The Orc’s Auctioned Mate (Bloodfire Orcs #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Isadora

I never thought I’d be grateful for the taste of blood in my mouth.

But on the worst day of my life, it helped anchor me, gave me something to focus on. As the bandit lifted me onto the chair in that tavern, I pressed the back of my hand to my lips to keep from crying out at the horrifying way the men jeered, focusing instead on the metallic liquid creeping across my tongue and the way it had felt when the blow had split my lip.

It might sound daft to focus on such trauma, but ‘twas a good deal safer than focusing on my current problem.

“Who’ll give me a gold piece for her virginity?” the bandit leader roared, already half-drunk on anticipation of my sale. “Such a cunny is worth a gold piece!”

The men—beasts?—in the room howled and heckled, letting him know exactly how much they thought I was worth.

“A copper piece!”

“Gold? Gold ? No woman’s worth that!”

“Show me her tits! I’ll let ya know if she feels worth it!”

My breaths were coming too fast, the frigid midwinter air burning my lungs. Or mayhap ‘twas the fear of what was to come.

Just this morning I’d woken on my pallet in front of the hearth, determined to get an early start on the day’s chores so I might have an extra hour to focus on my soap-making…and now, as the full moon rose outside the tavern, I was being auctioned off to the highest bidder?

Nay, not me .

My body. My cunny . As if I were worth naught more than what rested between my legs?

My frantic gaze swept the tavern, looking not for help, because I knew I would find none here, but for a way out. Mayhap, if I could climb down from this wobbly chair I could find a way out the back through the kitchens?

And then what? Freeze to death in the snow? Where will you go? Mistress Smith will not take you back, not after she sold you to these bandits.

Mayhap I could run?

Run where?

My panic was slowly turning to despair as the bearded faces and unwashed bodies around me faded to a dull sort of blur. I knew this wasn’t a good sign; I couldn’t become inured to this horror. I had to fight. Fight !

But how?

One man—a huge brute with a shaved head—swayed close, his tankard sloshing as he reached for my chest. I shrank away, the chair wobbling dangerously beneath my feet, my gaze darting about, looking for a way to escape.

It landed on the dark corner at the back of the room.

The corner made even darker by the still figure sitting in it, his back against the wall, one gloved hand wrapped around a tankard resting on the table. The hood of his fur cloak hid his features, but I imagined I could feel his gaze on me, and I shivered, suspecting he was one male I wouldn’t be able to fight.

I’d seen rangers before, with their green cloaks and dangerous miens, but never one this large.

Dear God, keep him at his table with his ale. Do not let him become interested in these proceedings. Do not let him ? —

I choked on a sob, unable to utter the words buy me even in a prayer.

Before me, the bandit leader was yelling at the bald brute about trying to touch me afore paying. I could take no more of this.

Gasping for air, I spun about, overbalancing the chair and sending myself spilling forward. I managed to land on my feet, but my stumble sent me into a set of arms I didn’t expect.

“Hush, love, hush.”

The woman—a buxom red-head—wrapped one arm around my shoulders, turning me so my back was to the crowd, her other hand reaching for mine.

“’Twill be aright,” she promised in a soothing voice, hustling me toward the plank of wood that served as the bar. “’Twill not be so bad, eh?”

Shaking, I tried to focus on her face. Anything to forget what went on behind me.

“How—how do you know?”

She really was quite pretty, with her plump cheeks and her crooked smile.

“Because it happened to me, did it not? When I was much younger than you, and look at me now!” She swayed her hips, sending the red skirt swishing around her knees, and her large breasts—barely contained in the low white bodice—bouncing.

“You can make a living on your back if you are particular about your clients.”

Something of my shock—or perhaps disgust—must’ve showed on my face, because her expression softened.

“Och, lovie,” she murmured, taking my cheeks in her warm palms and forcing my gaze to hers. “What is your name?”

“Isadora,” I mumbled. I had no second name, because Mistress Smith had never allowed me to claim hers.

“Isadora.” Her smile was soft, gentle, a little pitying. “I am Verna. I work upstairs, and I know we will be friends.”

I didn’t want to be her friend, not like this. I didn’t want to whore, to make a living on my back . I didn’t want to be sold to the highest bidder like I was a piece of meat.

I was breathing too fast again.

“Isadora. Izzie .” She inhaled, slow and steady. “Stay with me.” She exhaled, then inhaled again.

And in the midst of the panic and the chaos, I found myself mimicking her. My breathing evened and the band around my chest loosened.

I felt tears coming to my eyes for the first time since Mistress Smith oh-so-matter-of-factly announced my fate to my disbelieving ears.

“ Thank you ,” I whispered.

“Oh, love, of course.” Verna gathered me to her. “Women need to stick together, no matter what comes.”

And ‘ twas coming.

Behind me, the noise had risen as men called to each other. I flinched from a particularly loud shout.

“Pay no attention to him. That is Alred, the owner of this place.”

I defied her suggestion and peeked from Verna’s shoulder to see the tavern’s owner arguing with the bandit leader.

“You think to cut my share from me?” he was yelling.

