His Enemy Mate (Battleborn Orcs #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Vrogul

“Ye ken this would be easier if we attacked at night?”

The murmured comment from my brother—and second-in-command—made my lips twitch. He stood next to me at the bow of my ship as the rowers plowed us through the waves of the Little Minch.

“Aye, I ken it. But no’ as sporting.”

“Sporting,” Maardok grunted. “I’d rather be considered unsporting than dead.”

I raised one brow mockingly as I tipped my head toward him.

“Ye think a wee group of human miners might make ye dead? Brother, ye owe me some time on the sparring grounds.”

Maardok merely snorted as he fingered the scar which marred his cheek. He was younger than me by two years and taller by half a foot. I was nae weakling, but Maardok was the largest male born to our clan in a generation, and a fine warrior beside.

But as his elder brother, I was morally obligated to tease him.

Now, he clapped me on my shoulder with one hand while he scooped up his gigantic war hammer with the other.

“Dinnae die, Stormseeker. I’d hate to have to explain to our sister that yer sense of honor got ye killed. And Sevren’s songs would mock ye for eternity.”

“I’m no’ going to die, and neither are ye.”

Scowling, I shrugged off his hand and focused on the coastline—and the human village nestled against the mouth of the river growing closer. Smoke from the fires darkened the sky.

“I just…dinnae like attacking in the dark. We deserve the chance for a real battle. And timing at the stones willnae work if we wait until dark.”

“It willnae be a real battle—no’ against weak humans,” Maardok rumbled scornfully as he hefted his hammer over his head. His voice rose when he bellowed our battle cry.

“Battleborn!”

Behind us, our men at the oars roared their response.

“Battleborn!”

Auld Garran at the rudder called out, “Ship the oars, lads!”

I didn’t have to turn about to know my warriors were moving in unison, pulling in the oars, hefting their weapons, moving toward the gunwales.

As the breakers caught the bow of my birlinn, I felt Auld Garran lean on the rudder, turning us toward the beach.

The humans had spotted us, and already their males spilled across the sand, hefting weapons and mining tools, grimly determined to defend their property.

“Fools,” I whispered, and at my side, my brother grunted in agreement.

Then the bow of our ship plowed into the sand.

Humans surged forward with a wordless roar. Despite my distaste for this raid, the familiar battle lust flooded my chest, and deep inside me, my Kteer howled for blood.

Battle-hungry Maardok was the first to vault over the side of the ship and hit the sand, but I wasn’t far behind. My men hit the water and stomped with us toward the beach, our clan name on their lips.

“Battleborn! Battleborn!”

The familiar cry, and the sounds of metal meeting metal, caused my lips to curl as I met the first human’s blade.

“Battleborn!” I roared in the male’s face, knocking aside his sword and slamming my fist into the side of his head.

“Battleborn!”

I met the next defender head-on.

Aye, Battleborn.

‘Twas all for Battleborn. Always.

The human village had their share of warriors, but only a handful were a match for my men. I downed one, careful to pull my blow at the last moment to break his arm instead of decapitating him, then whirled to face the next threat.

Which was a white-bearded male, old enough to be my father, charging toward me with a determined look on his face as he clutched a—was that a farming implement? With a scowl, I flipped my ax sideways, stepped to the left, and swung, punching the male in the stomach and sending him to the sand.

Old men and lads? This wasn’t an honorable battle.

My Kteer howled for more blood, but I ignored it, knowing I needed to sleep at night, and the death of an old man on my ax would haunt me. So I swung about in irritation, wondering how to end this—

And met my next attacker head-on.

Had I thought old men and lads were bad? Now the humans were throwing females at us?

I parried her blow—where the fook had she obtained such a fine sword?—and swept around to knock her legs from under her. To my surprise, she leapt over the haft of my ax, and I realized she wore leather trews.

My lips twitched in amusement, despite my annoyance.

My attacker wore her long hair in a braid, tied back in a leather thong like my brother Sevren.

Her features were as delicate and sculpted as his, as well.

But the similarities ended there. While my youngest brother usually smiled, this female scowled up at me as she thrust her blade at my midsection.

Why did this make my smile grow?

Best to end things quickly.

“Step aside, maiden,” I growled, catching her blade with my ax, twisting her to the side. “Let the males have their fun.”

“Fun?” she spat at me, her blue eyes blazing with fury as she spun to attack my unprotected side.

