The Troll Bride
A Monsterly Yours Romance
S.J. Sanders
©2019 by Samantha J. Sanders
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without explicit permission granted in writing from the author.
This book is a work of fiction intended for adult audiences only.
Editor: LY Publishing
Cover Art: S.J. Sanders
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Kate
“The fae mean us no harm. They are higher beings, ones of goodness and light...” The earnest woman on the TV is rattling on, but I’m no longer paying attention. Ever since the fae intruded on our world weeks ago, life hasn’t been the same.
The morning talk show The Fae Among Us has been a popular outlet for people to vent their concerns or, in the case of this woman, to encourage the rest of us to see the fae as our benevolent overlords.
It never ceases to surprise me just how many people don’t give the fae their due respect, like this nutcase. A smart person would recognize that the fae are powerful creatures with the potential for good, but they can just as easily embrace chaos and terror. In some cases, it’s more the latter than the former.
The world of the fae isn’t a G-rated construct as imagined by Disney. No, if there’s any truth behind the fae of lore, their world is deadly and unkind to the ignorant. With its strict hierarchy, I imagine it isn’t all too kind to its own people, either. So when the fae introduced themselves to the human world, my first impulse was to feel suspicious. What could they possibly want from our world?
Not long ago, I was comfortable in my own little world believing that the fae, monsters, and things that go bump in the night lived solely in the realm of imagination. I admit I’m a fantasy nerd to the nth degree, but imagination and reality are two different things.
It’s not like I haven’t imagined what it would be like. Would it be high fantasy like the world of Tolkien? I’ve read all his books several times and even dragged Sammi with me to see all the Lord of the Rings and Hobbit movies, because hey, no one wants to go alone. Or would it be like the numerous worlds from tabletop and roleplaying games like Magic the Gathering or Dungeons & Dragons?
I would never admit that it was all a platform to explore my fascination with what’s classically labeled as “monsters.” Boukie’s father, Alex, was so large and imposing that he was an exceptional stand-in for my fantasies. It didn’t hurt that he played that role to a T whenever he got the chance at every fair, festival, and convention we could attend. The two of us met at the local Renaissance Faire while I lived in Seattle for a short time. He was parading around as a troll dungeon master, of all things. It was love at first sight. We had problems, not the least of which was his incarceration, but he was a lot of fun when it came to our shared passions. He’d even been considering auditioning at the Castle of Muskogee in Oklahoma.
Unfortunately, that never happened. His past caught up with him and landed him in prison. He’d participated in a robbery some years prior, and a security guard had died. He hadn’t shot the guy, but robbing banks still didn’t sit well with the federal government. It had taken them a while to identify him, but when it happened, Alex had felt relieved that the whole thing was finally over.
After that disaster, I made the decision to come back home and found out later that I was pregnant. Through a few letters, we agreed that it would be best for Boukie if we made a clean break. Oddly enough, it was his idea. He was facing twenty-five years in prison and wanted a better man in his daughter’s life. I’d promised him that I wouldn’t settle for just anyone for our baby—preferably a guy who could play a half-decent troll. Alex was funny like that. Not that he had much to worry about. He was as close to a troll as I could get.
I’m not entirely sure if I have the nerve to jump a troll, even if the opportunity arises. There’s something scary about actually being presented with your fantasy in the flesh.
It’s not like I’m a single woman without responsibilities and obligations. I’m a mom, which means I have to do what’s best for the little body trusting me not to screw up. Not that my little one wouldn’t try the patience of a saint. Boyfriends never lasted long, often with the excuse that they just aren’t ready to be a father to a wild toddler who requires extra attention.
As far as I’m concerned, they can go get forked. At six years old, Boukie is hell on wheels, but she’s my unholy terror. Her full name is Rebecca, but Sammi started calling my little girl Boukie as a toddler and it stuck. Truthfully, it fits her better. She is not a refined Rebecca; she’s a snarling, excitable mass of energy.
The phone rings as a saner person begins talking on the TV program. A middle-aged lady with a string of letters after her name cautions everyone to not overreact but also warns people not to underestimate the beings sharing our world with us once more. I nod my head in approval and lean over to check the caller ID while Boukie tries to take advantage of my momentary distraction to wiggle free from between my legs.
This is our daily routine. She tries to escape, and I attempt to hold her writhing little body still as I gently pull the brush through her mop of tangled hair. No matter how gentle I try to be, she hollers as if I’m torturing her, and that’s after a liberal spritz of detangling spray. I’m starting to suspect whoever makes this stuff is either lying their ass off or doesn’t know what they’re talking about. It hasn’t helped yet with the mass of knots she wakes up with every morning.
I wouldn’t normally try and multitask while brushing Boukie’s hair, but the caller ID says it’s Lucy. I can’t not answer the phone. She’s been a surrogate mother to me ever since Sammi brought me home one day for dinner and Lucy adopted me into her brood. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my adoptive family.
