I owe him. He saved me, even when his kind destroyed my family.

Joanna: When orcs invaded our village, everything changed. The newly self-appointed mayor chose me as his wife—no matter what my choice had been. Living taxes were imposed—if you want to live, you pay.

My new husband pays the tax for both of us, and it keeps me working wage-free in his eatery for my room and board.

But then comes the day when everyone else in our town hides because the orcs return for us.

Latsil: My scars aren’t the honorable sort among our people. Mine were forged by capture when my mate sold me to another clan.

I returned home upon her death, broken hearted and in denial that she was one who’d betrayed me. But part of me knows the truth and for that reason, I’ll never re-mate. A decision that’s challenged when I save a beautiful female from the clan who once imprisoned me.

A female who’s left her human husband and—like me—is determined never to mate again.

Other books in this series:

Book 1 – Owned By The Orc
Book 2 – Saved By The Orc
Book 3 – Bought By The Orc
Book 4 – Adored By The Orc
Book 5 – Loved By The Orc (Coming Soon)

Joanna, wife to the Mayor of Granby:

“Your village is an utter ghost town.”

The leader of the orcs who rode into town with his guard is the only one of them unscarred by battle. His voice is surprisingly pleasant, well-modulated, as if he’s been speaking English his entire life. I try hard not to stare at the tusks that jut from his lip but because he speaks the language without any accent, I’m intrigued instead of flat-out terrified.

“Welcome to Granby.” My voice is wry, and he grins as if he understands sarcasm.

Does he? Again, my curiosity peaks.

‘Tis true, the entire village, smaller than most, has headed indoors to hide. Including my self-appointed husband, the Mayor of Granby. When my parents died in the last orc attack—in which the brutal Blackheart clan of monsters destroyed half the town and then, to everyone’s surprise, up and left—Homer McLinn made himself leader. He then announced he’d need a wife and grabbed my arm.

No ceremony. No permission. No blessing from the Lord. Nothing but his decision.

Homer McLinn also decided to force me to leave the eatery open for business while everyone else—himself included—remained in hiding. He’d determined a pretty face might satisfy these new orcs until our males returned from the range.

And while I should be terrified out of my mind because orcs slaughtered half our town, I’m just kind of numb. My life has been a living hell since losing my parents in the previous attack and quite frankly, I no longer care if I’m slaughtered.

But these strange orcs don’t look like they’re about to attack. They don’t dress like the Blackhearts, who are known for wearing black leather in the heat of summer. They just wear less—loincloths instead of britches, vests instead of tunics. They can be seen from a distance because the black is decoratively stitched with gold thread.

“You ever travel to the neighboring town? Serenity?” The unscarred one asks.

Serenity. My sister city. Or so I had thought as a child. The leader of that land, Lord Montierge, had galloped through our town with a carriage behind his horse. He’d blasted in long enough to ask if we’d known of another town nearby large enough for a hospital. His little girl was sick, and he’d do anything to cool the raging fevers that plagued her.

I’d often wondered what it would be like to have my father so dedicated. Not that he was a bad father—he did turn down Homer McLinn when he asked for my hand—but I couldn’t imagine him leaving his farm long enough to care about whether I lived or died.

I’d fantasized about that little girl often. She was a true lady, titled through her father. I even knew her name. Lady Hannah Montierge of Serenity. Throughout my formative years I’d pretend that we’d been friends, best friends, closer than sisters. I’d spend summers in her town, and she’d spend winters in mine. I’d teach her how to grow vegetables, and she’d teach me fine manners. How to serve tea.

Now the idea almost makes me snort aloud. I serve all right, though it’s not with fine bone China teacups. It’s massive metal plates, fit for the brave males we have left.

He still waits for my response.

“No. I mean, as a child, probably. Not recently, though.”

“Hmm. So, you don’t know any of the townspeople?”

“None at all.”