“You have a strange definition of it, monster.”

“I am nae monster,” I told her mildly, sweeping my shield around to knock aside her blade. “Just the better warrior.”

The sound she made could only be described as a growl, and I found myself wanting to laugh in response, especially when she renewed her attack on me. To my surprise, my Kteer also seemed amused, although the threat to my life was real.

Although I had mocked her, the little female was a competent warrior and had given me more of a challenge than any of her townsmen had. I was toying with her, aye, but she wasn’t an easy victory as the others had been.

The female carried no shield and her sword was shorter than the ones my men carried. With the reach of my ax, there was little chance she could get in close enough to do real damage, and I found myself pulling my swings, unwilling to actually make contact with her flesh.

In her left hand, she clutched a long, thin bollock dagger. It did little good against my weapon, but I could admit she was skilled.

“Who taught ye to fight, little one?” I rumbled, jamming my shield before her blade again. “Yer Mate?”

Behind her, I could see my men running toward the village, and I knew it meant the humans had been defeated.

“My father, you bastard!”

She swung again and I ducked out of the way. This time, however, her spin brought her dagger darting toward my side, and I grinned again as I deflected it.

“He did well,” I admitted. I tucked my ax behind my shield, preparing to step away from this battle. This feisty little human female would not die on my blade, but I’d wasted enough time.

“I yie—”

Before I could yield, Maardok moved up beside me.

“Do ye need help, brother?” His tone was mildly mocking and I noted he was not even breathing heavily. “A wee female is giving ye trouble?”

I shouldn’t have taken my attention from her. In my defense, I thought our battle finished, assumed she would have taken the opportunity to scramble back to a defensible position.

But I was wrong.

When I turned to Maardok to command him to take the village stores and begin to raid the ore, the female took advantage of my distraction.

She swept that sword toward me and I—knowing my ax was secure with my shield—released the haft of my weapon to grab her wrist. One of the benefits of fighting with my left hand meant that I could meet my enemy’s blows more often than not, and now I caught myself smirking at her surprise.

Until she used the momentum of her attack and the convenience of our proximity to plunge the dagger in her off hand toward my heart.

Cursing my stupidity, I yanked her hard while jerking my shield—and the ax resting on it—up to protect my chest. It almost worked.

When her small blade sank into my right shoulder, I saw her eyes flash with victory. The pain was immediate, a burning which traveled the length of my arm, but I gave no indication. Instead, I yanked her closer, squeezing her wrist until her sword fell from nerveless fingers.

I saw the moment that victory turned to fear and I growled in her face.

“Foolish move, little one.”

Mayhap ‘twas my Kteer’s urging, mayhap something even more primitive. I’d battled her, I’d inhaled her scent, and now she stood, wide-eyed with fear in my hold.

My lips crashed down atop hers.

She made a noise like a whimper. Beneath my fingers, her pulse sped, and I could taste her fear.

This is nae weak maiden, ye dobber. She’ll take yer tongue off with her teeth!

Aye, she had claws.

Just as the wee warrior began to struggle, I came to my senses and jerked my mouth from hers. Not a moment too soon, judging from the way the female began to resist.

“Vrogul!” Maardok’s hand clamped around my uninjured shoulder. “Let me—”

I don’t know what he would have said, because with one movement, I thrust the female away from me.

“Go,” I growled, and I saw the uncertainty on her face, the way her gaze darted to the blade still in my shoulder then to the sword on the ground. Surely she wasn’t considering another attack? I poured my exasperation into my bellow.

“Go!”

She went.

Maardok and I watched her stumble across the sands, her wide-eyed gaze darting over her shoulder a few times as if she didn’t trust us not to follow.

Och, we’ll be following, little warrior.

I rolled my neck and the movement caused the blade to slide from my flesh and hit the sand.

Shite.

My men had won this battle easily. And I had a godsdamn hole in my arm for it.

“What was that I said about no’ dying?” Maardok rumbled.

“Fook ye,” I hissed, reaching across my body to staunch the flow of blood. “I’m no’ dying.”

He shifted position so he could press my cloak against the fleshy part of my arm.

“Nay, this wee scratch willnae kill ye. But that wildcat might if ye give her the chance.”

Wildcat. Aye, that description fit my little warrior well, did it not? Spitting defiance and anger, with the claws to back it up.