Free The Orc King's Captive by Clea Kinderton Page B

without their
magic, they'd left a bloody hand print on the enemy.
    A tall orc at the front of the
vanguard advanced on her with an imperious stride. He was easily seven feet
tall, a full head and shoulders taller than Quolondra and five times her
weight. His breastplate bore a symbol: a pair of severed hands. It could only
be Kerlok, their leader.
    The orc king stopped in front of
her, his helmet a snarling wolf mask frozen in black metal. He undid the strap
on his helm and pulled it gracelessly from his head, tossing it aside. It
clanged on the marble floor and rolled down the steps.
    The face beneath the mask was,
if anything, even more bestial. Low, heavy brows; a short, up-turned snout;
silver-blue irises as cold and hard as metal, and a head of black hair as thick
as a mane.
    "To what do I owe this
pleasure, Kerlok?" said the queen, openly expressing her disdain.
    The orc king snorted, flexing
the muscles of his wide jaw and his jutting chin. He almost seemed disappointed
to find her helpless.
    He took two steps forward and
slapped Quolondra in the face, sending her to her knees.
    She felt her mouth fill with
blood. It had been a long time since anyone had dared to strike her. The
great Queen of the Elves helpless to defend herself from a common thug, she
thought, wiping her swollen lip. Before Tolterian's treachery, I could have
incinerated his entire army.
    The orc undid the belt for his
sword and let it fall with a clatter. Then he began to remove his breastplate,
loosening the straps with complacent languor.
    What's this? she
wondered. He couldn't possibly... She scurried backwards like a crab,
trying to put whatever distance she could between them.
    The heavy steel plate dropped
with a bang, chipping the marble.
    At the edge of the dais, she
felt the chain pull taut. She'd reached its limit.
    Kerlok continued to remove
pieces of his armor, flinging each component aside indifferently, until only a
grimy loincloth remained. Then he removed that as well.
    There were so many scars on his
body that the hairy, chestnut brown skin pulled tight over his lean, rippling
muscles looked like it had been sewn together. Thick veins stood out in stark
relief on his arms and thighs, pumping dark blood through his powerful limbs,
giving him a bluish cast. His body had been designed for one thing and one
thing only: hard, violent physical exertion. Quolondra caught herself staring
at the cock dangling between his thighs like a serpent and looked away,
recoiling.
    Now that he was naked, she could
smell him more clearly. He stank like an animal; even worse than a human. But
below the rankness was a pungent, captivating odor that seemed to lodge in her
nose and affix itself. It was wild and musky, like the scent of a stag or a
bull, a rich, sickeningly appealing odor like overripe fruit. She tried to
ignore it, but the aroma made her feel warm and anxious, as if it hinted at
some buried need which she refused to acknowledge.
    The orc king reached down,
grabbed the chain, and pulled.
    Quolondra slid across the floor
toward him, skidding on her knees, thrusting out her hands to keep her face
from hitting the marble. He jerked it again and she found herself face-down at
his feet.
    His strength was tremendous.
    He wrapped the chain around his
hand, pulling her up by the neck until she was on her knees in front of him.
She gripped his thighs for support, digging her nails into his hide to raise
herself up and keep herself from choking. His legs felt like the boles of
trees, impossibly strong and firm. What the orcs lacked in intelligence and
craft they more than made up for in sheer physical strength and endurance.
    He ran his calloused fingers
through her hair and closed them into a fist, yanking her head back.
    The way he pulled made tears
pool in the corners of her eyes but she held them back, staring up at him
defiantly.
    He smiled, showing his fangs.
"I'm going to enjoy making a whore out of you." His voice was
guttural. A voice of