When Sammi disappeared during a blizzard in the mountains, we were all devastated. Honestly, I had a hard time believing it. Sammi is the least outdoorsy person I’ve ever met. The last thing she would think as ‘romantic’ is a weekend in the mountains, much less in the middle of winter. Still, Lucy and I keep in touch every Sunday like clockwork. Neither of us dare mention that it’s possible Sammi won’t be coming back. Instead, we talk about what we’re going to do when she gets home and chat about what we’ve been up to lately. Anything to keep our spirits up.
Lucy also babysits Boukie while I’m at work, so a missed call for an emergency could leave me high and dry for a sitter. It’s always best to find out early—and it’s early right now. My shift doesn’t start at the coffee shop until one, so I’m almost certain she’s calling because she is either sick or something came up.
The café is a crappy job but between my wages and tips, I keep us taken care of. But I can’t afford to lose a day of work. I mentally cross my fingers as I answer the phone, propping it between my cheek and shoulder.
“Hello,
Lucy. How are you doing today?” I chirp pleasantly, tightening my legs around my little monster as she once again nearly escapes, and run the brush through Boukie’s hair once again.
“Kate, come over now! Sammi’s home!” Lucy’s excited voice warbles over the phone line.
My hand tightens in surprise around the length of Boukie’s hair, making my little girl squeak.
“Mommy!”
“Sorry, baby,” I whisper.
I drag the brush through one more time as I gather the mess into a ponytail and secure it with a band before I can give Lucy my full attention.
“What? When did she get home?”
“Yesterday. She... arrived with some very large gray men.” She pauses and I can barely hear Jake talking in the background. “Sorry. Jake says they’re not men. They’re orcs.”
“Orcs, huh,” I say. “I thought Tolkien made those up.”
While there is some source material that may have been the inspiration behind Tolkien’s orcs, I never suspected that orcs would be among the races now mingling with humans. Color me surprised.
“I have no idea about these types of things,” Lucy says with a sigh. “I just know what I know. They’re big gray fellows, and there’s a bright green one who doesn’t look like them—yes, thank you, Jake. He’s a troll, apparently, and they all brought Sammi home.”
A troll? That has to be a coincidence.
“And she’s okay?” I ask slowly. Orcs and trolls willingly returning a human strikes me as unusual when compared to most fantasy lore. Then again, what isn’t unusual these days?
I’m trying to not even think too much about the troll. Despite my fascination with them, trolls are almost uniformly depicted as foul brutes. There’s no way of knowing how much is exaggerated—or if they’re worse. What in the world is Sammi doing running around with orcs and trolls?
“She’s fine, dear. In fact, she’s never been happier from what I can tell. It seems Travis has been lying through his teeth the entire time. He abandoned her alone in the mountains. She was rescued by her... uh... husband,” Lucy says, her voice trembling. She sounds uncertain of exactly what to think about the entire situation and I can’t say that I blame her.
My mouth drops open and I set the hairbrush down beside me.
“That dirtbag!” I exclaim, horrified that Travis had done something so rotten. But why am I surprised? I never could stand the bastard. Only then does the other part of what she said filter into my brain.
“Wait... She married an orc?” I don’t even try to hide how completely bewildered this whole thing has me.
I jump up to my feet to hunt for my car keys, whipping around the living room like a tornado.
“Don’t let them go anywhere. I’m on my way.”
CAVEK
I don’t want to admit it, but I am jealous of Orgath. Jealous of an orc of all beings!
I shake my head at my own foolishness. I have nothing against orcs, and I’ve come to admire them in the weeks I’ve been in their company. They possess such pride and fortitude that one would never guess they are likely the most abused species in all of Ov’Gorg by the elves.
The elves make it their business to interfere with orcs in ways that aren’t in the best interests of their massive cousins. They’re seen as cannon fodder whenever the kingdoms get into some skirmish or another. I never would have thought that an orc would have anything I would envy. But when I look at Sammi, the human wife of the orc chieftain, I feel it.
It doesn’t help that my brief contact with human females has been... discouraging. As we moved through the city, more than one female gazed at me with lust in her eyes. I am used to that. Elves encourage the idea that trolls are ugly, hideous creatures, but females seem almost as drawn to us as they are to the fae folk, though for completely different reasons. I feel discouraged because I don’t see even a spark of my potential bloodbond in any of them as I strolled by.
Unlike orcs, who possess little magic, trolls, elves, dragons, merfolk, and other magical beings can sense our bloodbond when we come across that person. It is our souls singing to one another, as my mother once described it in her obnoxiously romantic way. She actually sang, off-key, about it when trying to convince me to meet with a line-up of females she’d arranged. I shudder at the memory. That it had been in front of many of my peers made it one of the most embarrassing experiences of my life.
I had hoped that by accompanying Orgath and Sammi back to Ov’Ge that, within minutes, I would catch sight of a female meant for me. Not only would I get a mate, I would get my mother off my back. Everyone wins. I left Ov’Gorg thinking that this plan was foolproof.
