Chapter 1

Norgren

T here aren’t many of us ogres left, so when Grunagg came to visit us with his human mate in his arms, it was a rather large upset at our encampment. The other young ogre had finally found his one and only, his chosen one.

It’s uncommon for our kind to discover their mates, as there simply aren’t enough of us, and most ogres I’ve met in my life are as old as my mother or older. When they’re gone, it will be just me here. The last of us. I don’t want to be the last, with no reason to continue living.

None of us expected a mate could be human.

She has a tiny, pale face and flat, yellow hair. Her frail body was far too small for the whelp Grunagg put in her. Luckily they had my uncle—a healer—around, who ensured that the birth was safe.

Now, two years later, they’ve come to visit again with their wailing whelp in tow. I watch Grunagg and his mate Aliya sit by the fire, their hands wrapped around one another while the little one makes trouble. She tells him in her language to quiet down, but all he wants is one of the ripe berries in her hands.

“Remember,” she tells him in the human tongue, dangling the berry, “say please .”

With an eager nod, the whelp says, “Please!” Smiling, Aliya rewards him with his prize, and he frantically shoves the whole thing in his mouth, stem and all.

Watching the three of them together, I understand now that having someone to care for brings purpose to a life that otherwise feels... well, pointless. I want a companion of my own who isn’t my mother or uncle. Someone to bear me whelps and warm my bed.

Now I know the truth. I was meant for a human, too.

But it was a mistake on Grunagg’s part to mate with such a feeble creature, and put her in danger by seeding her. Now I know better. My mate will be stronger. More hardy.

After Grunagg’s family departs, taking their wild offspring with them, my mother and uncle are surprised when I pack all my things into a big bag and inform them that I plan to leave. Where will I go? What will I do?

I make up a lie about going on my own search for a mate, saying I will visit every other ogre in the world until I find her. Then I’ll make a home somewhere of my own. For me to go out and specifically look for a human mate... my mother and uncle would not approve.

“Come back to visit,” my mother says, uncharacteristically tender. “I don’t want this to be the last time I see you.”

I assure her it won’t be, then hike up my bag and begin the long journey down the mountainside, toward human lands.

I’ve been coming closer and closer to the human city every day, searching. Waiting. Hoping that one day, my mate will appear .

And then she does. The moment I see her, I know I’ll never be alone again. She will be my purpose, my everything.

She is perfect. She stoops down over a plant, surveying it carefully before choosing to pick it. She adds it to her bag, as she does every time she comes searching for whatever it is she’s searching for. Sometimes it’s plants. Sometimes I follow her deeper into the woods—from a careful distance, of course—and watch as she forages for mushrooms and birds’ eggs, sometimes mosses and nuts and tiny fish that swim about the surface of the water.

Her shoulders are broad and strong, and her arms sturdy and thick. Her bosom is bountiful, and I can easily imagine burying my face in it. Her waist curves out into wide hips and luscious, rounded thighs. Her rear as she bends down to examine a fallen twig is mouth-watering, plump and ideal for grabbing by the fistful.

Yes, this human could carry many good whelps. And all it takes is looking upon her face to know that she is mine.

She has smooth cheeks covered in the most delightful smattering of spots. Some ogres have spots like that, too, but not tiny brownish ones scattered over sun-kissed skin like hers. Her dark hair is pinned high up on her head, but that can’t tame the thick waves that still manage to come free and tumble over her face. Every once in a while she lets out an irritated huff as she pushes it away from her eyes.

I know her routine now. She comes out early in the mornings, or later, around sunset, to look for whatever it is she needs out here. She always returns to town the same way, and that’s where I watch from the trees each time she comes and goes down the cobblestone road.

It is dangerous, my mother would say if she knew, to get this close to a human city. I’ve traveled quite a long way from where we lived in the mountains apart from both human and trollkin kind.

Though the orcs and trolls that inhabit this world are our smaller cousins, we have nothing to do with one another. Ogres refuse to participate in their silly wars, and so they write us off. All the better. I much prefer to spend my time whittling wood than fighting in battle. Of course I can hold my own, and I have before against bears, wolves, and men, but killing is an ugly, dirty business. I think if I were forced to kill, it would haunt me for the rest of my days.

It’s taken me some time to find the right spot for our new home, but I might have discovered it last night as I continued exploring the valley. Nestled deep in the woods is a small grove, and in it I found an old house, a human one, in sad disrepair.

I had planned on locating a good cave, as that is where we ogres naturally gravitate, but as I surveyed the solid beams that made up the frame of the house, I decided my new mate might be more comfortable among something familiar.

And so now I watch her, trying to learn her, to understand her, so that I can provide everything she needs, everything she wants. I will fill all of her desires, whether it be with food, drink, or my cock. I remember what Grunagg told me, how he convinced his mate to stay with him by showing her he could care for her. If I want this human to be my mate, I’ll need to demonstrate that I, too, can look after her needs and ensure she’s safe and well-fed.

