4. Brannock
Brannock
Mine.
The second her fingers graze my jaw, the thought detonates in my head like a war drum.
It carves itself into the marrow of my bones and rips down my spine like a lightning strike, hardening my cock.
It’s not a sweet, romantic sensation—it’s primal.
Gut-deep. No one has ever touched me or looked at me like this, not even when I was a boy.
I thought she was beautiful when I saw her from the window, glowing in the moonlight like a siren carved from ivory and gold.
But up close? She’s ruinous.
She’s no simpering female too fragile for reality. She has fire in her eyes and steel in her bones. Most women scream when they see me. Orc. Beast. Scarred and unwanted. They run. But Rapunzel looks at me like I’m a promise, not a threat.
The knowledge causes a knot to form in my chest. My fingers twitch with the urge to touch her. Claim her. Possess her. Burn the world down to keep my female safe.
My female?
No. She can’t be mine. That’s not how this works. I don’t get soft things. My life is fighting—hard edges and tough choices, not maidens with golden hair and amethyst eyes.
Rapunzel freezes, and for a second, I think maybe she feels it too.
That same sharp crackle in the air between us.
Then her eyes glaze over and become unfocused.
Her lips part like she’s about to speak, but no sound comes.
A little furrow forms between her eyebrows, and I swear I see a flicker of pain cross her face as if she’s seeing something I can’t.
“Are you all right?” I ask gently.
She doesn’t respond. Just stares through me as if she’s somewhere else entirely. A vision? A memory? Some echo from whatever enchantment ties her to this tower?
It wouldn’t surprise me. The hair thing is strange enough, but the moment she touched me, it was like the magic turned solid. Intentional.
I shift my weight, uneasy. Gods, she’s beautiful.
Not in the soft, dainty way human women try to be.
She’s radiant. Round and lush, with pale skin that practically glows in the flickering light of her oil lamp.
Her hair is a mess of gold serpents coiled around the room, pulsing with quiet magic.
And her body—hells, her body is a feast for a man who’s been starving a long, long time.
And I have been. Starving for softness. For something that isn’t pain and penance and blood on my hands.
Rapunzel jerks as she snaps out of her trance. She looks up at me with a smile so bright it kicks me square in the chest. My heart feels like it’s about to leap out of my throat and punch me in the face. Gods, that smile could melt steel.
“You’re here to rescue me.”
Her voice is hopeful. As if the idea of being rescued is some grand fantasy she’s been waiting to live out.
“I—what?” Rescue? No. I’m no fucking hero. People need rescuing from me, not by me. If she knew half of what I’ve done, she’d push me out that window herself and celebrate my fall. But instead, she’s looking at me like I’m her salvation.
She tilts her head, and I catch a glimpse of something behind her eyes. Not na?veté. More like… longing. Hunger. As if she’s been alone for so long that even a monster like me starts to look like a miracle.
She cocks her head like she can see right through me and doesn’t give a damn about my rotten core. Her smile is gentle now. Almost shy. And it makes something fierce stir in me.
I try not to stare. Try not to picture her soft body stretched out beneath mine, mouth parted, eyes glazed. But fuck. She’s gorgeous. And I’ve been alone for so long that I don’t remember what it feels like to be touched without fear.
My cock, already on edge, pulses painfully.
I shoot to my feet and turn toward the window, trying to hide the traitorous bulge in my pants. “Surely there’s a way out of here. I could try climbing down the roots.”
“Climb down?” she echoes, confused.
“The roots go all the way down the wall,” I explain. “If I’m careful, I might make it.”
She shakes her head, eyes solemn. “You can try. But I can’t leave. The roots tie me to the tower.”
I frown. “You’re tied?”
She gestures to the roots on the floor. “Tethered, remember? My hair won’t let me leave.”
I frown, glancing at the twisted mass of golden vines. It doesn’t make sense. Why would anyone trap her here? She’s not a threat. She hasn’t tried to kill me when most people do.
“Why are you locked up?” I ask quietly, trying to conceal the chill that crawls up my spine.