Fate has a way of setting beings together. I was surely meant to have joined in company with Orgath and aided in his fight for his place as chieftain because it would lead me to my own mate. A seer, whom my mother had hired in her more recent attempts to locate my mate on my thirtieth natal day, had once implied as much.
So far, my luck has been dismal.
That is why I find myself sitting on the steps, sharpening my blades rather than being in bed with a mate. Orgath is a lucky bastard. I suppose I could be inside mingling with the others. The three other orcs who accompanied us are lurking in the kitchen, no doubt salivating as they wait for Sammi’s mother, Lucy, to finish preparing the morning meal. Delicious smells waft my way from that direction.
I sheathe my blades again and decide to go check on the status of the food when a small transport vehicle—a car, if I remember correctly—stops in front of the house. It is a vivid red and looks like it’s seen a great many years if the peeling paint and rust spots are anything to go by.
I cock my head with curiosity. Who would be arriving this early? A young woman jumps out of the vehicle, a messy braid of dark hair trailing past her shoulders. Instead of approaching the house, she turns to the rear of her vehicle, opens one of its doors, and leans down, disappearing from my sight. When she reappears, she is holding the tiny hand of a little human child.
My heart stirs as they approach, and the warm scent of her makes me feel dizzy. A humming sound fills my ears, fluctuating in pitch as it fills the air between us. It lasts for only a moment but everything within me stills for a time.
I know immediately that she doesn’t experience the same thing I do. Or at least not the same way I experience it as a troll. It is clear, however, that she feels... something. Her gait slows and she furrows her brow as she looks at me. But rather than stop and speak to me, she pushes past and into the house, shouting for Lucy. The sound of her voice becomes the living flame that draws upon my very being, and I find myself following just behind her, unable to resist what draws me to this female.
I am aware of little as she releases her child to wander freely in the house. I don’t hear the words of greeting she exchanges with Lucy. I barely notice that I am trailing behind her as she makes her way down the hall after her daughter, nor do I comprehend the words she exchanges with Sammi. I hear her name, Kate, upon Sammi’s lips, and that is the only thing important enough to pull my attention away from my female.
My mate.
She is strange and small, oddly pale despite all that dark hair, and her eyes are an interesting color somewhere between brown and green. Yet to me, she is the most perfect female to have ever been born. My whole world has narrowed down to this one female, who is meant for me.
Even if she doesn’t yet know it.
KATE
One of them is following me around. It’s a little unsettling, on one hand, but on the other he’s strangely attractive. This is the troll? He’s large and thick with muscle, although nowhere near as huge as the male orcs hovering around Lucy as she cooks, but he’s prettier than I would have imagined a troll to be. He’s emerald green with small bumps raised along his cheekbones and the sides of his neck and arms.
The perverse side of me that likes to forget that I’m a single mother wonders if he’d object if I looked to see if the bumps showed up anywhere else on his body.
His features are larger than those of a human, from his face to his large clawed hands. His onyx black lips and sharp teeth, along with his predatory eyes and broad nose, seem most troll-ish, as do the tiny bony studs on his brow, but the long mass of luxurious lavender hair pulled back with a single leather thong is completely unexpected.
Boukie, having run off to play again after smothering Sammi with love, is watching his hair with a curiosity that concerns me. She’s never expressed any interest in the guys I’ve dated over the years. But she seems fascinated with this guy, who appears to be doing an excellent impression of my shadow. What is with him?
He doesn’t say a word; he just hovers behind me with an intense expression that I can’t make heads or tails of. It’s starting to give me the creeps when, to my surprise, Boukie reaches out and grabs his hand. The troll glances down at her, at first startled but the expression softens into a captivated smile as she stares up at him with a puckish grin.
“Can I braid your hair after breakfast?” she asks him. Cavek blinks down at her and a slow grin spread on his face, baring all his sharp teeth. I worry that it is going to scare my little girl, but she again surprises me when she begins jumping up and down and clapping her hands when he nods his head.
“All right! Let’s go eat. My belly is starving to death! Hurry!” she says and runs at full speed toward the dining room.
I laugh at the panic that flashes over his face.
“She’s not really starving. Boukie just loves to exaggerate everything,” I assure him.
His obvious relief makes me laugh all over again. Boukie seems to have won him over, but I don’t realize how much until he sits down on the other side of her and proceeds to put small portions on her plate of whatever she points at. He even manages to get her to eat all of her eggs. Anyone at the table who isn’t shocked at that has never had to argue with a stubborn child who refuses to eat all their eggs.
Despite the unusual company, I find myself living my dream. Cavek is an entertaining storyteller and I’m completely captivated as he talks about the troll kingdom in the depths of their forest territory. It’s almost like I’m there. All that’s missing is a leaky tavern and the appropriate clothes and gear, and I would be in heaven. The morning passes far too quickly, and my real life rudely intrudes.
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