My Orc Has Big Tusks (Creature Rescue League #1)

1. Laina

CHAPTER ONE

LAINA

The rain came down in torrents. Spring in Bramble Creek, Maine, meant mud season, that special stretch of weeks when the dirt roads turned liquid and the woods smelled like green things trying to break through. I’d grown up with it. The isolation didn’t bother me one bit.

Tonight it was just me, the cottage I’d inherited from my dad, and the sound of rain hammering the windows hard enough to make the glass rattle.

My phone rang.

Unknown number. I almost didn’t answer, but the clinic’s emergency line forwarded to my cell after hours, so I picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hello. Um. Yes, hello. My name is Brovish Dayngris. I’m part-owner of the Creature Rescue League. Along with my friends. Orc friends, that is.” The voice was deep, careful. “Drogar. Krem. Traig. And Greth.”

“Okay,” I said slowly.

“I got your number from Dr. Halstead in Pinegrove. I’m sorry to call so late. Our on-call vet is out of town, and we have a creature in distress. A clatterwing. I need someone tonight.”

“A what?”

In the background, something made a high, reedy sound, like a hinge that needed oil crossed with a baby crying.

“A clatterwing,” he said again. “He’s from the orc kingdom.”

I blinked at the dark window. Orcs had been on the surface a few years now. I’d seen them around Bramble Creek, at the gas station, and once at the general store buying what looked like half the produce section. Big. Green. Tusked. Their creatures were very different from our own.

“I’ve never worked with an orc kingdom animal before,” I said.

“I didn’t think you had.” He hesitated. “I think you can help anyway.”

The sound echoed in the background again, sharper this time.

I was already stuffing my feet into my boots. “Okay. I’ll come.”

“Thank you.” Relief bled through his voice. He gave me the address for my GPS. “The road gets bad past the main turnoff. Do you have four-wheel drive?”

“I do.”

“Good. There’s a gate. The code is one-zero-zero-four. Please make sure it latches fully behind you. We don’t want anything escaping.”

Escaping? I blinked. “Got it.”

“Thank you again.” He hung up.

He had a nice voice, slightly growly yet sweet. Was he also growly and sweet?

I shook the thought off and flipped through the legal documents I’d been studying on my kitchen table.

My phone chimed with a text from the partner in my clinic. What are your thoughts about my offer?

She’d been after me to sign over my share of our partnership for months now, and I’d avoided looking at the papers. It was only after she’d cornered me earlier today and asked again, politely enough, that I’d agreed to look them over.

Would it be bad to let go of the legacy my father had left me? It had never felt like mine. I’d stepped into his shoes after he died, but his feet had been bigger than mine, and his shoes had never fit quite right.

Just got a call, I texted back. I’ll be sure to look at them tomorrow.

After tugging on my boots, I grabbed my bag.

Bertha, the old Ford truck my dad had given me, sat in the driveway like a hot pink monument to bad taste and excellent engineering.

She was lifted, battered, and completely reliable.

I pulled the step stool from behind the seat and used it to climb in, collapsing and returning it to its place after I’d settled. At five-foot-two, I needed the boost.

The headlights cut through the rain as I pulled onto the main road.

Bramble Creek rolled past, dark and quiet.

One general store at the four corners, the lights off.

The gas station was still open but empty.

The diner glowed amber at the far end of town, and I caught a glimpse of an orc heading inside.

Seven feet tall, shoulders hunched against the rain.

He looked tired. Maybe he worked nights.

Orcs had been here long enough that seeing one wasn’t strange, just new. I noticed the height more than anything, the way they moved through human-sized areas like they were making an effort not to take up too much space.

The creatures they’d brought to the surface were equally fascinating. Someone had published a field guide last year that was sparse on details and heavy on warnings about unpredictable behavior and unknown biology. I’d read it twice, but I still felt unprepared.

The turnoff came up fast. I nearly missed the gap in the trees and the sign, but slowed enough to turn onto the dirt road disappearing into the dark.

The rain had turned it into a mess of ruts and standing water.

Bertha didn’t care. She plowed through, suspension creaking, mud spraying up against the wheel wells.

Dad had bought this truck the year I graduated from vet school. He’d said, You’re going to need something that can get you places other people can’t go.

