Order of scorpions, p.1
Order of Scorpions, page 1
Order of Scorpions
IVY ASHER
Copyright © 2022 by Ivy Asher
All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the author, except in cases of a reviewer quoting brief passages in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact ivy@ivyasher.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Edited by Polished Perfection
Cover by The Illustrated Author
For those that fall before they fly
Contents
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Epilogue
Ivy Asher
Also by Ivy Asher
Author’s Note
This book takes place in a dark and brutal fantasy world. In this world the powerful prey on the unfortunate, and that dynamic is often described using the titles Master/Masters as well as blade slave/flesh slave/house slave/ etc… This story contains murder, graphic violence, and descriptive consensual sex. There are incidences of, and references to: torture, sexual assault, characters being sold against their will, starvation, suicide, poisoning, physical assault, and being drugged to facilitate rape and kidnapping. The beginning of this book is the darkest, it does grow lighter as the story progresses. Please be aware that there may be additional triggering content not listed.
Chapter
One
A loud clang of metal slamming against metal jolts me awake. Stale air reeking of filthy bodies and unwashed chamber pots fills my lungs, and I gag at the offensive stench. Bitter cold settles deep in my bones, eliciting a shiver and igniting a flare of confusion.
Where am I?
The thought feels thick and hazy as it tumbles around in my mind. I try to open my eyes, but they’re crusted shut. There’s a twinge of pain from the pull of my eyelashes as I struggle to open my lids, and I rub at my eyes to clear them. My heart kicks up with worry as foreign, unwelcome sensations continue to assault my senses.
Something is very wrong.
I don’t know what’s happening or why my body aches as though it’s been to war. I try to piece my chaotic confusion together, but it’s as though I’m attempting to boil water with a fire that’s all but gone out. I fight against the pounding in my head and the panic in my chest, and painfully I force my eyelids open. All I find for my struggle is endless layers of blackness all around me.
A quiet groan slips out of my mouth when I turn my head to better take in my inky surroundings. The slight movement invites the ache in my skull to spread down my neck and into my shoulders. Pain rolls through me like wind-pestered ripples over the surface of a glassy lake, and I pull in deep breaths of fetid air to try to fight the black spots that start to speckle my already dark vision.
Nausea roils in my belly, and I clench my fists, the movement a lethargic reaction to the misery coursing through me. My short nails scrape roughly against the frigid floor I’m sprawled across as the need to fight whoever has done this to me floats in my blood. Too bad everything about where I am or why is blank. It’s as though someone hastily erased all the vital details of who I am, leaving only streaks of chalk and murky clouds of dust in their wake.
Barely suppressed sobs draw my attention somewhere to my left. My eyes struggle to adjust, to bring into focus what the surrounding blackness has wrapped in its cloying grip. I swallow down my trepidation, suddenly noticing the flavor of terror in my mouth as though it crawled inside, died, and has been rotting on my tongue for who knows how long. Bile tickles the back of my throat as my eyes finally sharpen in the drowning darkness all around me. I blink once against the onslaught of images, straining to catalog things as I take them in.
It isn’t just the chilly stone underneath my battered limbs that’s sapping my body of heat and comfort. There are metal bars surrounding me. Tall ominous rods embedded into a frosty stone floor and capped off by a baleful blackened metal top.
I’m in a cage.
A cage in part made of iron, and that realization triggers a jolt of panic and adrenaline—although I can’t seem to remember why or how I recognize the danger in this metal. My body is clearly trying to tell me something, something it thinks I should know, but everything in my head is leaden and vacuous. Somehow, the parts of me I need in order to understand these reactions, are missing. Fear spikes even harder in my chest. My heart gallops like it’s surging for first in a race. My body is responding in kind to my frantic emotions, but my thoughts are tripping all over themselves. My head is in last place with no hope of catching up to my body.
I squint into the darkness, seeing more cages. They line the walls of the room, some empty, their open maws ready and waiting to devour unsuspecting victims. Others are filled with helpless heaps like me. Once again I hear the hushed, terrified cadence of soft crying. I try to trace the shattered song to its source, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from.
Panic unfurls in my belly, and pain screams through my arms as I force myself up from the ground on shaky limbs. A silvery lock of hair falls into my face as I move. I freeze. Staring at the unusual hue of the wisps, I wait for the color or texture to trigger some kind of recognition, any kind of cognizance in my addled, pockmarked mind. Nothing comes. I reach for a tuft, tugging at it gently, and feel the roots of the strands tighten against my scalp. It’s definitely my hair.
