5. Gragash

5

GRAGASH

T he human flinched at my hard tone, but didn't react as the females usually did. The urd'ash who kept me as their slave had brought females, and a few males, to see me. Rich tourists, blood hot from watching me fight, who wanted to bed the victor and go home with a scandalous tale to tell.

I had no interest in being the brute that they giggled about with their friends. Their oh-so-daring escapade, the crazy adventure of their youth.

All of them either fled, too frightened to go through with it in person, or flung themselves at me. I preferred the former response; it saved me having to pick them up and throw them out of my cage. They were not for me.

This was different. The human wasn't here for some cheap thrill, and she hadn't paid to be in my presence. She was here against her will, and the urd'ash were aware of how much I hated the journalists who followed me. They'd sent her here to die, and she knew it.

Her scent filled the air—fear and excitement, sweat and smoke, a dizzying treat for an Orc. I drew a deep breath, tasting her arousal on the air, and saw her shiver. Despite her desire, she wasn't here to use me as a plaything. She feared me, but not with the mindless terror that drove others to flee my presence. The human was something altogether different from my previous ‘guests.'

I stepped closer, looming over her, and her breath caught. I hadn't seen many humans close up, but I could see at a glance that this one was special. Intense eyes looked back at me, green with golden flecks, framed by dark lashes. Freckles dusted her strange, pale skin, and red hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of fire. The curves of her body called out to be touched, explored, devoured, and the coverings she wore only made me want to rip them off her to see the skin beneath. A black t-shirt with a logo I didn't recognize, strategically ripped black pants made of some tough fabric, and heavy boots. They looked good on her. They'd look better off her.

"What are you, human?" I asked, snarling my question in her face. "Why are you in my cage?"

She stammered something in a language I didn't know, then switched to galtrade. "Hi, I'm Abigail Harkness, and I'm here to interview you? I'm a freelance journalist."

Something about the way she said it made me laugh, a bark of amusement that made the human flinch back against the bars of my cage. The earnest confidence of her words was at odds with her fear, but not dishonest. I'd learned the taste of lies, and this was not one.

Was it aspirational? Not true yet, but she hoped it would be? If so, I both envied her belief in a better future, and pitied her for it. Hope was a sweet poison, one that I had long ago purged from my system.

"You are here as a reward for me," I said, correcting her. "A toy. So the urd'ash told me."

A delightful blush spread across her pale cheeks and she glanced back over her shoulder before answering. "Okay, yes, that's what Vaher said. But it's not why I came aboard, and I've got no intention of being anyone's toy. So, how about an interview?"

"You are in no position to decide that, human. Slavers caught you. You are theirs. It is pointless to argue."

Her eyes narrowed, her blush brightened, and she bared her teeth. "I'm not arguing. I don't need to. They don't get to say what I am unless I let them. They don't get to decide what you are, either. Fuck that."

Her earnest expression, her passion, her resilience, all reminded me too much of the orc I'd once been. So certain I could fight my way out of any trap, only to be caught in the web of deceit Captain Vaher wove around me. I'd lost that certainty along the way, long years of hopeless captivity dimming its flame, but Abigail's was still strong, and bright enough to revive some of my own.

Fuck Vaher, and fuck them all. I am still Gragash, and my foes will not define me.

Perhaps some of that young orc still lived deep in me.

"We are not what they say we are," I agreed. "We make our own choices."

She nodded shakily, her breath caught, and I heard her heart race. Predators at heart, orcish senses have always been keen, but this was different. More. I was aware of Abigail and everything about her in a way I'd never felt before.

I leaned in, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her, close enough to whisper.

"And I know what you want me to choose, little human."