He’d been right about that. Right about most things, actually. The truck. The clinic. Coming home instead of taking a job in a city where I couldn’t sink my toes into the grass.

He’d died three years ago, and I still heard his voice sometimes.

You’re going to be just fine, Laina-bug.

I wasn’t sure he’d accounted for orc kingdom creatures when he’d said that, but I figured the principle still applied.

The headlights picked up the fence line first, at least ten feet tall and made of thick metal mesh, running into the trees in both directions. I slowed. The fence kept going, vanishing into the woods like it circled something large.

The gate was equally substantial and made of steel. A structure that made you wonder what it was keeping in.

I rolled down the window. Rain blew in sideways, soaking my sleeve as I leaned out to punch in the code on the panel. The gate shuddered and swung open with a low mechanical groan.

I pulled through and stopped, watching in the rearview mirror until the gate settled with a boom that traveled through the truck frame.

Make sure it latches behind you, Brovish had said.

I got out to test it and found it solid, then climbed back into Bertha and sat with the engine running, staring down the tunnel of trees ahead.

I put the truck in gear and drove.

Thick pine and old-growth hardwoods pressed in close, their canopy filtering the rain into a softer sound. The smell of mud, wet bark, and crushed leaves came through the vents.

I saw something lumbering in the ditch along the right side of the road. It scrambled up onto the road and crossed about thirty feet in front of me.

I slammed on the brakes. Bertha fishtailed, mud spraying, and the creature kept going, low, fast, and bear-sized.

The headlights caught dark spiky fur, horns that curved like a mountain goat’s, and a tail dragging through the mud, segmented and as thick as my thigh.

Then it was gone, crashing into the trees on the side of the road.

My hands had locked on the wheel. I couldn’t even begin to describe what I’d seen.

I eased off the brake and drove Bertha forward.

Another shape, smaller this time, moved along the edge of the tree line on my left, keeping pace with the truck before darting between the trunks, veering into the dark.

My breathing went shallow.

I’d been a vet for five years, treating everything from dairy cows to red-tailed hawks to someone’s illegally imported sugar glider. I’d seen thousands of animals, and I could tell you their genus and species and common behavioral patterns before they’d made it through the front door.

I sat with my foot on the brake and stared at where the smaller creature had vanished. Rain drummed the roof. My hands were shaking.

Until now, I’d never felt the gut-punch of seeing something completely outside my understanding.

The feeling was so sharp it almost hurt.

I kept going.

The road curved, and the trees opened up. A two-story building sat ahead, its stone foundation dusky gray, with weathered, slab-log siding. I’d read the orcs who’d built it had cut the trees here on the site, milled them, and stood the frame themselves.

Warm light spilled from a window, outlining an orc standing out front, watching the road.

The headlights hit him full-on, and I got my first real look.

Seven feet tall. Maybe more. Medium green skin, dark hair plastered to his skull. Shoulders broad enough he’d find it a challenge to fit through a human-sized doorway. Thumb-sized tusks jutted up from his lower jaw. His face held a worried look.

I parked Bertha to his right and shut off the engine. With my bag in hand, I opened the door and slid to the ground, skipping my stool. My boots hit the mud with a splash.

He stepped forward. “Thank you for coming.”

I looked up while he looked down, both of us noticing how small I was compared to him.

Rain made the fabric of his shirt cling to his shoulders and chest, and I had to tilt my head back to see his face. His tusks were smaller than I’d expected, barely reaching past his upper lip, but his hands were huge, his fingers thick as broom handles.

The small creature on his left shoulder snagged my attention.

Round-bodied, bright orange, and not much bigger than a kitten, it had tucked its small, bat-style wings against its sides.

It had a wide face, stubby limbs, and big eyes that studied me as intently as I was studying it.

It looked like a tiny dragon crossed with something almost amphibian in its roundness.

Smiling, I lifted my hand. “Does your friend mind being touched?”

The orc froze, but he shook his head, his shoulders loosening. “Sofia likes people well enough, but let’s get you inside first. It’s wet out here. She’s an emberkit, by the way.”

Sofia peeped and tucked herself tighter against his neck.

“I saw creatures on the road,” I told him as he opened the front door and gestured for me to step inside.

“What did they look like?”