Because I’d like for these interesting ones to stay—I mean, why not, it breaks up the monotony of my life—I gesture to a table. I find it curious that these orcs are so different than the last sort, and I’d like to know why. Besides, if they’d wanted to, they’d already have carted me off.

“You’d serve us?” Grunts the largest orc to the right of the leader. Gah, he’s the most terrifying out of all of them. His eyes are lined with kohl, maybe it’s tattooed, his ear has been mangled and has healed rather badly. Lighter green slashes adorn the darker green skin of his body in strategic spots. Scars, I realize. He’s been cut and marred—even his lip has a whitish-green line bisected through it. But his muscles are massive, and the scars decorate instead of detract.

I shrug and the humor of the situation hits me. My “husband” cowers upstairs in a closet, the townspeople are sealed up tight in the hidden rooms of their homes, praying the orcs don’t light fire to the second half of the town—despite the fact that Mayor McLinn pays them their newly imposed living tax—and I can make them, all the brave townsfolk, suffer a wee bit more in the hidden safety of their panic rooms. In the heat. It’s the least I can do considering all of them were willing to sacrifice me instead.

With a dark twinkle in my eye, I nod to the huge, massively scarred one. “You’ve been riding, yes? You stopped by for a reason. Have a meal and I’ll make all my other hungry customers wait.” I wave my arm at the empty tables as if others truly sit and scowl while I take my time with the strangers.

Several orcs look around at the other tables as if I’m addled in the head.

I leave them while I pop into the kitchen area to serve up the specials. I’ve gotten used to running Homer’s. Used to be, Homer was the one who ran the kitchen but since I “married” him, he needs to focus on his mayoral duties, so I earn my keep by running his business.

Not that anyone knows what mayoral duties entail. It’s a new-fangled term he’d heard somewhere and decided to appoint himself as such.

I startle when a large green hand stretches for the stack of bowls I’m struggling to reach in a cabinet built for larger men. One of them followed me into the kitchen. He easily brings the entire spare stack down to the counter for me to reach.

For a brief moment, true fear makes my heart pound. My palms tingle with the adrenaline rush from being this close to one. Obviously, he was sent to make sure I don’t poison the troops and well, I can’t say I blame him. But it’s disorienting to have someone so huge breathe down your slender neck.

“Thank you,” I murmur, taking the top bowl from the stack and ladling the chili into it.

I stack the bowl onto the tray and reach for the next one, filling it quickly and adding the bowl to the tray. When all the bowls are filled, I add the soup spoons and head to the cold storage for some fresh bread and cheese to complete the meal.

And then I heft the tray up with nary a grunt—I’ve been cuffed enough over the last months to work without complaint—and carry it to the table where the orcs sit. Quickly I dole out the meals, then serve the drinks—my own concoction of sweet peach juice and tea. The hovering orc still stands by my side, watching as if making sure the drinks aren’t tainted.

I guess I can’t blame him.

The leader doesn’t eat, even though I’ve served him.

I take a bowl for myself, blowing on the spoonful before jamming it into my mouth. “See?” I say, fanning the burn on my tongue. “‘Tis safe. I’m not about to take on a half dozen males twice my size. Eat up.”

“Why are you serving us?” The leader asks, taking his bowl and tentatively tasting.

I shrug. “Breaks up the monotony of my day, I guess.”

“I see you don’t have many people to talk to,” the leader says shrewdly.

I smile, reaching for a chunk of fresh baked bread, and then can’t help but snicker. He knows the village folk are hiding, but what really makes me chuckle is that I’m eating well without a husband about to slap my hands and remind me the food is for the customers. Instead, here I sit, at a table full of orcs, eating my fill like a queen. Why, it was just last week that I stole a chunk of bread and pocketed it into my apron but was so exhausted from the day’s labor I forgot to eat it. I found it during the next day’s laundry, a sogged mess to scoop out.

Before long, I realize I’m the first to finish. No matter. I calmly get up and serve myself another portion, then bring my bowl back and sit as if nothing is wrong.

