Tamed by the Troll (The Perished Woods Book 1) Page 3

  “I don’t know what you expect from me,” I huff right back at him. “You gave me no soap and only one bucket of water to wash myself and my clothing.”

  He tears his eyes from me and stalks over to his bed. Thoughtlessly grabbing one of the blankets piled on top, he tosses it to me. I fumble in an attempt to catch it while still gripping my clothing over my body. The well-used blanket is heavily perfumed with the monster’s spicy scent.

  “Put your dress by the fire and cover up with that,” he commands. “If you don’t cause me any more trouble, I’ll let you sleep with it as well.”

  “Aren’t you a saint?” I ask snidely.

  “I wouldn’t be so quick to test me if I were you.”

  Awkwardly, I work to get the blanket around me, securing it around my breasts. “What are you going to do, kill me? Death would be better than slavery.”

  I know it’s a mistake the second the words spill from my lips, for the troll is on me before I can blink. One massive hand grips my hair, pulling my head back sharply and my wet dress falls to the ground.

  “Oh!” I call out in surprise, struggling against him. But his other hand goes around my waist, stilling me. I gaze into his yellow eyes.

  “Yours is a bluff I can call, little one. Look down at my belt.” I gasp and try to free myself from his hold. “Look,” he commands, and reluctantly, I do. “Do you see the knife there?”

  On his hip, next to the skull, is a thick and heavy-looking blade. “Would you like me to kill you with that? I could drive it into your heart…or slice it across your throat.” I feel his callused hand against my neck where he offers to cut me. “I’d even let you choose, if it’s death you prefer.”

  Looking up into the troll’s eyes, I see his expression is unaffected and I remember how easily he killed the orc by tossing his body against a tree. “Please,” I whisper. He looks at me expectantly, as if waiting for me to finish. “Please, don’t kill me.”

  He leans down close, a monstrosity filling my vision. His spicy scent overwhelms my senses and tears prick my eyes.

  “I like you better when you beg,” he growls, releasing me roughly. I stumble back, only remaining upright with great effort. “You can play this game for as long as you like, little one, but I will always win and you will always pay the price. I suggest you learn that lesson early.”

  “You’re a monster,” I sob, wiping angrily at my tears.

  “I’m a troll.” His tone is flat as he heads back over to his larder.

  I pick up my wet dress and shake the wrinkles from it, laying it out before the fire. “What about my family? People will miss me. They’ll come searching.”

  His scoff says it all. He doesn’t believe me for a second and I find that stings a little.

  With nothing left to do, I sit on the ground next to my dress, absently picking at it until I can’t take my heartache any longer. Hanging my head, I allow myself to cry. This time not from fear but from sadness. That’s when the day catches up with me. I think of my whole village—gone. My parents’ home, likely burnt to the ground. And I think of Aunt Celia too. As much as I despised the woman, I can’t bear to imagine what her fate must have been. My thoughts flutter to the orc who nearly raped me, to his evil-looking cock jutting out at me. It’s too much. It’s all just too much. And somewhere along the way, sleep steals me from my living nightmare.

  Chapter 5

  Brom

  The girl lies curled in on herself before the fire, her body lax with sleep, and I wonder how long she had been running from those orcs. She shifts in her sleep and the blanket she wears becomes loose, exposing the milky white flesh of her back to me. I look away, disinterested.

  Earlier, she snubbed my blanket. It angered me. The girl needed something to cover herself with while her clothing dried, and I had meant to grab any old thing, but for some reason I tossed her my good blanket. While it is worn and old, it’s still the softest and the warmest blanket I have, taken years ago as payment from a traveling merchant who sought passage over my bridge. All the others I have are rough and threadbare. Still, she wrinkled her tiny nose at it as if I offered her filth. I promise myself it’s the last time I show her any kindness… though it is time for supper and rather than waking her I opt to cook for us instead. She must still be tired. Very tired.