Why do I feel so confused by that?
I sit up further, despite the warning twinge of my stiff and angry muscles. I rake long fingers through my tresses, pushing the dense strands out of my face. The ends tickle my lower back, but it’s my hands that I’ve now pulled in front of me to stare at.
I don’t know them.
Dread lodges in the base of my throat, thick and intrusive, as I run the pads of my fingers over the unfamiliar features of my face. Long lashes, straight nose, puffy lips, pointed ears, these are things I know, and yet…I don’t. I’m not shocked by what I find at the tips of my fingers, but an image of what those parts create as a whole doesn’t filter into my mind.
I don’t know who I am.
Alarm-tinged certainty clings to that fact. I try to muddle through my memories, to look for anything that exists beyond waking up inside of this cage, but there’s nothing there. My mind is black and barren, and all I find are questions and fear flying around inside of me like feathers on a violent rush of wind.
What’s going on?
Faint shouting erupts somewhere outside of the room of cages, and a few of the others locked inside these iron bars release terrified squeaks of warning. Once again my body responds as though it knows exactly what they’re afraid of. Adrenaline surges in my veins, helping to clear some of the cobwebs from my head and the ache from my limbs. Dismay tightens my muscles, and my heart starts to beat so loud and so fast that it’s suddenly all I can hear. It’s as though the blaring rhythm is trying to drown out the sounds of what’s coming, trying to protect me from the horrors of what I’m going to encounter.
Instinct has me scurrying back in my cage, trying to get as far as I can from whatever is going on. A sizzling sting rips through my bare shoulders as they come in contact with the bars at my back. I yelp as I jerk away from the burning iron rods. The smell of scorched skin clings to the inside of my nose as I scramble to the middle of my cage. I reach behind me, hissing as my fingertips test the throbbing new injuries. It seems that my sleeveless shift protected my back at least, but I burned the backs of my shoulders and both arms. A helpless whimper slips from my lips as I huddle in the middle of my cage, eyeing the iron barriers as the yelling outside gets louder.
Iron hurts the fae.
Out of nowhere, my fear-laden mind provides this fact as though it’s something I should know.
Fae.
Is that what I am? I wait expectantly as though the answer will pop up in my head just as unbidden and unexpected as the previous thought, but nothing comes. There’s no sense of knowing or rightness at the notion of fae, only pain and panic.
The heavy tread of multiple feet reverberates somewhere outside the room of cages. I watch helplessly as other prisoners fold in on themselves as though they’re trying to disappear into the darkness itself.
“What’s happening?” I rasp, surprise moving through me at the discovery that I can use my voice for more than just whimpers and pained groans.
Before anyone can so much as wince in my direction, a large door at one end of the room slides open with a piercing screech. My eyes snap shut from the painful stab of light that slices into the room. I cover my head with my arms at the sound, my sensitive ears pounding from the abuse. No matter how much it makes me ache, I force myself to peek at the newcomers. I need answers, and I can’t hide away from finding them, no matter how petrified I am.
“Which one is she in?” a snarling voice demands.
I can only make out dark, blurry silhouettes against the bright backlight. Two towering blobs and one much smaller and leaner dark visage.
“The far back kennel, Dorsin. The one away from the others,” one of the big blobs grumbles, pique and displeasure layered in his obedient response.
“Bring her to my office like you were told to do from the beginning,” the smaller silhouette, the one the other just called Dorsin, bellows. I automatically flinch from the exploding rage of the command.
An angry stomp of footfall starts and then quickly fades away as Dorsin’s sliver of darkness grows smaller and smaller until it’s swallowed up by the light of a long hallway. Then the two massive outlines step away from the light and begin to move through the room of cages. The brightness at their backs hides their features, but menace and fury pulse off the figures as they soundlessly make their way closer. The smell of piss suddenly permeates the room. I look and see pools form around some of the other caged and huddled beings, their fear all at once stronger than their ability to hold their bladder. The direction the two mountainous males are moving in makes my stomach drop. Terror starts to choke me, and I fight the urge to close my eyes and pretend none of this is happening.