The scarred orc—the beastly one—sits across from me and grins as if pleased by my appetite. It looks awkward and unpracticed, and the others look confused as their gazes bounce from me to him, but then they all decide to toss aside what little manners they’d been practicing and start shoveling the food into their mouths.

Several get up on their own for seconds and I don’t mind one whit. Nothing like eating with the customers, even the non-paying kind who hopefully won’t kill you when they leave. If they do, though, at least I’ll go with a full belly.

When everything is all said and done, they stand and stretch, some walking around, and I’m sure Homer listens with an ear to the wall, probably hoping for my screams. Instead, the scarred one—who looks rather interesting, like he has a story to tell with so many more scars than the rest—tosses me a pouch that jingles.

“For your service,” he says, and the other orcs look at each other.

Maybe they’d meant to kill me, then? My heart stutters because surely this means they’ve changed their minds?

“Thank you, milord,” I whisper, suddenly aware of any carrying sounds. “Be safe on your journeys.”

He grunts and one by one, they leave the eatery—and me—behind. And as I watch the horses prance about as they mount, a sudden idea comes to me.

He gave me coin. Unsure of how much, but orcs deal mostly in gold. Not that I expect that, of course. Their meal was only worth a copper each, but he gave me a bag full. Why try hiding it from Homer, who will search me when he sees all the empty dishes? I can keep the whole bag, even if it’s a handful of coppers, it’ll buy me enough meals, maybe a room for the night while I get a job somewhere in Serenity.

‘Twould be nice if I could get a sewing job in a seamstress shop. All women because I’ve had my fill of men.

Why not pretend the orcs dragged me away? Why not hop on a faithful old mare—everyone is in hiding and not minding the stables—and make my way to Serenity, where I can start anew? A name. A made-up background. I can even meet my childhood friend, for real this time.

As they gallop away, I suck in a deep breath, and—before I can change my mind—emit an ear-piercing scream. “No! Take your hands off me! Why did you stay behind? No, stop! Don’t stuff that horrid thing in my mouth—”

I stop abruptly, pretend I’m choking, and then toss a few heavy pans about to crash into the walls. It feels really good to throw the heavy dishes around—the chili staining the whitewashed walls with red paste—knowing that someone else will have to clean this mess.

And then I toss a couple of the pots into the windows, the crashing of the glass sounding somewhat musical to my ears. Not a curtain outside flutters, the townspeople keeping to their word of not emerging from their hiding spots until the church bells ring.

Someone was expected to ring them and that someone will not be me. No, it’ll be up to Mayor McLinn to ring his own goddamn bells once the bastard is done pissing his pants in the hidden panel of the wall.

I grab the last loaf of bread and cheese, wrapping it into a towel and shoving it into a light pot that I may need for cooking, grab Homer’s spare flint from the pantry closet and, just as I’m about to close the door, notice a spare canteen hooked with others on the wall. Greedy man doesn’t even know how much crap he has. Just demands things from out of towners if they can’t afford his outrageous prices. I don’t even take the time to fill it. Nope, I’m out of here, and I’ll gather water from a stream once I’m safely away.

Quietly now, I slide from the door and tiptoe along the wooden porch, then slip between buildings to get to the stable. Once inside, the noise from the animals actually startles me; I’m so used to the dead silence of the rest of the village. I shush the nervous horses and then narrow my eyes at the most majestic steed of the lot. Pegasus.

My husband’s prized possession.

No sense stealing an aging brood mare, right? No orc would take a stumbling miss. No, the orc would steal the finest beast of the stable.

I whistle softly. “Pegasus, come. There you go, have an apple.” I grab the entire bag of them from the hook on the door and saddle him up. I’m nervous, which makes him nervous, because this feels like it’s taking forever and a day. But there’s still nary a peep from the silent town and I force myself to take a deep breath to calm.

And finally, I’m ass-to-saddle onto Pegasus and have him calmly walk right out of town.

Interested in more? Catch the rest of Joanna’s adventure here:

Come get lost in my worlds for a few hours!

~~~