  My eyes find their way to the curve of her back again as I quietly prepare our evening meal. Tonight I will allow her to rest and expunge her tears. Tomorrow her work will begin. She will find I am not an unreasonable master. Firm, but not unreasonable.

  Quietly, I rummage through my larder, ignoring the pickled fish and opting instead for cured sausages. Tomorrow I will hunt for something fresh. It will be less trouble now that I have the human to cook for me.

  I take bread and butter from the cupboard and retrieve a few apples from a basket, tossing back any that are bruised. I slice the meat and bring plates to the table. They clatter when I set them down and I jolt, looking over at the human. Seeing that I did not cause her to wake, I pull two cups down from the shelf and a bottle of honey wine. She could use a drink, I reason.

  Once the table is set, I look at it in dismay. I only have one chair, besides the armchair before the fire, of course. Though it really isn’t suited for the table. I rub my chin, thinking. The footrest will do well for her.

  Carefully, I retrieve it from nearby the resting human, but when I set it at the table she wakes with a start. The blanket sags over her breasts and she clutches it with lightning speed in an effort to keep herself covered. Immediately, she looks for me. Then she sits there, silent, with her back as straight as an arrow, staring.

  “Have you recovered your wits?”

  “I doubt it,” she groans, and I scoff at her response.

  “Come eat,” I tell her gruffly.

  She struggles to her feet, tugging at the blanket to re-secure it around her thin frame. There is no meat on this one. She’s a peasant, I assume. Her village likely razed by the orcs.

  “I thought I was supposed to cook,” she points out.

  “Tomorrow,” I assure her. “Sit.”

  She waddles to the table and I take a seat in my chair. The human frowns at the wooden footstool but makes no verbal complaint as she climbs onto it. The table only comes to her chin and we frown at one another from across it.

  “Just a moment,” I tell her, going to the wood pile. I pull a log from it, along with my hatchet from the wall. Swinging the blade down, I cut four, roughly equal rounds and bring them back to the table. She stares at me with wide, green eyes, still puffy from crying. I wave my hand, motioning for her to move, and she hops down from the footstool. I turn it on its side and position the four rounds of wood accordingly, before I right the stool. It now stands a half foot higher than it had.

  I return to my seat and the human tentatively hoists herself into hers. She eyes me suspiciously but mumbles something nonetheless.

  “Say it louder,” I command.

  “Thank you,” she growls. I sneer at her in response and pull the cork from the honey wine with my teeth. It is not that I have such bad manners, but I enjoy watching the human’s expressions when I displease her. I am rewarded with a grimace. I spit the cork out and she nearly startles right out of her seat.

  “Honey wine.” I pour the golden liquid into her cup. She looks from the drink to the food and her expression tells me she’s warring with herself. She settles on alcohol and reaches for her cup…only it is as big as a bowl in her hands and she fumbles with it before it finally touches her lips. Still, she downs it all in one long gulp. When she sets the cup back on the table I frown at her, unimpressed.

  “I will not care for you if you make yourself sick,” I warn.

  “I wouldn’t dream that you would.” When she turns her attention to her food she winces.

  “Where I come from, a slave is grateful to eat.”

  Her eyes go wide and she looks at me in shock. “Sorry. I…thank you. Where I come from, anyone is grateful t
o eat.”

  “Were you so poor?”

  The human shakes her head. “A famine hit years ago. It taught me to be grateful.” She takes a deep breath before she continues. “While I don’t enjoy the prospect of being your slave, I appreciate the meal. My appetite though…it’s been a long day.”

  I grunt in acknowledgement, biting into an apple and watching the human.

  “This won’t work,” she says finally. “You have to know that. I’ll try every chance I get to escape and one day I finally will.”

  I take another bite of the apple, leaning back in my chair.

  “You are bound to me, little one, by the laws of the Perished Woods. There is no escape, not ever. Wherever you go, I will find you.”

  She searches my eyes, looking for softness where there is none. Eventually she drops her eyes to her meal and picks at her food.

