Chapter Three
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Jasmine
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It didn't work. They didn't go up in flames and disintegrate like in the movies.
"We are not demons," Alexander says. His eyes might be gentle, but his voice is scary as fuck.
"What? Oh my god, you're aliens. Somehow, that's worse. Please don't probe me. I'm too young, and I'm already dealing with enough right now."
"We are not aliens," Tristian says, so affronted that I want to apologize. He rubs his forehead with his massive hand and then looks at me.
"You are the maiden Jasmine of Erthry," Tristian says, clearly wishing I weren't.
Erthry sounds like Earth. Is he asking me if I'm the maiden of Earth? Heck no.
"No, I'm just Jasmine Bennet, thank you very much. I'm not from anything, and I also don't have anything. Please go and pick on someone else," I beg, unable to keep my panic in check any longer. I'm going to end up crying if they don't go poof soon.
"You are who we need," Alexander says, a little kinder. No, I can't be fooled by his charm. He might eat me later.
"You are our mate," Marquis says, his face splitting into a smile that kind of hypnotizes me. What? No. I'm not into aliens.
"No, actually, I'm not," I insist.
"You are our mate," Alexander insists back.
"Last time I checked, it was still no."
I wish they would drop this mate crap. "Look, I have enough friends already. And I mean, this might sound mean, but I don't think you want to be my friend. I'm terrible. Hot mess, right here."
"We cannot keep going around in circles," Tristian barks. "You are our mate. We will take you back to Kraukug. We will fuck you, as our right is to own you."
"Excuse me? Do you mean fuck as in fuck-fuck?" I whisper. Did they mean "mate" as in "fuck"?
Having my anus probed is one thing; actually being... fucked? I think not.
"You most certainly will not be touching me, you crazy extraterrestrials from another planet. Okay, here's the thing. Again. I have my own problems. But I'm sure if you look elsewhere, maybe on a dating site, you'll find a more suitable mate, and you can fuck to your heart's content. Okay?"
"For the last time, we are not aliens," Tristian grumbles again, and I swear the floor quakes. What's his problem?
"You are our mate," Marquis says, nodding his massive head. "It's been written."
"Not by me, it hasn't. Here's an idea: I'm sure you have lovely female orcs you can mate with. They'll enjoy it, you'll feel good, and everything will be fine."
"There are no females on our land."
"No females? Really? I'm not buying it."
"You are our woman. We cannot return without you," Marquis says.
"Yes, you can. You just go back the way you came. It's that easy. Now shoo. Shoo." I make a sweeping motion with my hands toward the front door.
Ugh. They still remain, all green and gigantic, and honestly, if they weren't scarily handsome, they'd be... well, scary as hell.
Tristian growls and stalks toward me. For a seven-foot giant, he moves with incredible grace, like an apex predator in his element.
He looms like a monster in my vision. My pulse slams into my throat. He's so big; how did any one of them fit in the doorway to get into my house?
But the air in my lungs shrinks, and I'm breathless, a mixture of intense apprehension and curiosity coursing through me.
Fear tightens my senses, but my skin burns hot; my womb seems to flip at the alarming thought of how helpless I am in their brutal presence.
Petrified, I take a step back, but he catches the fabric of my top and pulls me back as if I'm a rag doll.
"You carry the mark," Tristian says to my face.
"On your breast." And I swear the way he says it makes me feel as if he's tracing my birthmark with his blunt green nail.
The sensation of his touch sends frantic alerts through my body.
My nipples tighten; my clit pulses. Umm.
No. Absolutely not. I have to stop this right now.
I smack his hand away, and he lets go of me at once.
"Yeah, I was born with that, but good try if you think it's some Harry Potter mystical thing."
"You have the mark," he continues. "We will fuck you, mate, in your virgin orifices with our three mighty cocks until we release simultaneously. You will take our seed until you are fat with it, until you are brimming with it, until our tusks grow, and then Kraukug shall prosper once more."
What is he even saying? I think I'm losing my mind. I must be. This is insane. I check my forehead to make sure I don't have a fever. I don't, but I can feel my brain ready to explode out of my head.
"Okay, look, what exactly are you?" Maybe if I know what they are, I can banish them from my mind.
"We are orcs," Alexander says proudly, and I can almost see them straighten to their full heights.
The realization dawns on me instantly. I'm out here in the middle of nowhere alone, hiding from the mafia. Unarmed. Even less equipped for combat than when I thought they were demons or even aliens. But no, they're orcs.
Orcs? Orcs? I want to laugh. In the hierarchy of things, orcs don't exist. Demons, yes; aliens, very possibly. Orcs, no. This is my imagination playing tricks on me. And I can prove it, thank goodness.
I take my phone out of my pocket and snap a picture, one that encompasses all three of them. Not the best image since they frowned so heavily at the flash they looked fiercer and more feral. I'm wondering if they're going to break my phone. But they don't exist, and here is proof.
I send the image to my best friend, Penny Adams. I know she'll be awake. As a mother of three, the only time Penny gets any time to herself is when everyone else is asleep.
I type her a message to go with the picture.
What do you see?
She replies immediately.
Ooh, three giant orcs. Are you reading monster romance? You dirty girl.
Oh my god, I cry on the inside. She can see them? I'm not imagining them?
Girl, they're all the rage. Seven-foot monsters, sometimes with two cocks and a tongue that is so long they can eat you out into next year.
Some of them have horns, and you can ride them like in the rodeo while they pound into you.
All of them have tusks. But their anatomy is engineered for human women to come so hard, so long, and so good; it's fantastic.
Of course, they only exist in books. But once you go orc, you never look back. In books, I mean.
I read through Penny's text and then type a reply.
Two cocks, you say? That's the definition of an orc?
Her reply: Well, sometimes. It depends on the author's imagination. Sometimes they just have a really huge—like seriously huge—single cock. What's the name of the book you're reading?
"My life," apparently, I want to tell her. But I can't involve Penny in this mess. She has a family.
Talk to you later, I type. Penny sends me a row of hearts.
I'm on my own with three orcs who want to make me fat with their cum. I'm not yet crazy enough for all this.