by Tracy Lauren
The beast’s muscled chest is bare, save for the ridges of old scars. His shoulders are broad and his arms thick, thicker than my waist even. I can’t bring myself to look at his face. Instead my eyes lock onto the axe he grips in one mighty, four-fingered hand. I can feel his gaze on me like a weight and when the orcs cry out, even closer now, I sense the troll’s attention shift to the trees.
Without a word, he grabs me roughly and flings me over the side of the bridge. I scream in terror on my way to the ground. To my surprise, we miss the water entirely and though the troll lands on his feet, I fall gracelessly onto the muddied bank. He’s quick to stand me up, however, his hand going over my mouth and cutting my scream short.
Viciously, I kick at him, trying to fight free from his grip. But I’m weak and ineffective against his strength. I flounder as he drags me through the mud. It covers me entirely, even my face, and for a moment I think he’s going to suffocate me in it. With his hand still over my mouth, I fight to suck in air through my nose, clawing at his arm to no avail. Finally, he pulls me from the thick sludge, pinning me against the underside wall of the bridge, my feet not quite reaching the ground. The water roars in my ears and I suck in frantic breaths of air through my nose as I’m forced to look my captor in the eyes.
It’s a monster that stands before me, the thing mothers warn their children about. A thing of nightmares.
His brow is harsh and his skin is as leathery as his worn boots. Yellow eyes bore into me. He has piercings, gold rings clipped to different parts of his face and ears—his tall and pointed ears. His nose is flat and wide, the septum lower and closer to his mouth than it would be on a human. And his mouth… Oh, his terrible mouth! Fangs jut from between thick lips and he’s so close to me I can feel his breath, hot on my skin. He could rip my throat out and add my bones to his loincloth if he wanted to and I could do nothing to stop him.
He scrutinizes me for so long that I think I might snap under his gaze. Then, he turns his attention in the direction of the flowing water, cocking his head as if listening for something.
Still, I fight against him. I’m helpless compared to his strength though. He doesn’t even seem to be aware of my nails digging futility into his wrist. So I let go of him and skate my hands along the stone wall he has me pressed against. The bridge is old, the oldest thing I’ve ever seen, and luckily one of the stones wobbles. Desperate, I scrape at it and it comes loose in my hand. Fearful of losing my opportunity, I swing it at the troll, aiming for his brow and connecting.
He flinches, releasing his hold on me and checking his eye—dabbing it with his fingertips, looking for blood. My feet hit the ground and I scream as I fight my way along the muddy bank.
But there’s no one here to save me. No one who will hear my screams. No one besides the orcs, of course. And they answer my cries with their own. I suck in a breath of air, hating my stupidity. Still scrambling in the mud, I turn in time to see three orcs dive over the side of the bridge, landing between me and the troll.
They’re all gray flesh and milky eyes, yellow rotted teeth, and wounds that won’t heal. They look at me with hunger in their eyes and my scream dies on my lips. There’s a dizzying moment when time stands still, as they take me in. But it’s quickly shattered by the bellowing roar of the troll.
The orcs spin to face him and I take the opportunity to claw my way up the muddied bank. I hear metal clashing and don’t look back. Once on level ground, I hike up my skirt to run. My feet pound the dirt. Fear and adrenaline carry me faster than I would have ever given my body credit for. I remain close to the flowing water. The monsters will end their battle soon and the victor will continue his pursuit. If I can’t manage an escape, I can always throw myself into the whitewater and pray I drown before anything can pull me out.
The distance between the bridge and myself grows and I hear a faraway cry of pain cut short. For a moment I allow myself to believe the monsters are still locked in battle and that I might actually have a chance of getting away. But a sharp-clawed hand grabs at my hair and I’m ripped violently from my feet. My body rolls to a stop, putting me face to face with a single orc.
