I’ve known orcs to be brutal and cruel. But the one I love is so different.

So much has changed since our races met.

Orcs have caused humans much harm and brought such suffering to our planet.

But Zhor has been different.

He’s not like them.

He’s shown me a kindness I could never fathom when I’m betrayed by my own kind.

And when I am with him, it’s as though I’m no longer in control of my own body.

No, that’s not right.

I could pull away if I wanted.

But instead I want to curl my hands around his neck.

And stroke the surprisingly soft skin behind his ear.

My knees go oddly weak when I’m with him.

My entire body melts against his.

There is no pretense when we kiss.

I want him to lose control.

I want him to be mine. And for me to be his.

Chapter 1

Zhor

I count my dusty toes, refusing to look up.

“Zhor,” comes my father’s plea, laced with rage. “Look at me.”

If I do, I know what he’s going to tell me. I don’t want to hear what he’s already said a thousand times. It’s not like I’m here by choice, anyway.

I can practically hear his upper lip curl in his voice. “What am I going to do with you?”

From the corner of my eye, I notice his stance widen, and flinch. I expect it, but the strike still sweeps me off my feet. I land on my ass and finally look up with a glower. “You cannot tell me how to live my life!”

He smiles at me, baring his heavy tusks. “Can’t I?”

Chieftain Jimbal’s full form arches before the training stick comes down on my bare flesh. I can’t stop a scream from escaping, scrambling away from his next swing. He is relentless, my father, and he wants something from me that I refuse to give him. I am covered in dust when he finally lowers the tip of the stick, giving me a chance to rise again.

“So, you’re going to beat me into submission, are you?”

“If that’s what it takes.” He tosses the stick at my feet. “Defend yourself like the orc you are.”

My gaze flickers to the weapon even as his loyal clansmen bring him a real weapon. The club fits perfectly in his meaty hand as he tests its heft, first against his palm, then against my flesh. I roll and sweep up the training stick in the same move, blocking another attack. But even as I do, a brutal fist knocks the wind out of me.

I double over with the pain, but he is relentless.

Another strike rings in my head, making me sink to my knees. I finally find a breath and it is dusty with our scuffling, making my lungs burn with every inhale. He wants me to get angry, but that’s not who I am. Still, something instinctual kicks in and I dodge the next attack, sweeping the training stick hard against his head.

It knocks the fight from him briefly, though he’s still standing. Jimbal feels his wounded face and grins at me, his teeth bloodied. “Better,” he says, then lunges.

I only have a second to counter and retreat. But that’s what he’s doing: forcing me to lose ground, to work myself into a corner where he can beat me to an inch of my life. This isn’t the first time he’s lost his patience with me, and I know where this is going. Still, I raise my stick high, then left, right, twice more on the left, until he breaks my defenses and jabs me square in the gut with the fat end of his weapon.

I stagger back against the railing, dropping the stick. “Dad- please.”

But there’s a fire in his red eyes, and he is already lost to reason. “Pick it up, son,” he growls, “and show me you’re fit to lead our tribe!”

I don’t have time, blocking with my own forearms that explode with pain upon contact with his wicked bludgeon. I buckle. He knows my feelings on this, and is intent to beat it out of me. I can feel eyes on us, our people’s quiet stares as they watch this horror.

Do they empathize with me? Or do they enjoy my suffering? I wonder as I’m being beaten, my green flesh bruising black and splitting beneath his attacks. No one intervenes, but it’s not their place to stop the chief from punishing his own son. It’s up to me, and I don’t have the heart to do what he demands.

I am not built for this life.

“Zhor, you pathetic excuse for an orc, face me!”

“No!”

“So be it.”

Another strike comes down on my exposed back, making my body seize with the agony that explodes under my flesh. I lose track of my weapon in the pluming dust of the arena. My tongue weighs heavy in my mouth, gritty and dry. I breathe in the stuff, only to hack on the mud in my lungs.

I lose count on how many times he’s hit me.

When I try to rise, he knocks me down again. His attacks should not hurt so much. He is growing older every day, but the fire of his spirit is strong. It possesses his limbs and boils his raging blood, so that I don’t have a hope, even if I was on my feet and properly armed.

Our people need a leader like him.

They don’t need me, though. My life is somewhere else, anywhere else, other than this cramped settlement. We are on a beautiful, incredible world, and none of the others have bothered to explore more than the forests that sustain us.

I prefer a life of traveling.

I fall into myself as the beating gets worse, trying to remember all the magnificent places I’ve already seen, before my father’s men dragged me back to the tribe. Tears spring to my eyes, not from the pain, but from the unrequited desire to wander freely on this beautiful planet. I, however, am the chieftain’s son, and am expected to take his place.

There is a reprieve in his attacks, and I roll onto my hands and knees, spitting up blood.

“Zhor, you idiot,” he says, kneeling at my side. “Do you know how many envy your position? You were born of powerful blood, and yet you squander it in this ridiculous pursuit. This is your home and these are your people. What will happen to them when I die?”

A strained laugh escapes me, pain lancing through every rib and sinew of my body at the effort. “You will never die.”

The bludgeon drops at his feet as if he surrenders. “Everything dies.

“Will it be your pride or your body that yields first?”

He leaves me alone with that thought as I’m curled up in agony on the arena floor. I hear him speaking with his guards, even as my ears are filling with blood. Though my body doesn’t have the energy to rise, an unusual fury whips through my soul. I hate fighting with every fiber of my being, but I hate this helplessness more.

Despite my injuries, I lever up onto an elbow, my head too heavy to lift.

His voice is low, but I catch what he says to his most trusted subordinate. “Gorgon, patch him up and make sure he doesn’t leave again.”

“Yes, Chief.” Gorgon jumps up onto the arena floor to do so.

As he hoists me against him, I watch my father walk away. He claps his hands off like he’s finished with me. My own father is going to imprison me here until I’m compliant to his demands. Then, that rage that has fueled generations of our lineage rises in my gut, threatening to spill from my mouth. I clench, though the action brings me great agony. “Father,” comes my windless voice.

He stops in his tracks but doesn’t turn around.

I grit my teeth and open my good eye, glaring at his heavily scarred back. “I will defeat you, one of these days, and you will have no choice but to release me!”

He turns his head and glances at me over his shoulder, a grin spreading on his hateful face. “I look forward to the day you find your spirit, son.”

With that, he’s gone.

             Gorgon shrugs me onto his shoulder, saying nothing in support or against my father’s handling of me. I slump against him and let him take me away, a cool breeze stealing what remains of my strength.