  A slow smile spreads across my face. She is beginning to understand her fate. I am pleased by our progress and find myself looking forward to the days ahead. Being master of the bridge is a lonely job and the workload is heavy when it falls on my shoulders alone. But now I have this human to help ease my burden and perhaps I’m even lucky she’s such a fiery one. It gets far too quiet here, but I wager silence will now be a thing of the past. Just as I begin to relax, the tables turn…literally.

  With shocking speed, the tiny human flips the table, sending our meal flying. She makes a mad dash for the tunnel. Though I was caught by surprise, she is still no match for me. Not physically, nor in a footrace. I’m on her before she reaches the door and she screams in protest.

  I grab her around the waist and haul her against me. She fights and kicks so wildly that the blanket comes loose, bellowing when she feels her naked skin against my chest.

  This was not the day I was expecting. I grit my teeth and growl, an expression of my own rage.

  “Enough!” I roar, tossing her before the fire and pinning her face down to the ground. She struggles against my hold and I press my face close to hers.

  “I will not continue to warn you, human,” I snarl. “You are my slave. That is a fact I suggest you get used to.”

  “Never!” she hisses.

  “Then let your first punishment begin.”

  “Punishment? What? No! Let me go! Don’t touch me!”

  “I am not unreasonable, but you will learn your place.” I pull her arms behind her and she screams in protest.

  “Please! Don’t hurt me!” Her screams are as desperate as they were when the orc tried to rape her. I shake my head in dismay. She is a slow learner, this one.

  I take a rope from the belt at my hip and bind her wrists behind her. All the while she begs and pleads with me. Placing my knee on her back, I hold her down as I work, gently though, because she is so small. I need my hands free to pull her legs back far enough so that I might bind them to her wrists.

  Once she is secure, I push away from her, leaving her hogtied in front of the hearth. Her sobs are heavy again and she turns toward the fire, trying to hide her nudity from me, as if I care. I’m more interested in the meal she tried to ruin.

  I right the table, frowning at the apples strewn across the room and the butter smashed into the floor. I should have fed her the pickled fish. Luckily the honey wine did not empty itself. I pick up the bottle and a stray sausage. Dropping down into my seat, I take a long drink followed by a bite of meat.

  Watching the human with a scowl on my face, I wonder how long it will take to break her, but her naked body is distracting. She is a pale thing, reminding me of a quartz stone. Only soft, of course.

  “You should have eaten when you had the chance,” I tell her.

  “Fuck you!”

  “Are we back at that again? Make up your mind, do you want to be a slave in my kitchen or in my bed?” She falls silent at my jest and I can tell that I have frightened her. She might not find me amusing, but I see no reason why my mood should have to match her sour one. I frown and take another drink from the bottle of honey wine.

  She twists her wrists, trying to free them from her bonds.

  “Stop,” I tell her. “I don’t have enough healing potion to treat that if you injure yourself.”

  She stills and her shoulders slump—as much as they can in her position, that is.

  “Untie me.”

  I shake my head. “You are terrible at bargaining.”

  “At least cover me with a blanket.”

  “No. This is your punishment. And mine. Believe me, I have no interest in looking at an unattractive thing like you,” I tell her, ripping off another bite of sausage.

  She turns her face to the side to narrow her gaze at me, and her breasts press into the timeworn rug. “I’m unattractive? I take it you’ve never seen your own reflection.”

  I like this reaction better than her fear and I keep our little repartee going. “There’s no need to be so defensive. It’s not your fault you’re human. Besides, I didn’t mean to point out your deficiencies so blatantly. It’s just that they’re so much more apparent since you shed your blanket.”

  “Since I shed my blanket?” she asks incredulously.

  “Did you see me trying to tear it from you? No, I was simply eating my evening meal when you—”

  “You are intolerable! Intolerable and mad!”

  “Mad?” I laugh. “Why? Because I don’t find you attractive? You know what I think your problem is, little one? Like all of your kind, you’re too damned sure of yourself.”