He is a gangly thing, yet he towers over me just the same. His mouth twists open in something like a cruel smile, showing me his mangled fangs. He makes some kind of a rough grunt… It’s a sound that is pure animal and I jolt when I hear it. Instinct drives me back and I skitter through a thick carpet of dead leaves. My eyes cut to the water and the orc advances, stalking towards me with menacing purpose. He rips his loincloth away, exposing his vile cock. It’s as monstrous as his face, with a silver ring locked onto the tip and a chain cording up the side. It looks bloody.
“Nooo!” I scream, scrambling to my feet. I’d rather die and so I dive for the stream. The orc catches my leg, though, and I land flat on my stomach. I’m kicking and flailing as he yanks me closer to him. I reach futilely for the water for only a moment before I turn my hands on him, beating and scratching at him, trying everything in my power to ward him off. But his strength surpasses mine and he pins my hands down and yanks my legs apart.
All I can do now is scream, and I scream so loud it feels as if my throat might split open. Tears spill down my cheeks as his bruising hands hold me down.
One second he’s ripping at my skirt and the next he’s torn away from me so quickly I think it must be magic. But it isn’t.
It’s the troll.
He grabs the orc by the back of the neck and the creature that towered over me only a moment ago now looks like a toy in the hands of the troll. And he tosses him as such, throwing the orc hard into a nearby tree. His bones crack loudly inside his flesh and he falls to the ground in a broken heap. My eyes follow this scene and turn back to the troll in shock.
He looks even worse than before, sweating and bloodied…angry even. He narrows his gaze at me. Slowly, warily, I get to my feet. We stand there, facing off. I make a quick movement like I’m going to run, and he responds with lightning-fast reflexes, grabbing me by the hair. He turns us back toward the bridge, dragging me behind him.
Helplessly, I scream and sob. “No! No! No! No!” It feels like my hair is about to be torn from my scalp. “Please! You’re hurting me!”
The troll is silent but comes to a halt. I blink back my tears in shock. Perhaps he can understand me? To my dismay, though, he grabs me around my waist and hoists me over his shoulder. Perhaps he can understand me, but that isn’t going to stop him from stealing me.
Chapter 3
Brom
I carry the human, kicking and screaming all the way back to my lair beneath the bridge and push open the door hidden by enchantments. She fights even harder once I duck inside the dark tunnel leading to my home. But it is useless; she is powerless against me. Three orcs could not fell me, what does this lone human think she can do?
A final latched door separates the tunnel from my home. I open it and duck inside, where a fire lights my circular living quarters. Tossing the human down onto the packed earth floor, I leave her before the warmth of the fire. She doesn’t try to run, but she pushes herself up onto her knees, sobbing heavily.
In my larder I dig through jars and vials angrily, sorting through my precious magic stores in search of a healing potion. When I find it, I take the green glass vial to the table, bringing with me a rag and bowl of water.
The orcs blades left angry wounds. One slice across my arm is deep, but that is not my main concern. Orcs will sometimes taint their weapons or curse them. If there is any black magic in me, I need to get it out before it infects my blood. I wash the cuts, scrubbing them with my rag, shooting my gaze to the crying human every now and again. But she remains where I left her, looking around my home with an expression of horror and despair etched into her features.
I uncork the healing potion, noting how little I have left, and it causes a fresh surge of anger to course through my veins. Stupid human. If she would have only remained silent, the orcs would have been fooled by my cloaking s
pells. Now I’m bleeding and she was nearly defiled.
I rub the potion deep into my cuts. The girl’s gaze finds its way to me and she watches with a look of disgust as I dig my fingers into my wounds, ensuring the magic touches me deep within. I suppose I must do the same for her.
I rise, bringing my vial with me. She sucks in a breath of air as I approach and backs dangerously close to the fire. Swiftly, I grab her by the front of her dress to pull her away from it and hear fabric tearing.
Gods, I think, rolling my eyes. The girl lets out a scream of terror.
I tower over her miniscule frame and grab her by the chin, forcing her to look up at me as she clutches her bodice, fearful that I might rip it from her body.
“Are you injured?” I question gruffly.