“What share?” The bandit leader-the one who’d paid Mistress Smith, the one who’d slapped me hard enough for me to taste blood right before he’d lifted me onto that chair—scoffed in return. “She’s mine to sell.”

“In my whorehouse! You’ll sell her to me, or not sell her at all.”

“You think you can afford such a cunny? Look at that hair, look at those tits!”

I whimpered against Verna’s shoulder, hearing Mistress Smith’s complaints all over again. For years, I’d hidden my hair in a braid atop my head, and learned to slouch and bind my breasts so she couldn’t accuse me of tempting her husband.

It hadn’t worked then either.

“Buy her from me,” the bandit leader taunted. “I’ll have a guaranteed payday; you’ll get your auction.”

The tavern owner was reaching for his purse. “Half a gold coin.”

“Done,” the bandit snapped gleefully, and I knew he’d likely made thrice what he’d paid Mistress Smith for me.

I stifled my sob and Verna’s arms tightened around me as she turned me away from the crowd, trying to protect me.

It didn’t work. As the crowd roared in excitement, Alred’s hand closed around my upper arm and he yanked me away from Verna’s temporary oasis. I saw the sorrow in her expression before he spun me about.

“Let’s see what I’ve bought myself,” he crowed, spittle flying from his lips.

If I’d had an inkling of what to expect, I might have fought. But I was too shocked and confused to understand what he was about to do.

He reached out to grab the front of my bodice, and, in one sharp tug, yanked it down, splitting my ties open to my waist. I reached for my wrappings to keep myself covered, but he was too quick.

With his hold on me tightened, he yanked my bindings down as well, so my heavy breasts fell free.

The level of noise—jeering and excited calls from the watching men—doubled.

And the tears which had threatened for so long finally spilled down my cheeks and over my split lip, the sting of pain and the taste of blood no longer enough to distract me from this horror.

Torvolk

Och, fabulous. Just what I needed. Excitement enough to draw every single human male in a mile’s radius to the very place I was trying to hide.

As the ruckus began, I glanced out the window. The moon wasn’t high enough yet, which meant I had to kill another hour at least afore I could leave for the stones. No use getting there early and waiting around in the snow, stomping my feet to keep the blood flowing, waiting for the pathway to open.

Hells .

I slouched lower on the bench and pulled my ale closer, hoping to avoid notice.

I focused on my drink so I wouldn’t have to watch the cruelty the rest of the males in this tavern were cheering for.

In my years crossing through the veil between my world and the human’s, I’d seen plenty such injustices. Some I tried to stop if it didn’t affect my mission. Some I had to turn away from and pray to the gods below that I’d be forgiven.

Humans treated one another as if they were expendable. As if they were worth no more than a hen or a cow— Nay, actually, I’d seen more than one human crofter care for his milking cow with more concern than his own wife.

Well, why no’? When ye reproduce like rabbits, ‘tis nae wonder they treat each other as replaceable. They are replaceable, created by unskilled labor. Hells, how hard can it be, if they’re spitting out bairns all the time?

Scowling, I lifted the tankard to my lips, careful not to pull back the hood of my cloak which shadowed my features—and skin—from the humans around me.

This town was one of the three closest to the stone circle I used most frequently to travel home. While I’d visited this tavern in the past, I don’t think anyone recognized me, since it had been a while.

In the pair of fortnights since the last full moon, I’d journeyed up and down this coast, looking for clues and hints about my chief’s disappearance. I considered approaching the tavern-keeper here, but ran out of time to do so sneakily.

Tonight I had to cross through the veil, report my findings to the Keeper. If he didn’t have any word or updates on the search for Kragorn, I would cross back and continue my search in the south—and begin praying.

Aye, all I had to do was make it through another hour of this. When the crowd around me began to thin, I’d be able to slip out through the kitchens and make my way to the west road, toward the stone circle.

I glanced at the moon again. Another hour. I could do this.

But when I turned back, the female was looking at me.

The female with the terrified eyes, bright blue in the light from the torches. The female with the glorious golden hair and the tempting figure, who shivered and shuddered atop that chair, her expression waffling between panic and horror and confusion.

She was looking at me, and my Kteer stirred in my chest.

Slowly, against my will, against my intention to stay unnoticed, I felt myself straightening against the wall. I wanted to reach out to her, to cradle her cheek. To pull her against my chest and tell her aught would be well.

To claim her.

‘Twasn’t until she wrenched her gaze away, turning and nearly falling from the chair, that I allowed my scowl to creep across my face.

Fooking idiot. Ye cannae allow a pretty face to distract ye. Humans are cruel, aye, but ye can do naught about it. Focus on yer mission, finding yer chief. Ye owe him that much .

I owed him more, truthfully, and I’d not be able to repay it if I allowed myself to be distracted.

She was being comforted now by one of Alred’s whores. Good. Women were better at comforting each other.

As the flame-haired lass rocked her in her arms, I could see my female relaxing, softening?—

My female ?

My scowl deepened as I lifted the tankard. The blonde was not mine, could not be mine. I was leaving shortly, and whatever was happening could happen without me.

