Chapter Eight
Beatrice
The Orc dragging me has a split lip—my gift to him—and yet he continues to grin like I’m the prize hog at the harvest festival. “She’s still kickin’,” he bellows over his shoulder, and the others hoot in response.
The walk to their village feels endless.
My boots catch on roots, mud splashes up my skirts, and the brute yanks me along like I’m a stubborn mule.
Every step I take is laced with rage. My wrists ache from straining against his grip, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me stumble.
If I’m going down, it’ll be with my chin high and my teeth bared.
Their village, if you can even call it that, spreads out before me, and it’s worse than I imagined.
Huts are slapped together from mud and animal hides, sagging and steaming in the swampy heat.
Smoke curls lazily from fire pits, carrying with it the greasy stench of burning meat.
Bones hang from strings like wind chimes, clattering in the breeze.
A barefoot child darts past, chewing something that might have been a frog.
It’s a mess.
A hot, humid, stinking, Orc-infested mess.
“You touch me again,” I growl, thrashing as the brute lifts me like I weigh nothing, “and I swear I’ll—”
He just laughs, the sound vibrating right through his chest, and tosses me into a cage made of logs lashed together with rough twine. I crash to the floor in an ungraceful heap. My braid is coming undone, my hair sticking to my sweaty face.
“Oof,” someone says from the corner. “New roomie?”
I whip around, ready to rip into whoever dares speak to me, and find a human girl lounging in the corner of the cage.
She looks around my age, maybe, though she’s got one of those faces that makes you second-guess. Fair skin, coppery-blonde hair, and small, sharp features that make her look…sly. Dainty, sure, but in that tricky way where you just know she’s smarter than she seems.
“Name’s Cassia,” she says, “Welcome to the hellhole. You’ll love it. Great amenities. Five-star kidnapping.”
I blink. “Are you joking?”
“Unless you’ve got a blade stuffed in that cleavage, then yeah. Humor helps.”
I push to my feet, storm to the bars, and shake them hard enough that one Orc glares over at me. “Let me out!”
The group outside, including the three huge ones who took me, just laugh again. The tallest one with gold rings through his ears says something in Orcish. Another replies in a teasing tone. They slap each other’s backs and grin at me.
Oh, they think this is a game.
Cassia chuckles. “You’re their new favorite. Congratulations.”
Outside the cage, the tall one with the gold earrings crouches down to get a better look at me. His nose is broad, his ears pointed and pierced, his eyes a bright gold that shimmers like he’s amused.
His gaze drops to my thighs.
Then my chest.
Then back to my face.
I snarl. “What are you looking at?”
“You’ve got spirit, Cow-girl.”
“Cow-girl’s gonna break your face.”
He throws his head back and laughs. The others join in. One mutters something that makes them all laugh harder, and then winks at me.
I immediately despise him the most.
Cassia leans back against the bars, arms behind her head. “That one’s the chief’s oldest son. Rurak. Might wanna be careful with the biting. He might like it.”
As if on cue, Rurak’s voice rumbled through the bars. “I like this one. I might keep her.”
Cassia gives me a pointed look that screams I told you so. I press my face to the bars and yell, “Over my dead body!”
He just gives me that tusked grin. “Maybe.”