Her Orc Warrior: A Monster Fantasy Romance (Black Bear Clan Book 3)

That evening, we camp in a forest clearing, with the river close by. Ozork explains to me that the river flows from the orc kingdom, originating at the very Hill we’re heading toward. It is joined on its way from the mountains by several tributaries until it goes from a small stream to the rushing current down in the plains.

I help Korr with dinner, peeling turnips and carrots for another stew. Then, while it’s cooking, I take Wren to the river in the deep dusk and force both of us to wash as best we can in the icy water. I don’t have the heart to dunk Wren in the river—that cough of hers persists, and I don’t want her to get chilled. But I strip my tunic and my pants after checking that no one is around and take a quick dip that has me cursing under my breath.

There’s nothing I can do for the clothes, though. I don’t have a spare tunic, so I drag the slightly stiff fabric back over my head, wincing at the thought of Vark smelling it the entire day.

Maybe I should offer to ride in the back of the wagon instead, downwind from the sensitive orc noses.

After dinner, Vark calls me to a spot beside the fire, where the light is still good enough that I can see, but not too close so I don’t end up stumbling into the flames. I glance over at Korr, but he shakes his head and grins at me, motioning that I should follow Vark.

I dislike the idea of having an audience as we work. I’d only done one training session with Korr, and while he didn’t go easy on me, the male himself wasn’t an issue. I didn’t feel anything if he got close to me. But whenever I’m close to Vark, my body reacts in ways that scare me with their intensity. My belly flutters with nerves, and heat pools deep inside me, no matter how hard I try to keep myself in check. I can’t have him knowing this, which could become a real issue—if he can scent my fear, what else can he discern?

But this doesn’t seem to be a problem today. Vark puts me through some strength exercises first, then has me run laps around the fire. To my surprise, Wren joins us, and she skips after me, giggling. I trip over my feet at the sound—it’s so happy and carefree, my heart hurts at the thought of how rarely I’ve heard it recently.

Vark seems to understand that real training will have to wait. As I make another lap around the fire, this time with Wren riding piggy-back, he gives the little girl a gentle clap on the shoulder and disappears into the shadows.

I put Wren to bed by the fire, then collect the dirty bowls and spoons from the orcs still sitting close by, talking quietly about the road ahead of us.

“You don’t have to do this,” Ozork says when I pick up the heavy kettle and start for the riverbank.

I pause. “I said I’d work in exchange for—for everything. I want to make myself useful.”

“You already have,” he says with a small smile. “Just by being here.”

I want to ask what he means, but he turns away, heading for his wagon.

In the light of the rising moon, I drag the kettle through the bushes toward the river. The night is clear, with thousands of stars peppered on the inky sky like a swarm of shining celestial bees. The moon has a while yet to go before she’s full, but I thank my luck as I make my way over the scattered stones and branches that it’s bright enough to see by.

I break through the last of the bushes by the water, the cookware clanging loud enough to wake the dead. And there, standing in the shallows of the river bend, is Vark.

He’s naked, his green skin silvery gray in the moonlight. His long black hair is unbound, and he stops with his hand on his chest, as if he’s shocked by my arrival. But he can’t be. Even I would have heard the noise of my arrival with my weak human ears. He must have realized I was coming to the river the moment I left the fire.

Which means he stayed like that on purpose.

I straighten my shoulders and meet his gaze. He drops his hands to his sides, a bar of soap clutched in his right palm. If it was me standing up to my knees in water, I’d be shivering, but he seems completely at ease.

Why did he not put on his clothes when he heard me?

I fight the rush of heat rising to my cheeks, not that he could see it in this light. I keep my gaze resolutely on Vark’s face. For about a second. Then my will betrays me, and I follow the lines of his muscular chest to his stomach, where a line of black hair leads to…

Oh gods.

He’s hard, his thick cock curving up. I don’t know what I expected—not that I’ve spent any time expecting Vark’s cock—but of course, he’s proportional everywhere. His hands are large, his feet big, and his cock…massive.

Deliberately, Vark lathers his hands with soap and grips his cock, washing it. He hisses in a breath as his palm slicks over the dark length. All the while, he stares right at me without uttering a single word. The squeeze and twist of his hand seems too rough to be pleasant, but his cock swells even more, until it juts out and up, a clear proof of Vark’s need.

I drop the pot, and it thumps on the sand, jarring me from my thoughts. I whip my gaze up at Vark’s face again. “I’m sorry for interrupting your bath,” I force out, proud that my voice doesn’t tremble.

Vark lifts one muscular shoulder. “You didn’t. There’s plenty of river for the both of us.”