If I can show her that I will do whatever it takes for her to be happy, then surely she’ll accept my offer.

When I am not observing my human, I am cleaning out our new home, chopping down trees to repair broken beams, covering holes in the walls and building new furniture that’s sturdy to suit my frame. I’ve carved details into the wood wherever I can, pouring all of my hopes and dreams into the curls of vines and spades of leaves. I believe it will please her.

I had no reason to live back at the encampment, nothing to look forward to every day. But here, creating this home for her, I’ve never felt so filled with purpose.

At night, I lie in the big bed I’ve built, imagining my human and how her body would look without that dress hiding her from me. I take my cock in hand and stroke from the thick root up to the head, which is already leaking at the thought of her big breasts, her nipple in my mouth, and her gorgeous, ample body sitting astride mine. When I reach my peak, my seed erupts in thick white ropes, decorating my belly. I picture it inside her, instead, finding purchase in her womb, and growing into a strong, sturdy whelp.

Once I’ve finished the last detail on the great headboard of the bed, I decide it’s time to show her to her new home.

Tally

Most of what we sell in the shop is junk.

You didn’t hear me say that, though. Of course, to every customer that comes in, all of our potions and tinctures are top quality, and will solve whichever problem happens to ail you.

My anti-rodent tincture does work well, I must admit. “If you apply it near any openings in your home, rats and mice will not try to cross it,” I tell people who bring me chewed-up bags of oats. The mint plant is invaluable in repelling pests.

Today’s customer happily takes the tincture, and rewards me with a few coins. The problem with remedies that work, though, is that rarely does it bring us repeat customers. So we have plenty in stock that don’t.

As the woman departs the shop, the door is flung open by two much larger bodies. They barely let her past, and the leathers they wear, paired with the chainmail vests, tell me they are not townspeople.

They are soldiers.

The two men are roaring with laughter when they finally come inside, letting the door fall closed behind them with a loud bang. I hear stomping outside as even more soldiers pass down the main street.

“Well hello, missy,” the first one says, taller and wider than the other, with a nose that looks like it’s been broken a few times. He peers down at me curiously. “You’re quite pretty, aren’t you? Though a little too well-fed, if you know what I mean.”

His compatriot takes off his helmet and snorts. “Sure do,” he says. He leans toward the counter. “But I don’t mind something extra to hold onto.”

I do everything in my power not to let my irritation show. Instead, I fall back on my shopkeeper role.

“What do you need, gentlemen?” I ask, not bothering to keep the venom out of my voice. The short one hoots, and the older one grimaces at me.

“Well, we’re after something to help us kill some damn trollkin,” the big one says, patting the gun at his side. “Your sign says you sell ‘boosts.’ I want some of that.”

This will be easy money, at least. I can tolerate the bullshit that comes with it.

“I’ve got just the thing,” I say cheerily, and walk around the counter toward one of the shelves. There’s a powder I make that can give you a short burst of energy when you sniff it, and it helps that it’s blue, which makes people think that it’s special, but it’s just a flower dye I use. I take one of the larger bottles and offer it to him. “Take one breath of this and you’ll be ready to cut down the next trollkin you see. It gives you super strength and super speed.”

The tall soldier’s eyebrows rise up into his hair. “Super speed?”

I nod. “A few more tusks for your mantelpiece.” It’s fine if I oversell it, because surely these guys will either die, or never come back this way again.

The first one clucks with approval, but the short one gives me a suspicious side-eye. “Super strength and super speed,” he repeats .

“Yes,” I say, sensing his doubt. “That’s why it’s so pricy. I could give you one that just does strength or speed, but you can’t take them at the same time. That’s what makes this stuff special.” I nod at the price tag, and both men cringe.

“That’s ridiculous,” the tall one says, replacing the bottle on the shelf. “Highway robbery.”

I shrug. “It works. And it sells because it works.” I keep the stock low on purpose, so it always looks like it’s running out. “Up to you.” I return to the counter and pretend to be counting money.

The two men talk for a while in hushed whispers, and then, one of them grabs the smaller bottle and brings it to me.

“This one,” the tall soldier says. He pulls out the coins and drops them imperiously on the counter in front of me.

“Wonderful choice,” I say as I wrap it up and put it in a bag. “Thank you for your purchase.”

The short one scowls, but doesn’t say anything as they leave the shop. I can hear them muttering, but that’s usually how this business goes. People don’t want to spend the money, but they will if they think it’s a magic bullet.

“We need more lavender,” Kell barks at me from behind the workshop door. The shop owner is a foul-tempered woman, but not without reason. Her husband took everything they had besides the shop and ran off with a younger mistress. Now I simply try to avoid her bad side.

“We’re out,” I call back. I’m met with a noise of frustration.

“Then go and get some!”