She shrugs. “Dame Gothel says it’s for my protection. From the people out there.” She gestures vaguely toward the window, but the forest is quiet. No torches, no mobs. Nothing but trees and moonlight.
“And your family?”
She looks down, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. “I don’t remember. If I have any, they never came for me. Dame Gothel said she found me alone in the forest.”
Moving to the bed, she curls around a pillow like it’s armor. “I don’t even know if Rapunzel is my real name.”
My chest tightens. “It’s a plant with delicate blossoms,” I say, surprising even myself. “Purple, maybe. Or blue. The same color as your eyes.” Eyes like storm-kissed violets.
Her smile turns shy. “Is it? I wish I could remember. Dame Gothel taught me how to read, how to do sums, and how to cook. But I’ve only ever known this place.”
I murmur, “You’ve been enchanted.” I’m sure of it now. Gothel locked her away and fed her half-truths, doling out just enough information to keep her complacent.
She blinks. “What?”
I ignore her question. “Tell me more about this Dame Gothel.”
Her gaze drops, and she clutches the pillow tighter. “Gothel found me in the forest when I was a baby. She’s my guardian. She brings supplies. Fuel for the stove to heat food and water. But sometimes, I wonder…”
Yeah, me too. She’s been isolated. Cut off from the world and guarded by magic. That’s not protection. It’s certainly not affection. That’s imprisonment.
And I should know. I’ve lived it.
Is this Gothel a warden? A witch?
“Has she ever hurt you?”
Rapunzel pauses too long. “No,” she replies, but her voice lacks conviction. She shifts on the chair, looking away from me. “She’s kept me safe all this time. Maybe she’s overprotective. Maybe she’s a bit harsh. But she’s doing what she thinks is best.”
“By locking you in a tower,” I mutter.
She glances at me again. “Sometimes”—her throat bobs as she swallows—“I hate her,” she admits. “I hate the rules, the solitude, the silence. But she raised me. She feeds me. She brings me books and fuel and clothes.”
“And lies,” I say.
Her back straightens, and she glares at me, a touch of fire in her eyes. “You don’t know that.”
“I know she won’t tell you who you are. She won’t even let you see the world outside. That doesn’t sound like love. That sounds like control.”
She knows I have a point. A jagged, painful point that digs deep, judging by the way she flinches away from it before immediately trying to shake it off with a toss of her head.
“Maybe she’s protecting me from something truly dangerous.
Have you ever thought about that? Maybe I came from another realm like you.
Maybe I’m one of those creatures that Professor Karloff made with his Frankenpunch.
Or an alien.” Her brows furrow, eyes wide as they meet mine. “What are aliens, by the way?”
I lift an eyebrow, surprised by the question. “You don’t know what aliens are?”
She shrugs.
“Aliens are beings from other planets. Other galaxies. They come in all shapes and sizes. Some are friendly. Some aren’t.”
She smirks. “Sounds a lot like orcs.”
I chuckle, my tusks flashing. Fuck, for someone tied to a tower, she’s got fire.
“Listen,” I say, stepping closer to the roots. “If I can climb down, I’ll find a way to come back for you.”
She nods, but her amethyst eyes hold no hope, only the weary acceptance of someone who’s heard too many empty promises.
I reach through the window to grasp one of the thick, rope-like roots. It twitches beneath my fingers, warm and alive. Bracing one foot on the windowsill, I find a solid handhold and hoist myself up. I’m halfway out the window when another root snakes out of nowhere and lashes around my leg.
“What the—”
It yanks me up like I weigh nothing, swings me like a sack of grain, and drops me straight back onto the floor.
“Fuck,” I grunt, the wind knocked out of me.
Rapunzel winces. “Thought so.” She stands, stretches, and yawns, soft curves pulling my gaze like a magnet. “I’m going to take a bath. There’s food in the hamper if you’re hungry.”
She disappears into the tiny bathroom, leaving me with the lingering scent of flowers and sunshine.
I drop back onto the floor and groan. A bath. Rapunzel naked. My cock pulses. How the fuck am I supposed to survive this?
I am so. Fucking. Screwed.