  “Mad because you think it’s fair to keep me as a slave. I didn’t even know there was a toll for your stupid bridge. I was busy running for my life! Not that you care—”

  “Care? I saved your life, did I not? Protected your innocence as well.”

  “Protected your investment is more like it,” she scoffs, turning my words back on me.

  Her expression is angry and she looks away from me in disgust. I drink again from the bottle of honey wine. Now free to stare at her, my eyes trace the curves of her hips. Perhaps there is something to the human form, though I won’t tell her that.

  “Your hair has mud in it,” I say instead.

  “You must be very proud of your observation skills.”

  I snort out a laugh. But when her stomach growls, I sober. “When was the last time you ate?”

  “I had some berries in the morning. Before everything…”

  Fucking berries. She’s hungry. I sigh, thinking about what kind of day she must have had.

  “Were there any other survivors?” I ask.

  She’s quiet for a while before she answers. “I can’t imagine that there were.”

  “You are lucky to be here with me then.”

  She scoffs but makes no reply.

  “Where else would you go?”

  “I have an aunt in Pontheugh.”

  I roll my eyes and look to the sky. “And just how did you think you would get all the way to Pontheugh?”

  When she responds, her voice is quiet, as if she already knows the stupidity of her reply. “I would have traded work for aid…relied on the kindness of strangers…”

  “You’d have been raped a dozen times in a dozen different ways before you made it to the city’s walls. Kindness of strangers,” I huff, shaking my head.

  “I hadn’t had time to devise a plan, I would have thought of something.” She angles herself to face me again, looking at me with sad green eyes. There’s no more argument on her lips, just a look of defeat. We stare at one another for a moment and I am the first to break, rising from my chair to retrieve her blanket. I bring it to her, tossing it over the round globes of her ass. Then I use my knife to cut the ties on her ankles. With care, I tuck the blanket over her shoulders and pull her up into a sitting position.

  “My wrists—”

  “You are still in trouble, little one. But it has been a long day. I want you to eat.”

  I grab one of the apples and crouch before her, holding it out so that she may take a bite. She looks at me s
keptically. The front of the blanket sags, hinting at her naked body within. When I reach forward, she flinches, but I only tuck the blanket more tightly around her. When she sees what I am doing, she at least has the courtesy to look embarrassed over her gross assumption. I hold the apple out again. Tentatively, she leans forward and takes a loud, crunching bite. I hold it for her as she eats, her wrists still bound behind her back. We do not speak, but she does not take her eyes away from mine as I slowly turn the apple for her. I cannot read the look in them, but her unwavering gaze is heavy and penetrating. Juice from the apple drips down her chin and I wipe it away with one thick finger. My cock twitches at the visual, but I ignore it.

  “Thanks,” she mutters, looking unhappy with our eating arrangement. Good, that means she will learn to behave that much more quickly in the future.

  “More?” I ask once we are left with nothing but a core.

  She shakes her head. “No, but could I have more wine?”

  I give her a stern look.

  “To help me sleep…just for tonight.”

  I acquiesce, because I am such a reasonable troll. Hell, I’d want the same thing were I in her position.

  I forgo the oversized cup and bring her the bottle.

  “Is there any chance you’d free my hands now?” she asks.

  “None.”

  “Fine.” She nods toward the bottle. I hold it to her lips, tilting it slowly and watching her throat work. She looks like she wants to devour the entire bottle and I pull it away before she’s ready. Her brow furrows at me.

  “You’re going to make yourself sick.”

  “I don’t care,” she says, her tone morose.

  “I do. You’ve already made enough messes for one day.”

  I lean back on my heels and finish the bottle as I assess her. Under all that mud in her hair, I see deep auburn locks shining in the firelight. Orcs don’t usually have hair, but humans and trolls both do. Though, in my humble opinion, troll hair is kept better than human hair. My own is pulled into a high ponytail and bound with a decorative leather strap. I would venture to guess that even before today’s ordeal, this human wore her locks wild and free.