I’ll happily take the excuse to leave the shop and go foraging. It’s my favorite pastime, and it helps immensely that Kell will pay me an hourly wage to do it.

I step out into the sun and preen. If I could, I would spend all day outside, not stuffed into that tiny, dark shop. So I take my time carrying my basket out of town, off into the woods, not really thinking about the lavender I’ve been sent off to find .

No, what I want is to discover what is out there. Who is out there.

It’s been following me for months now, this eerie sensation of being watched. The first time I noticed it, I searched and searched for the source. But whoever it was, they made sure to keep firmly out of sight.

After the first few weeks, I determined that whatever was keeping tabs on me clearly didn’t intend to harm me, or even reveal itself to me, or it would have already. Over time, the prickle I feel on my skin, as if eyes are following me, has become a familiar sensation. Now it’s like we’re old friends, my strange observer and I. As the months have gone on, it feels as if we almost know each other.

I wonder if the time will ever come that they finally step out of the shadows. Or will I have a permanent guardian now, watching over my life?

I feel braver adventuring into the woods knowing my watcher is with me. Perhaps I could lure them out with a little well-placed danger. Would they interfere?

But that would be ridiculous, to intentionally put myself in harm’s way.

Today I wander deep into the woods, a little knife in my belt just in case. Perhaps I’ll get lucky and find some of those good, fat mushrooms that grow out of trees for my dinner. That would be a lovely surprise.

Stopping at the brook, I wash my face of the sweat starting to pool on my forehead. I’ve been walking for a long time, and I should probably turn back. The water is perfectly cold and fresh.

Nearby, a twig cracks. I jump to my feet and instinctively reach for the dagger at my hip. A shadow lurks in the trees, just beyond what I can see.

“Hello?” I ask, because the shadow is tall enough to look humanoid. Then, goosebumps erupt across my skin. A creature tall enough to cast a shadow that way...

Trollkin.

I screech and turn around, and without thinking twice about it, I take off at a run. Within only five or six steps, though, a pair of huge, dark green arms seize me around the middle.

“No!” I cry out, kicking and clawing. But they are immense, and much too strong for me to make much of a difference. I knew trollkin were big, bigger than humans, but whatever creature is holding me fast... it is in another realm completely.

“Quiet,” a voice says, grinding over the syllables in a way that tells me it’s unfamiliar. “Please,” he adds.

My mind stutters.

“Please?” I echo back. For a moment I fall still, surprised, and the arms gently loosen. As soon as they do my legs are moving again, and I’m plowing over the rocks that line the brook as I make my getaway. The rocks are wet, and so when I slip, I feel like I should have expected it.

Before my face can meet the ground, though, something catches my arm. The creature’s big hand hauls me back up to my feet, and finally, I see who has captured me—and then rescued me, I guess.

The face echoes the trollkin, but his tusks are bigger, nearly curving up to his eyes. His nose is blunter, his brow thicker and more protruding. His dark hair is tied back, and for a moment, I almost think he’s handsome.

Then all of my sense comes barreling back into me, and I scream. Startled, the trollkin cringes and holds me away from him. “Quiet,” he says again. “Please?”

What’s with the please ? But again I listen and stop screaming, and the monster lets out a relieved breath.

“What do you want?” I demand. He’s still holding onto my arm, keeping me upright after my fall. But when I don’t move to flee again—or to scream—he slowly starts to release me.

I could probably outrun him. He’s bigger than I am, and perhaps doesn’t move all that fast. For some reason I can’t fathom, though... he’s also being kind and polite.

Is this who’s been following me around all this time, watching me from the shadows?

Once he’s decided I’m not going to run, the huge trollkin leans back to look at me. He’s wearing only a thin shirt, and underneath he’s full to bursting with muscle. He could probably pick me up and snap me in half if he wanted.

But something about him tells me he doesn’t use his bulk that way.

“Come,” he says, gesturing over his shoulder. I’m surprised that he knows even one word in my language. He points off behind him, into the woods. “Come, please?”

There’s a questioning look in his eyes, something almost innocent, and I’m pretty sure he’s not going to try to have his way with me. Besides, I’m intrigued now. What does he want? Why has he been following my every move, and what does he intend to show me?

My curiosity gets the better of me and finally, I give him a faint nod.

“Okay,” I say, and it’s probably the most foolish thing that’s ever come out of my mouth. I sure hope I haven’t misjudged him. “I’ll come.”

A smile lights up his face, peeling his lips back around his huge tusks. It is a strangely comforting thing, to see him smile.

“Good,” he says. “Come.”

I swallow hard, wondering what sort of idiot I am to be following a trollkin, the biggest one probably in existence, into the dark woods. Trusting him, for whatever reason, not to kill me and maybe even eat me. Do trollkin do that? I feel like I’ve heard that .

At the very worst he could kidnap me and lock me up, and Kell would never see me again.

But I start walking in the direction he points anyway, and with a relieved sigh, the creature leads the way.