I close my eyes. Surely he can’t mean to continue while I’m here?

His soft snort has me opening my eyes again.

“What?” I ask, annoyance rising in me.

Does he have to be this muscular? If he wasn’t half so attractive, I wouldn’t be so flustered right now.

Walking backward, he wades several steps deeper into the current. “You can relax. I won’t try to ravish you.”

“Oh.” I nudge the kettle with the tip of my boot, pushing it closer to the water’s edge. “That’s not— I didn’t think that you would.”

He stills in place, his hand still clasped around his cock. “Really?”

I shake my head. “No.”

Vark’s so far away now that I have trouble discerning the small changes in his expression. I wish I knew what he was thinking right now. We’re caught in a strange, private bubble, even though we’re out in the open, but I trust that Vark will alert me if anyone else from the camp was on their way here.

“You should come out,” I say quietly, but I know he’ll hear me over the sound of the rushing water. “You’ll catch a cold.”

His teeth flash white in the moonlight. “I need a cold dip before I can show myself in camp, pet.”

Squeezing my hands into fists to fight off my nerves, I blurt out what I’ve been thinking since the moment I laid eyes on his gorgeous naked form. “You could just, um, finish what you started. I don’t mind.”

Now, Vark takes a step toward me. “Don’t tempt me, Hazel.”

I let out a shuddering breath that steams in the air between us. “I meant— You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but there’s—”

“You think I don’t want to?” Vark growls.

“I have no idea.” I shrug helplessly. “I’ve never had a mate before.”

Vark’s broad chest widens with a deep inhale. Then he rolls his shoulders back and looks right at me as he moves his fist over the length of his cock. “Is this what you want me to do?”

“Yes,” I whisper. I’m trembling now, my body poised on the edge of the stream, feeling as if a breeze would knock me over into the water. I’ve never been so alert in my life.

Vark strokes himself slowly, and I let my gaze roam from his face to his cock and back again. He grits his teeth, his jaw bunching, but never takes his gaze off me.

“Faster,” I command, breathless with excitement.

With a groan, he obeys, his hips now thrusting forward in time with the movements of his fist.

“Hazel,” he rasps.

I step so close to the river that the tips of my boots touch the lapping water. “I’m here.”

I follow each slick slide of his hand, noting how he squeezes the broad cockhead before running his palm all the way down to the root of his shaft, which seems to be thicker than the tip. My pussy pulses at the thought of us trying to fit together, and a wave of apprehension washes through me at the sheer size of him.

But then Vark’s back bows, and he groans, his head thrown back, the tendons in his neck standing out. His hips rock frantically, and his hand slams down his cock once more, and he’s coming, thick jets of creamy white cum splashing in the water. I gasp at the quantity of it, at the strength of his release.

Vark’s breathing slows, and he gives his twitching cock another slow tug, drawing out another spurt of cum. He reaches down and washes his hand clean, then swipes back the hair that had fallen into his face.

I’ve never seen him this relaxed, his posture loose, a half-smile playing on his lips.

“Well, pet,” he says, then leaves the words hanging.

“Mm-hmm,” I manage. “Good.”

I want to slap myself the moment the answer leaves my mouth. Good? I curse myself, feeling like an idiot. But Vark grins wider, as if this was exactly what he wanted to hear. Turning his back on me, he resumes his washing.

Was this normal for him? He seems completely at ease while all my muscles are still locked, my body pulsing with a need I don’t want to name.

Now that he’s facing away from me, I allow myself to study Vark’s backside. And of course, it’s stunning. Muscular and tight. The broad expanse of his back has me wondering how strong he really is. His body must be the result of years of rigorous training, surely. Which is confusing, given his insistence that he’s not a warrior.

He glances at me over his shoulder, his tusks glinting in the moonlight, and I squeak, dropping to a crouch to focus on the pots instead. He does the same—only that means he’s now neck-deep in the icy water, not that it seems to bother him.

“You really should get out of there,” I call out, unable to help myself. I know how frigid the river is. This can’t be good for him.

Vark dips his head back, rinsing out his hair. “You worried about me, Hazel?”

“I won’t be if you keep this up,” I mumble.

But he must hear it, because he lets out a low chuckle that does funny things to my chest. Cursing silently—I don’t want him to know he’s getting to me—I drag the cookware the last couple of feet and start washing it out with water and sand.

Out of the corner of my eye, I follow Vark’s movements. He seems perfectly content to lie in the flowing current, then rises and makes his way back to the bank. Water sluices down his tall body, dripping off his black hair. And I can’t resist following the smooth lines of his body from his long legs and upward.

