Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 29324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 147(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
I thought finding my long-lost family would be a dream come true.
Instead, I inherited a mountain of debt, a filthy house, and the role of unpaid help.
Desperate to escape, I answer a last-minute nanny ad.
Now I’m living in a castle with a baby… and her Orc guardian.
Everything is going great until the very large, very green, very growly leader of the settlement steps into the picture.
Oren is all tusks and temper and too-hot-for-my-own-good stares.
He says I belong to him.
I say I’m just here for the job.
But every time he looks at me like I’m already his… I start to wonder if maybe I want to be.
My brother hired a human nanny.
And brought her into my settlement.
She’s soft where I’m hard, light where I’m shadows. Meant for a better world than mine.
But the moment Ella comes into my world, something primal snaps into place.
She soothes me with her touch. Challenges me with that fire in her eyes.
Ella thinks she’s passing through. She’s wrong.
She came here to care for my brother's child…
But I’m keeping her for me.
Coming this curvy heroines, alpha monsters, and fairy‑tale chaos collide in a whirlwind of dirty declarations, magical matings, and heart‑thumping happily ever afters. For readers who like their fairy tales filthy, heartfelt, and unforgettably fun
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1
Oren
The sound of steel-on-steel ricochets off the courtyard walls, bouncing and doubling until the valley itself vibrates with war. I want my men—no, my guards, my hand-picked elite—to feel the reverberations in their tusks and molars. I want it ringing in their ears when they drag themselves to their bunks. If they’re lucky, the ghosts of their mistakes will haunt them in their sleep and spare me from dealing with their idiocy tomorrow.
We run the spear drill again. I pace the length of the sand-pitted floor, correcting posture with the subtlety of a battering ram. “Your left hand is lazy, Turg,” I bark, shoving the haft down and nearly dislocating the poor bastard’s thumb. “You planning to let the enemy rearrange your knuckles for free? At least charge admission.”
Turg grunts in pain but squares his shoulders. The rest of the line snaps their grips tighter, all except the runt at the end. He’s new, not even a year out of training, and his sweat shines on his upper lip. He makes the mistake of looking at me for reassurance.
“Arch,” he gasps, trying to keep the polearm upright as I loom over him. “Permission to—”
“Permission denied.” I wrench the spear away and plant the blunt end in the dirt between his legs. “You drop your weapon on the field, and you’ll be food for the crows. You drop it in my training yard, and you’ll be food for the kitchen.” The threat is empty. The settlement’s chef has enough to work with, given our population, but it keeps the discipline tight.
The next circuit is a blur of thrusts and parries, the slap of wood on callused palms, the scrape of boots on stone. Sweat pours down my back and soaks the bandages covering my latest training wounds. Good. If you’re not bleeding, you’re not training hard enough.
I demonstrate the finishing move—a full-body pivot, arms twisting like you’re wringing the spine from a goat—and relish the chorus of groans as the recruits attempt to mimic my speed.
The sun stands high and unmerciful over the courtyard, and the air tastes of iron and moss. Above us, the signature archways of the settlement cast shadows, long and greenish, across the drill pit. I take a breath, already plotting what discipline to dish out when Aric shows up late for his supervisory shift.
Right on cue: a flurry of movement at the west arch. Aric appears, ducking beneath the stone and jogging across the sand. Even at a distance, he looks wrong—his shoulders hunched, his usual precision blunted by… what the hell is that?
Strapped across his chest, bobbing in a comically mismatched sling, is an infant. A human infant. Pink as a shaved mole rat, small enough to fit in one of my gauntlets, and already drooling down Aric’s human t-shirt.
I stop mid-holler. The drill line stumbles into chaos behind me, spears colliding, curses flying.
Aric slows as he gets closer, his gaze set somewhere above my head. I can’t tell if he’s pretending not to notice the incredulity on my face, or if he’s just gone completely soft in the skull. Knowing my brother, both are equally likely.
He raises a hand in a limp wave. “Oren, I can explain.”
“You’d better,” I say, making no effort to hide my incredulous tone. The rest of the guards are openly staring now, even Turg, who’s still massaging his thumb. When I allowed Kodi Brute to build a library on the settlement, I knew it would mean more humans and human ways permeating the settlement. I just never imagined I’d see my brother walking around with a little human strapped to his chest.
“I’m on shift,” Aric tries, his voice pitched low, as if the baby’s hearing is a strategic asset. “But Kolson bailed on me. And I couldn’t leave her with anyone else. She gets separation anxiety.” The child gurgles and, as if on cue, launches a string of bubbles in my direction.
“Why is she attached to your chest?” The question echoes around the courtyard
Aric cradles the child a little tighter, his biceps straining against the wrap. “She’s mine.”
Fucking hell. Carrying an infant strapped to your chest is just… wrong. I turn and see half my unit gaping, two others whispering behind their knuckles. “All of you, eyes forward!” The reaction is instant; spears snap upright like a forest in a windstorm.
Aric lingers by the edge of the pit, humming some off-key lullaby as he rocks the baby in her sling. The guards sidestep them as if the pair were made of unstable explosives. I stride over, every step calculated for maximum intimidation. If Aric flinches, I’ll count it as a win. He doesn’t. Instead, he tightens his hold on the child and gives me the look that says, “let’s get this over with.”
“Are you out of your mind?” I snarl, keeping my voice low but dense enough to drop a charging bull. “You can’t bring a human child to a weapons drill.”