I stepped inside the warm building, and Brovish shut the door behind us.

“One ran across the road in front of me. It was fast. Big. Dark fur, maybe spiked? A thick tail. And the other creature was smaller. It stayed near the trees but kept pace with my truck for a bit.”

He nodded. “The first one was a hearthmaw. They’re territorial, but they won’t approach a vehicle or hurt you unless you corner one in a den during nesting season.”

“And if I do?”

“Don’t.”

Right.

“The second was probably a thornsprig. As long as you stay on the road, they won’t bother you.”

I’d read about the tiny plant sprites with twig limbs and thorn crowns. The one I’d seen had been bigger than the field guide description, but maybe I’d misjudged the size in the dark.

The low lighting gave the open entry area a soft glow and outlined the ceiling. Hallways stretched off to both my left and right, and a counter had been built into the far side where a receptionist might sit.

“This way,” he said, pointing to the right corridor.

Sofia watched me as we walked through the room, peeping again when I stopped to check out a board on the right wall where someone had pinned photos and added names underneath. The images showed orc kingdom creatures of all sizes with their adoptive families. Sweet.

The Creature Rescue League brought them to the surface, rehabilitated those with injuries, and adopted them out to eager humans.

A whirring sound rang out behind me, and as I followed Brovish down the hall, I peered back, catching a glimpse of a black-feathered creature with a silver tail.

About the size of a dragonfly, it hovered in the hallway, its wings fluttering like a hummingbird, watching me.

“What’s that?” I asked.

Brovish stopped and turned. “Driftwhisp. They seek emotional energy. Because I’m worried about the clatterwing, that one’s been trailing me all evening.”

The driftwhisp tilted its head and dipped up and down in the air, its wispy silver tail bobbing along with it.

Sofia peeped.

My vet reflex kicked in. I reached toward her, slow and careful.

Sofia sniffed my fingers and chirped.

Brovish watched, frowning. “Do you know much about emberkits?”

“I know animals.” I kept my hand steady while Sofia investigated. “She’s small, warm-blooded, and flight-capable. It’s the same basic approach.”

“Most people grab.”

Sofia launched herself at me.

I barely registered the jump before she landed on my shoulder, her claws catching in the fabric of my raincoat. She weighed almost nothing, and heat poured off her, through the wet canvas, into my skin, spreading down my arm. She peeped, adjusted her grip, and tucked herself against my neck.

Her warmth seeped into my chest.

Brovish stared at his shoulder where Sofia had been, then at me. His nose twitched. “I guess she likes you.”

“You sound surprised.”

“She doesn’t usually—” He shook his head and rain scattered from his saturated hair. “She’s very choosing about who she goes to.”

Choosing. It reminded me that orcs spoke their own language, that they were still learning mine.

“How long have you had her?” I asked, stroking Sofia’s back. She made a sound like a tiny purr crossed with a crackle.

“A year. She follows me everywhere. Or—” He looked at his empty shoulder with something like betrayal. “She did.”

“I’m sure it’s just the novelty. New person, new smell.”

“She hates new people.”

I smiled. “Maybe I’m special.”

His eyes met mine, dark and unreadable. “Maybe you are.”

I was suddenly aware that we were standing in a hallway alone at midnight and an orc I’d just met was looking at me like I’d performed magic instead of just existing in the vicinity of his pet.

Sofia peeped, breaking the moment.

“You mentioned an injured clatterwing?” I said, a little too quickly.

He turned and headed down the hall. The driftwhisp trailed after him, fluttering up and down as if suspended from a string. Sofia snuggled into my neck.

I had the feeling I’d passed a test I hadn’t known I was taking.

We reached a door at the end of the hall, and Brovish paused with his hand on the knob.

“Quick question,” I said. “Do clatterwings bite?”

He thought about this longer than was comforting. “Not exactly. They don’t have teeth.”

“Okay, good—”

“They dive onto people when they’re stressed. And their feathers are metal. So it’s more of a collision situation.”

I stared at him.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“You’re saying I’m about to get attacked by a living wind chime.”

His mouth twitched, but his hand moved to the door handle. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t hit you.”

“You can do that?”

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

“I’m very good at what I do,” he said with a touch of dignity, and opened the door.

Something shrieked inside.