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Samson was already awake when the sun came up the next morning. He’d been reliving the events of the past few days over and over, wondering if he would ever see his family again. He thought about his brother, Kane. He could be out there searching for him right now. Samson remembered all the dangers he’d faced in the forest. A sharp pain gripped his heart.

No. There’s still hope. I can’t give up.

True to her word, Rachelle showed up the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that until a week had gone by. Each visit was the same. First, she would check Samson all over, paying close attention to the dark shape still tattooed on his belly. Then she would bring out lunch, which was always a light broth accompanied by a variety of fruits and vegetables. Then, after she’d made sure Samson had eaten enough, Rachelle would rub an ointment-covered cloth all over his body. On the first day, Samson made the mistake of asking what it was.

Samson’s mouth opened into a silent scream as Dalthu’s cock plowed into him. 

I’m going to tear!

“Da–Dalthu! Wait!” Samson tried to squirm away, but large green hands held him tightly around the waist, preventing escape. Dalthu groaned and humped his hips forward, forcing his cockhead farther in. Samson yelped and arched his ass up as his inner walls were pushed aside, forced to accept the orc’s brutal presence. “You’re too b–big!”

“What did he say?!”

"The breeder isn’t claimed?"

“But the ritual—”

“Impossible!” The braided orc Shakil gave a strained laugh as he drifted to Dalthu’s side. "That's right, impossible. We all saw, didn't we? We witnessed the ceremony—"

“You were tricked. We were all tricked by that . . . that . . . “ Baronk stabbed a finger at Samson. “Gubuk.”

Dalthu stepped in front of Samson, blocking him from view. “Watch what you say.”

The altar on the platform was otherworldly in its beauty. Carved out of a single slab of marble, its surface gleamed like white moonlight. Dalthu swiftly walked over to it and set Samson down, the cool edge of the table hitting the backs of Samson’s legs. “Lie back, little tiger.”

Not breaking eye contact, Samson obeyed. Dalthu stepped in between his legs and grabbed his ankles, swiftly pushing them back until they were up next to Samson’s own head and his buttocks were raised high up in the air. 

“W–wait!” Blood rushed to Samson’s head and his cheeks flushed bright red. He hadn’t expected this, to be posed so lewdly, his legs spread open for all to see. 

Dalthu’s words echoed in Samson’s mind: “It’s our turn.”

Samson’s eyes flicked over his shoulder. The door they’d entered through was less than ten feet behind him. If he was going to make a move, it would have to be now. Samson tensed his muscles, preparing for a burst of energy to escape when something hard gripped the back of his neck. It was Dalthu. 

“Trying to disobey me already?”

Samson knew eventually it would be impossible to see in the dark cave and he’d have to give in and hold on to Dalthu for guidance. But for now, he would continue his small act of defiance by refusing to take the orc’s hand. As they walked through the tunnel in silence, Samson gave his escort a sideways glance. 

The orc warrior was handsome, Samson had to admit it. He was blessed with a strong jawline that complemented his masculine features. A straight nose and full lips finished the composition. If he didn’t have the customary tusks and pointed ears, Dalthu would have been the envy of every man in Samson’s village.

Within minutes of Dalthu leaving, Samson was back in the giant tub. Behind him, Dalthu’s human mother, Rachelle, was humming a bright tune while scrubbing his back. 

“We have a little bit of time,” she said, taking a bowl of water and rinsing the suds off. “Not as much as I’d like, but don’t worry, we’ll get you ready.”

Yes. I certainly wouldn’t want to be late to any more of this nightmare.

“Where did he touch you?” 

Dalthu lowered his head between Samson’s legs, and Samson could feel the orc’s hot breath puff urgently against his skin. It tickled the sensitive area. 

“Here?” The orc delivered an experimental lick across Samson’s asshole. 

“Show me your ass.”

Dalthu moved toward Samson with the instrument. It looked like a wineskin, but instead of wine, this one held soapy water. A hollow reed was attached to the swollen bladder. If you applied pressure to the sack, the tube would direct the flow of water wherever you liked. Samson was certain he knew where Dalthu planned to direct it, and he was certain he was not going to like it.