The light at the entrance only stretches so far, and as the hulking shadows close the distance, darkness works to paint the terrifying duo before slowly revealing their features. When the dark gray skin, slitted yellow eyes, and smashed facial features become apparent, the word orc screams in my head. I know that’s what they are, just like I suddenly know they’re members of the Night Court and native to the lava mines. Yet amidst all that certainty, there’s still nothing but blankness when I scramble to search for anything that could explain who I am or what they want with me.
They reach for the front of my cage, and I hurry to get as far away from them as I can. Burning iron bars at my back once again immediately stop my retreat, and my pained shriek has one of the orcs humming in satisfaction as though my cry is its favorite sound in all of the realms.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I beg, my voice barely a croak, as a black key slides smoothly into the lock of my cage. With a flick of a thick wrist, the front of my enclosure swings open with a terrible weighted silence.
My gaze darts around, desperate for a path that leads to escape, or for help, but all that’s there is the cool taunt of iron and the barbarous bulk of orc. Rounded claws tip the hulking hand that reaches for me, and dread slips out of my mouth on a mewl that quickly transforms to an anguished cry as he wraps his fist in my hair and yanks me brutally out of the cage. My hands shoot to the fist in my locks, leaving me defenseless to the palm that wraps around my throat. My tormented and horror-filled sounds are cut off when the orc tightens his grip on my neck and holds me in the air like I’m nothing more than a naughty cria in need of discipline.
Hot piss runs down my leg as I claw at the choking grip on my throat.
“Your fear is making me hard, little gash,” a gravelly voice declares from behind me as the heat radiating off of him engulfs me.
The orc’s thick armor-like skin presses against my back, and a sickeningly long, wet, and warm tongue moves up my cheek. He licks the tracks of tears spilling down one side of my face and then moves to lick the other side as the orc in front of me watches with lurid excitement. The iron burns on my shoulders turn agonizing against the inferno of the orc’s skin, and black edges begin to frame my terrified, watery vision.
“Let me hear her, Ghat,” the orc at my back commands, and the hand at my throat loosens as a large arm wraps around my waist to anchor me to one of the monster’s bodies.
I wheeze and gasp, begging my lungs to fill and empty, over and over again, as pathetic whimpers pour out of me and fresh tears trail down my face.
“Please,” I implore, the single angst-laced word all my damaged throat can manage before the hand tightens around my neck in warning.
“Begging already for us is she, Eorn?” the orc at my front asks, his slitted yellow eyes raking over me with nauseating promises glowing in their depths.
He reaches for the urine-soaked hem of my shift, pulling it up with a jerk, and I explode into frenzied action. I fight and kick and scratch to get away, but the grip on my throat tightens until enclosing black threatens to take me and exhaustion weighs down every limb. My pitiful attempts to break away are useless, the orc’s hold on me certain, and I try to embrace the anger surging through me and not give in to the helplessness that’s now threatening to pull me under like an anchor.
They laugh as I impotently battle and try to keep orc hands from my hips. The arm around my abdomen tightens as the orc in front of me, Ghat, bends over. His lips split into a vicious smile. Sharp teeth gleam at me before he juts out a thick black tongue. He licks a streak of piss from my thigh, loosening his hold on my neck as he laps up another and another. I’m horrified, and disgusted, and painfully aware that each lick is getting closer and closer to parts of me I would never offer freely to a beast like him. Hysteria and horror work to take over my every thought as I desperately gasp for air now that the orc’s hold on my throat has loosened.
Ghat watches me, his salacious gaze never leaving mine as he licks the wet evidence of fear from my legs like he’s savoring it. His eyes light up at the fright and alarm in mine, and he looks down at my piss-stained underwear and then up at me like he wants there to be no doubt where this is going.
“Come, brother, you know Dorsin doesn’t like to be kept waiting. He’s already all twisted up about this little prize,” the orc at my back, Eorn, announces as he nuzzles my neck.
His breath reeks of rotten meat, and I try not to gag as another weak whimper crawls up my throat. Ghat growls irritably, but after another long revolting lick up my inner thigh, he straightens up. “Think he’ll let us play with her later?” he asks.
“I don’t think we’ll get to come to this one’s screams unless her people don’t pay up. This was a big job though. I bet he gives us a couple of the others, let us break them in before they’re sold off,” Eorn replies, a smile stretching across his horrible face.