The glimpse of his thick cock has me frozen in place. He’s still hard, despite his climax and the cold. My mind rebels at the size of it now that I’m seeing it up close. I’ve seen my fair share of human men in various stages of undress over the years, however, and none were remotely as large as Vark.

How would he even fit?

The question that pops into my mind explains yet another reason why Vark must be devastated that I—a human—am his mate. I’m far too small for him. I’m not a dainty woman, and in my line of work, that has mostly been a blessing, because men thought twice before taking me on. But Vark is more than a foot taller than me, and even the thought of us together has my insides clenching up.

I duck my head, hoping he didn’t notice me staring. Maybe I should go for a swim in the river to cool my thoughts.

Vark’s sigh has me glancing up again. He’s turned away from me, so I get a spectacular view of his ass. In the moonlight, he resembles one of the marble statues in front of the duke’s palace in Ultrup. Beautiful and unapproachable.

“If you’re coming to the Hill with us,” Vark says as he rubs himself all over with a bathing sheet, “you’ll see many more naked people.”

I jerk my head up. “What?”

He gives me a lazy grin over his shoulder. “Orcs don’t see nudity as bad, like humans do.” He turns to face me and spreads his arms to the sides. “This is my body. It serves me well. Why should I be ashamed of it?”

For a moment, I just stare. It’s impossible not to.

Then I slap a hand over my eyes and sit down hard on the damp sand. “Y-you shouldn’t. It’s a good body. Great, even. But, um, do you think you could put some pants on anyway?”

Now that the spell of whatever happened earlier is broken, I’m hit with the realization that I’m in the company of a very naked, very handsome man, and my human sensibilities flare up again.

Vark’s sigh conveys his disappointment in me, but a swish of leather tells me he’s doing as I asked. I’m relieved—and more than a little sorry that he’s putting away all that magnificence. At the same time, something like anger brews inside me, annoyance at the way he’s pushing my boundaries.

“You know what?” I struggle to stand, still covering my eyes. “This isn’t— I don’t—”

Strong fingers close around my wrist, and Vark tugs my hand away from my face.

“It’s all right now,” he rumbles. “And I’m sorry. I wanted you to know how things are in the orc world.”

I wrench my hand away from him and put my fists to my hips in an attempt to hold on to my anger. He’s making it very hard to do so, what with the apology and that small smirk playing on his lips.

“You couldn’t have gone easy on me?” I demand. “You ambushed me with all of that…that…”

I wave my hand in front of him to encompass his entire body.

“With my cock?” he asks, arching one dark eyebrow. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

“Yes. No!” I let out a low growl of frustration. “I don’t know. I need to get used to this. In small doses.”

“There is nothing small about my cock,” he says, affronted.

Oh gods.

“I know that,” I force out through gritted teeth. “I saw it. I meant…small doses of nudity. You know how highborn ladies do it. They show an ankle. Or a collarbone.”

I mime lifting up my skirts, even though I haven’t worn any in years. It’s easier to dress like a man in a man’s world.

“You want to see my ankles.” Vark stares at me as if I’ve grown two heads.

“You know what?” I throw my hands in the air. “Forget it. I’ll get used to it eventually.”

I go to turn around, eager to pick up the bowls and the kettle and get out of here. But Vark catches my wrist again and tugs me back lightly.

“Wait,” he says. “I want to understand.”

I think about rejecting his plea. I could claim I’m tired and overwhelmed by this very long day—and he would let me go. I know he would. But he seems so earnest in his desire to know more.

I sigh, trying to put my thoughts into words. “Why did you want me to see you naked?”

He’s standing so close, I can smell his soap. His usual scent is covered slightly with the herbal aroma of the soap, but it’s a nice blend. I lean in, inhaling through my nose, then realize he’s still shirtless and this is inappropriate.

Vark stands in front of me, deep in thought. I thought I’d asked a simple question, but he seems to be giving it serious consideration.

“You heard me coming down from the camp, right?” I press him. “You had time to cover up.”

He dips his head slowly. “Aye. I think I wanted to scare you.”

A startled laugh falls from my lips. “Scare me? What, with your dick swinging around?”

He snorts. “That’s right.”

“But why?” I ask.

Was I surprised to find him naked? Of course. But it wasn’t fear that had me rooted to the spot. Some prudish impulse to run did rear inside me, yes, but I wasn’t afraid of Vark hurting me. No, I’d wanted something completely different from him in that moment.

He takes a step back, finally releasing my wrist. The loss of contact has me swaying in place, and I frown, wondering what on earth has come over me.

“You said you weren’t scared of me yesterday,” he says. “I wanted to scare you so I’d have a good reason to stay away from you.”

I gape at the shirtless orc. “That makes no sense.”