She hesitates to reply.
“You are not permitted to lie to me,” I warn.
“You can talk?” she asks, sounding shocked by the revelation. I narrow my eyes and the girl recoils at my gaze. “Please, don’t hurt me,” she hurries to say.
“Answer my question,” I growl. “Are. You. Injured?”
“Wha—? I…” She looks dumbfounded and pats at her body, checking to see if there is something she has not yet noticed. “No. No, I’m not hurt.”
“Now is not the time to tell falsehoods. Even the smallest cut from an orc’s blade can kill a person before the day is through.”
Her expression quickly changes from fear to anger. “I said I’m not hurt!” she shouts, her brow furrowed.
“Well if you aren’t hurt, then stop your simpering!” I bellow into her mud-streaked face. She flinches against my rage.
The fear I saw in her morphs before my eyes and I see anger brewing there instead. She pushes herself away from me.
“Why have you brought me here?”
I scoff and show her my back, returning my supplies to the larder.
“You cannot keep me here against my will.”
“I can do whatever I please,” I say over my shoulder, but I wait to finish my point. Shutting the cupboard, I stalk slowly over to her, watching as her chin angles upward to maintain my gaze. I step close, invading her space. Though the girl’s jaw tightens and her body trembles, she still does not look away.
Now, I am a reasonable troll. I am not so thick-headed as to ignore my motivations here. I’m angry with this human. I’ve not known her more than an hour and look at all the trouble she’s caused. And a part of me—a big part—wants to take that anger out on her. There is a smaller part too, one I am less apt to admit in this moment, that knows how dangerous it would be to send her back out into the woods alone. Whether she wants to or not, the girl is staying.
She looks up at me with fire in her eyes and it spurs my angry words. “I can do whatever I please,” I tell her maliciously, “because you belong to me now.” The look I give her in return dares her to challenge my claim, and the foolish human rises to the occasion.
“Like hell I do!” she spits.
“You dared cross my bridge without first paying the toll. Like it or not, little one, no one crosses without consequence. Those are the rules.” While the rule I call upon is an ancient one, nothing in this wood comes without a price. I risked my life to save the girl, she owes me. Hells, she should be grateful for my aid.
“Cross your bridge? From what I recall, I didn’t make it halfway before you threw me over the damned rail! Keep your fucking bridge, I’ll gladly go back the way I came.”
“It is too late for that.”
“Well what’s your toll then? I’ll pay the price and be done.”
“What do you have to pay me with?” I ask, eyeing her mud-caked dress and lifting the tattered hem with one blunt finger.
She jerks from my reach and crosses her arms over her chest, searching for a lie to give me. I know as well as she does, she has nothing to give.
“My uncle is rich. If you let me leave here I’ll have his servants bring back gold.”
“If I wasn’t sore from my fight and pissed over the waste of my healing potion I’d have to laugh. But my patience is thin and ready to snap. I don’t want your lies and you’re in no position to barter,” I grit out.
“Well then, what? I just belong to you now?” she huffs angrily.
“Good. You’re not as stupid as you look.”
“I’m no man’s slave!”
“I’m no man.” I hold my arms wide for her to take a good look at what stands before her. The girl shudders at the reminder and now I have to laugh.
“You can’t keep me here.” She says it quietly and it almost sounds like a question—one she is afraid to hear the answer to.
“I can. I easily can. And I will.”
I take my bowl of water to the bucket near the wall, the one that catches the spring leaking in from the ceiling of my underground home. I fill it and slam it down on the table. Water sloshes over the sides.
“Now, clean your garments. They’re making a mess.”
She looks down at herself, her mouth gaping before she turns it into a frown. “You’re the one who dragged me through the mud!”
“You’re the one who had orcs follow your scent to my home. If you had a brain in that head of yours, you’d have dragged yourself through the mud long before I did.”
Her little human face screws itself up into a frown. “You were covering my scent? Why? To protect me?” she asks, sounding astonished.
