nutria. It was wet. The beast must’ve gone swimming shortly before chasing after me. The dog was still panting, its maw open, saliva dripping from its sharp red fangs.

The orc, who I assumed was the dog’s owner, stood next to the animal, his burly arms folded across his equally massive chest. Unlike the bald heads of the bog orcs I’d seen before, this one had a bunch of long, pine-green hair on the very top of his otherwise clean-shaven head. The hair was tied into a slick ponytail with a scrap of what appeared to be a patterned snakeskin. A ribbon of snakeskin tied his long beard too.

The two other orcs panted behind him, holding on to tree trunks and gripping their sides. I smirked with some satisfaction. I got no chance to kill them, but at least I made it hard for them to catch me. If it wasn’t for that beast of a dog, I might’ve even gotten away.

“Let’s see what we have here,” the dog owner growled, raking his eyes over my body.

I shifted uncomfortably under his attention, adjusting my leather breastplate and yanking down the hem of my tunic. I’d left my sword on the ground where it’d been knocked out of my hand. It lay only a couple of paces away from me now, too far to reach it before he grabbed me.

“Why are you red like the fire newt?” he asked suddenly.

“Red?” I touched my cheek. Despite the mid-autumn chill, my face had heated during the fight and the run.

“I mean your hair.” He tipped his chin at my head. “It’s the color of autumn leaves.”

I blew away a copper-colored strand hanging over my eyes. “Yeah, well...why are you green like a fucking frog?”

His skin had a muted shade of sage green, not exactly as bright as a frog’s. But my comparison seemed to offend him, which gave me another burst of satisfaction.

He winced and turned away from me to ask his buddies, “Is she the one who killed Urug?”

Both glowered at me.

“She is, chief. We can still catch up with Urug’s men if we hurry.”

The dog’s owner nodded, and the two orcs left, leaving me one on one with their chief and his dog.

Chief they had called him. He was their clan chief. And now he knew I’d killed one of his men.

My already miniscule chance for survival dropped down to zero. With nothing left to lose, I jumped for my sword.

The dog barked. His owner grabbed for me. Evading his hands, I left the sword where it was and sprinted away instead.

If I had to die, I preferred the quick death from the monster-dog’s teeth to whatever slow, torturous death the chief might choose for me.

Instead of the dog’s paws hitting the swamp ground, however, its owner’s heavy stomping came after me. This guy was built like a mountain. How could he even run?

Sadly, the distance between us wasn’t great to begin with. The chief’s legs were longer than mine. He caught up with me way too soon.

A yank on my shoulder sent me into a spin. I would’ve fallen had he not gripped my arm, holding me up. I twisted in his grip, freeing myself. But his massive palm immediately wrapped around my other arm, not letting me go.

“Fast and slippery like a fucking newt in the water,” he cursed, panting.

I had no breath to spare to snap back at him. My heart beat in my throat. Panic shook me. With my arm trapped by him, I kicked high with every bit of strength I had left. I focused on my aim, getting the toe of my boot right in the center of his crotch.

A shocked “humph” came out of his mouth, followed by a tortured groan as he sank to his knees. His moan of pain seemed like the most beautiful music to my ears. I pivoted on my heel again, ready to run or die trying.

“Get here, you—” He yanked on my ankle, dropping me to the ground.

I kicked at his hand, but his grip was firm. Pulling on my leg, he dragged me to him. I kicked again. But from this position, the kick came to his ribcage, which didn’t affect him at all. I twisted to face him with my fists raised to defend myself.

Stretching over me, he grabbed my wrist, then straddled my thighs, rendering my kicks useless. With my free fist, I landed a punch in his jaw. The blow reverberated through my entire arm, making me cry out in pain. He just smirked, as if he’d received a slap from a kid.

Catching both my wrists in his one hand, he stretched my arms over my head.

“Stop squirming like a tadpole,” he growled, leaning over me.

His bulk pressed into me. His hot breath hit my face with...a refreshing scent of mint.

Why mint? It came so unexpected that it startled me for a moment.

A rusty smell of blood, a rotten stench of decomposing flesh, a foul reek of stale bog water—all would’ve been much more suitable for this monster.

“Or maybe... Squirm some more.” He rocked his hips into me, the bulge between his legs swollen and hard.

My heart dropped with dread. Now I really wished his dog would’ve snapped my neck earlier.

Masking my fear, I scoffed in his face. “So, getting kicked in the nuts gets you hard?”

I’d rather have him angry than horny. Maybe he’d kill me faster then?

He looked more confused than angry, however. His lips parted, his tongue wetting his lips between the two thick tusks that jutted up from his lower jaw. The right tusk had designs carved into it. The carved grooves were filled with gold in a pattern I didn’t understand.

Focus replaced the confusion in his expression as he studied my face.

“You’re a vicious little minx, aren’t you? You put up quite a fight,” he said with a low rumble of appreciation deep in his thick throat.

“Oh I’m not done yet!”

I jerked my arms, arched my back, and strained all my muscles in the desperate attempt to push him off me.

It was like trying to move a solid mountain. He didn’t budge. My struggles only seemed to excite him more, as his cock grew even bigger against my leg.

Just how big could it get?

I really, really didn’t want to find out.

“Fuck...” I dropped my shoulders back to the ground.

He drew a long breath, his nostrils flaring.

“You smell like cranberries,” he murmured.

His voice was more of a vibration than a sound. It resonated through my chest with a soft tickle in my throat. Something must be wrong with me, because despite the threat of death and the chill of the water seeping from the ground, I didn’t entirely hate the press of his large, warm body against mine.

I’d never had this much hard male flesh piled on top of me before, and something about the sensation was...thrilling.

Gods, if I had to die today, why didn’t you make it happen before I made this vile discovery about myself?

In my thirty-one years, I’d had my share of men both on top and under me. None of them felt quite so promising and alluring as this horrid, murderous orc.

“I need a taste,” he rumbled.

His tongue darted out, and he dragged a long warm lick up my neck.

“Hey! That’s disgusting,” I protested with a dreadful realization that I was not repulsed. On the contrary, with a shiver of delight, I wondered what this warm, thick tongue would feel like in many other places of my body. “Just kill me now,” I groaned, praying for a quick, painless death before I completely lost my mind.

He studied my face, a corner of his mouth lifting in a lopsided smirk.

“No, my wiggly little newt. I think you’ll bring far more fun to me alive.”

Trepidation spread through me, more freezing than the wetlands in the dead of winter.