He pushes his fingers through his damp hair, then braids it quickly, tying the end with a leather string. He’s half turned away from me, as if he wants out of this conversation, but I step around him until we’re face to face again. He is not getting away this easily.

“Vark,” I prompt.

He shudders, doubles over, and puts his hands on his knees. “I never thought it would be this hard.”

“What?” My voice rises with my frustration, so I have to force myself to keep it level. “Explain. Now.”

“You’re my mate,” he rasps, still hunched. “Every time you’re near me, I want nothing more than to grab you and take you. Like the barbarian you thought me to be.” He looks up, his gaze pleading, as if he’s willing for me to understand. “If you were an orc woman, we’d be running for each other. I’d be balls deep in you minutes after we first scented the true bond. I’d fuck you for days, until you were so full of my cum it’d be dripping out of your pussy. It would be my scent smeared all over you.”

I take a step back, shocked by the crude, direct words.

“Aye.” Vark drags a deep breath through his nose and straightens, throwing his head back. “Just like that. The scent of your fear makes it easier to keep away. I could never hurt you, Hazel, and knowing you’re afraid brings back the clarity.”

My mind buzzes with thoughts, questions popping up one after another. But I can’t seem to form them into words, no matter how I try. I’m not afraid of him, but there’s so much going on. Even if I wanted to be with Vark like he seems to want me to, the timing is all wrong. I have a young daughter. We’ve managed to escape from our former life, and I need to build up a new one, give Wren stability, before I can think of my own selfish desires.

Vark stares down at me for a moment, then scoffs softly and bends to pick up his shirt and soap. “You needn’t worry, pet. I’m in full control. I won’t touch you.” He steps around me and collects the washed kettle, loading the bowls inside it. “Can you make your way back to camp?”

I nod mutely, watching him stride up the riverbank where he puts on his boots. Just as he’s about to disappear from view, my muscles unlock, and I dash after him.

“Wait,” I whisper-shout. “Vark!”

He stops, turning back to face me. I run up to him, panting slightly.

“I thought you didn’t want me,” I breathe.

He closes his eye, his expression resigned. “I never said that.”

“You let me believe it,” I insist.

“For your own good,” he retorts. “What would you have thought if I told you I wanted to fuck you when you were sitting in that tree? If I told you I had to fuck my own fist every night to keep myself from pouncing on you?”

I know he doesn’t really want an answer, but I give him one anyway, even as I squeeze my thighs together at the crude words. “I wouldn’t have stayed my hand when I had my knife pressed to your neck,” I admit.

“There you have it.” Vark sets the kettle on the ground and crosses his arms over his chest. “I happen to be partial to my head. Didn’t want you to chop it off.”

I roll my eyes, knowing full well he could have stopped me anyway.

“So you want me,” I muse, “but you don’t want me as your mate, is that it? You resent being forced to want a woman like me, as you said.”

He drags a palm over his face, groaning. “Do your questions never stop, woman?”

I give him a sharp smile, more than a little annoyed. He’s been switching up his story on me, and I hate not knowing what’s going on.

“So, which one is it?” I demand.

Something changes in his expression, and he takes a step closer. “I didn’t want you to feel the burden of having me as your mate. So I removed myself from consideration. But you’re making it very hard for me to stay away, pet, when you’re looking at me like that.”

The burden of having him as my mate…

I stamp down on the bubbly sensation rising in me at the intensity of his stare. Instead, I force myself to meet his gaze. “What do you mean, the burden?”

“I am an orc,” he growls. “And a crippled one at that. I’m not a warrior you could be proud of. I have no vocation, and the only job I’m good for is making sure those horses don’t stray from a path they’ve walked a hundred times already. So tell me what woman in her right mind would want me as her mate.”

My gaze strays to his leather eye patch before I can stop myself. Vark doesn’t flinch back, but when I glance at his good eye again, the shame and anguish reflected there are plain.

“I never thought I’d end up with an orc,” I admit. “But I don’t think of you as crippled, Vark. That’s a horrible word, and I don’t—”

“Save it,” he grumbles. “I’ve heard it all from people who mean well. But tell me, how do you swing an ax in battle if having no sense of depth might mean you cut off your friend’s arm instead of your enemy’s? How do you aim a bow?” He shakes his head and bends to pick up the kettle again. “I don’t want your pity.”

He starts back toward the camp, his footsteps heavy. I stay in place, watching him go. I wish I knew more about orcs to understand him better. If fate tied us together in some inextricable way, don’t I owe it to myself—and him—to figure it out?

So I put another task on the list of things I need to learn. And set out to find the orc who might help me do it.