A smile splits across my face and I laugh openly. “The second you stepped foot onto my bridge you owed a debt to me. I was protecting my investment,” I explain, and her surprise turns back to anger. “Now, wash your garments,” I command.
“And just how do you expect me to wash my garments?”
“Are you royalty?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then you must be stupid if you don’t know how to do the wash,” I point out.
“I know how to wash, but I can’t very well do it with you here. I need privacy.”
I hold my hands up, indicating the room around me. “This is your home now. That is my bed.” I point out the pallet of furs to one side of the fire. “And that is yours,” I say, pointing to the ground before the flames. She looks down at the space in dismay. “What privacy do you think you’ll be getting here?” She searches the room again, as if looking for her own private quarters.
“I won’t undress in front of you.” Nervously, she looks down at the ground and clutches her bodice tightly as if she expects me to stride over and rip it from her body.
“You’ll do as I ask or I’ll take that filthy dress of yours and toss it into the fire. Then I won’t have to worry about you tracking mud and you won’t have to worry about your modesty.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” she gasps.
“I am your master, little one. I will do as I please.”
She swallows hard and I see her mind working. “What are your plans for me?”
“You will be my slave, carrying out household chores and cooking for me.”
Pointedly, her gaze shoots to my loincloth. “Is that all?”
“You’d rather I take my toll out on your pussy?” I scoff, raising my brow at her. “Are you truly that bad at keeping house?”
Her frown deepens, unamused by my joke. “Are you going to rape me?”
“I’m not that kind of monster.” Dropping myself down into my chair by the fire, I angle it away from her. “Now wash yourself.” I take my axe in hand and wipe the blade clean, polishing it with care.
Minutes pass. I can feel her eyes on me, untrusting and fearful that I’ll turn and pounce on her the second she unlaces her frock. Though eventually she gains her courage and I hear her working free of her muddied garment. I keep my eyes on my work as I listen to the sounds of her hasty washing.
Chapter 4
Adelaide
The troll’s home is both rustic and imposing. Near his larder, there are lidded baskets, mysterious jars lining the shelves, and drying herbs hanging from the ceilin
g. I am unfamiliar with the pungent odors coming from them. The walls hold mounts, heavy with weapons sized for the beast. Near his pallet bed there is a screen, separating it from the rest of the room. A tattered rug sits under his armchair by the fire, stretching out over the spot I am to sleep. Before the chair is a small footstool for resting his feet as he relaxes by the fire at night. Near the hearth is a neatly stacked wood pile and a hook to hang a pot from. For being an underground den, the space is tidy and functional.
To my dismay, everything here is at least two sizes too big for a human, so much so that I feel like a sprite standing next to his table. What is a bowl for the troll is a bucket for me. I eye the water-filled vessel he left to wash with and steel my courage. Undeniably, my dress needs cleaning. If I’m to escape—and I plan on escaping—I need to be at least somewhat clean if I hope to garner aid in Willowbend.
I pull my clothing over my head in one quick motion, and while I want to keep my thin linen underdress on, it is as saturated with mud as the rest of my clothing. So I strip nude, keeping my eyes trained on the monster seated at the hearth, expecting him to turn on me at any moment, but he seems occupied with his work.
Hastily, I splash water over my arms and face, wiping away the drying mud. Then I plunge my ravaged dress into the cloudy water. It isn’t enough to truly clean it, but it gets the caked earth off at the very least. Hurriedly, I wring the water from it.
I have nothing else to put on. No towel to dry with. No blanket to wrap around myself. Naked, I hold my wet clothing in front of my body as a shield.
The troll is bent over his axe, his back like a mountain. I clear my throat and inch a little closer to him. “I’m done.”
He huffs out an annoyed breath, as if I’m bothering him. I scowl at the notion. He rises from his seat and turns to face me, his gaze scrutinizing. I cling to my wet clothes that much tighter, but he looks unimpressed with what he sees.
“You still look terrible,” he says with a frown, confirming my suspicions.