Alred, the tavern-keeper I recognized from past visits, was arguing with the bastard who’d brought her in. The bastard who’d struck her across the mouth to shut her up when she’d begun to fight him.

My jaw tightened.

“You have nerve, thinking to sell a whore under my roof!”

“She’s not a whore yet,” the bastard mocked. “I’ll sell her virginity, then you can have her the rest of the time.”

“A cut!” Alred demanded, shoving his chest into the other man’s. “You’ll give me a cut, or you’ll do your business elsewhere.”

Disgusted, I shook my head, dropping my gaze.

Alred wasn’t fighting on the lass’s behalf. He was fighting to receive some of the profit when she was sold like a piece of meat.

Their argument continued, but I forced myself not to listen, not to become involved.

My Kteer had other plans.

When the money changed hands, Alred yanked the lass away from her haven against the other woman and I heard her whimper—pain? Fear?—over the sounds of the other males.

I told myself I was only worried about her well-being.

But then he ripped her clothing, and I sucked in a breath.

Her breasts were magnificent , large and rounded and tipped with wide pink nipples pebbling in the cold. She scrambled to cover herself, but the tavern-keeper didn’t allow it, wrenching her toward the center of the crowd so she stumbled.

‘Twasn’t until he pushed her up onto the chair once more and she stood there, head bowed and arms wrapped around her waist, that I realized she was crying.

Well of course she’s fooking crying.

I should have felt pity.

But my Kteer was too busy eyeing those tits. Gods below, I could feel my cock stirring beneath my kilt.

“Bidding, gentleman!” called Alred gaily. “Some excitement! Bidding on this lovely virgin’s sweet, unbloodied cunny!”

Laughter. Jeers. Calls.

Her shoulders hunched further.

“Who will be the first to sink into her warm channel, sirs?” Alred taunted. “Spill in her tight, virgin hole?”

Oh, Malla the Beginner, such a thing shouldn’t interest me. Couldn’t interest me.

Very much did interest me.

Under the table, my hand moved to my lap. I could feel my cock hardening beneath the wool at the thought of being the one to fook the pretty blonde human. The one to claim her. To own her.

I realized my chest was tightening, my claws lengthening, my Kteer urging me to buy take claim own .

“Who will start the bidding, sirs?” Alred called.

“Och, you can’t expect us to bid without a bit of a feel!” hooted a male. “Just a kiss, darlin’?”

As the others laughed uproariously, Alred pushed back the drunkard.

“No touching until she’s yours! I’ll not let her go for much less than a gold piece! Think of it, sirs, a gold piece, and you can sink your prick into her soft, hot cunny.”

A more-sober male pointed out reasonably, “I can get Verna for much less!”

“Nay, you cannot!” called the red-headed whore, her hands on her hips, a frown on her face. “I will not let you touch me again, John the Tanner!”

“He’s right, though,” another male called. “Why would I spend a gold coin for one fook?”

One fook. One chance to sink into her wet cunny, to feel her tighten around me as her pleasure took her into oblivion. I wondered what noises she’d make as I coaxed her to climax. My palm pressed against my erect cock.

Then I remembered her little whimper of fear and I frowned.

Alred had heard the customer’s words. “Fine! For a full gold coin, she’s yours! Take her off my hands and do what you want with her!”

“A slave?” the first man asked thoughtfully, and I saw the lass shudder. “She’d have to do aught I wanted then, aye?”

“Aye,” Alred wheedled, cajoling the other men. “Think of her cunny and her mouth at your beck and call, aye? And she might be useful in between fooks too, cooking and the like?”

“John,” called out a male, “your wife could use a reprieve from bearing all your bairns!”

My hand dropped away from my cock to the haft of my ax.

“Aye, you could plow her belly each night and your wife would be grateful not to have to clean up after your brood too!”

Amid the laughter and teasing, I saw the lass look up.

Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her expression a dull sort of shock. And there was fear in those big blue eyes. Fear of the fooking? Fear of the man’s lust? Or fear of being filled with his bastards?

Deep in my chest, my Kteer growled, and I pushed away my tankard.

“Please.”

I saw her lips form the word, but even with my senses, I couldn’t hear it. Mayhap she said naught at all and I imagined it.

I wasn’t imagining her fear, though.

I pushed myself to my feet, instinctively loosening my battleax, even as my other hand fell to the purse tied on my belt. The Bloodfire gold I’d brought through the veil to use as bribes and payment in my quest to find my chief.

“Come along, sirs,” called Alred. “Who will pay me a single gold piece for this fine cunny? This perfect sex slave?”

“She’s not worth it!” one yelled, while another called, “Will I have to feed her too?” amid the laughter.

“Twenty gold pieces.”

The words rang through the crowd, and all noise ceased. ‘Twasn’t until the gathered males turned to me that I realized I’d been the one to say them.

Fook .

Sighing, I reached up to push back my hood, relishing the way they shrank from me. Good. Let these fools feel some of the same fear the lass had felt.

“The bidding’s over. Twenty gold pieces,” I repeated. “For the lass to become mine.”