My Orc Husband Dotes on Me Excessively

In Dire Straits

Anlo lifted the pheasant from her trap and hefted it in her hands. She had to admit, it fit surprisingly well in her grip. This beast easily weighed over twenty pounds. All flora and fauna across the Godbeast Continent grew several times larger than the creatures of later eras, so the weight barely surprised Anlo. But the moment she hoisted the bird, a system alert chimed inside her head—only to cut off abruptly mid-message. *Ding~ Recording ancient exotic pheasant… Beep beep beep… Recording failed… Beep beep beep…* Anlo: “!!!??” She stood there holding the pheasant for ages, waiting, yet no further system notifications came. Reluctantly, she gave up. Wild pheasants were scarce in later ages but far from rare. The system must have glitched out, she reasoned. With that thought, she brushed the odd occurrence from her mind. Glancing at her trap, mangled beyond repair, she set the pheasant down. She pulled out all her sharpened wooden stakes and filled in the pit to stop other creatures from stumbling in and hurting themselves. Once everything was tidied, Anlo loaded the pheasant into her cart and set off to hunt for more food. As she trekked onward, she must’ve wandered straight into the pheasants’ nesting grounds. By sheer luck, she stumbled across two clutches of pheasant eggs and a brood of newly hatched chicks. No mother bird lingered nearby—she must’ve left to forage. This unexpected windfall left Anlo frozen, torn with indecision. On one hand, she could take the eggs and chicks to raise in captivity, meaning she’d never have to waste energy hunting again. On the other, guilt gnawed at her. Was stealing a whole brood too cruel in this brutal beastworld? Before she could settle on a choice, a loud clucking echoed from behind her. Figuring it was the mother pheasant returning to her young, Anlo ducked behind a thick oak tree, well aware how fiercely hens defended their offspring. The next second came a feral crunching snarl. The clucking cut off instantly. Anlo peeked her head out from behind the trunk. The mother hen was nowhere to be seen, only a dark pool of fresh blood staining the dirt. A cold prickle crawled down her spine, dread coiling tight in her gut. She twisted around—and locked eyes with a pair of glowing emerald irises. Her body stiffened completely, overcome with terror. Wolffang froze too, his nose twitching as he tracked the scent trail. He’d only come out to hunt, never expecting such a pleasant surprise. A delicate, stunning young female, all soft and pale. Wolffang parted his bloodied jaws crusted with stray pheasant feathers, running his rough tongue over his sharp fangs in greedy anticipation. “What a pretty little female. Pale and tender meat—you’d taste wonderful. How about I eat you first, little one?” With that, Wolffang bent his hind legs and lunged straight for her. A wolfclan orc! Anlo’s face drained of all color in an instant. She had no proper weapon within reach. She dove aside to dodge his pounce, screaming for help at the top of her lungs. Missing his mark, Wolffang lifted his head and let out a wild, mocking laugh. “Now that’s fun! I’ve never met a female brave enough to yell at me. Surrender to me, Wolffang, and I’ll make sure you never go hungry again.” Anlo snatched a thick branch off the ground, holding it up as a barrier between them, her voice sharp with threat. “Stay back! I haven’t reached maturity yet. The Beast God decreed no male may harm underage females—any who break the rule face terrible punishment. I’m a female of the Lionclan tribe, too. If you lay a finger on me, my clan will hunt you down without mercy.” “Lionclan?” Conflicker flickered across Wolffang’s green eyes. “I know every Lionclan female in these woods, yet I’ve never laid eyes on you. You claim you’re one of them—so why haven’t I seen you before?” He took another heavy step forward, closing the gap between them.

Anlo stumbled backward, swallowing hard in fear. “I only joined the tribe recently. It makes sense you wouldn’t know me.”

Wolffang barked a loud, arrogant laugh at her reply.

“Hahaha—so you only just joined a clan?” Wolffang’s tone twisted sharp in an instant. He lunged without warning, slamming her flat against the forest floor, his jaws tearing roughly at her hide skirt.

He remained fully shifted into his wolf beast form, lowering his muzzle to inhale her hair in a taunting, possessive drag, his eyes swimming with greedy rapture. “You smell divine. And I, Wolffang, am a rogue orc—no Beast God’s rules bind me. Surrender to me willingly, little female, hahaha…”

Dread and bitter disappointment flickered across Anlo’s eyes at his words. These past few days, she’d asked countless travelers about the ways of this world. The threat all orcs feared far more than savage mountain beasts were the rogue exiles, cast out from every clan. Most rogues bore twisted, cruel hearts, and they spurned the Beast God entirely, paying no heed to sacred laws. Worst of all were the scarce, precious females. If one fell into a rogue’s clutches, they would be tormented and defiled until their breath faded—a fate far crueler than any female confined to the communal nesting dens.

A violent shiver racked Anlo’s frame.

Wolffang mistook her trembling for surrender, all fight drained from her. Boredom washed over his beastly features. “Just like every spineless female—dreadfully dull.” “Very well. Let me take you once, and I’ll spare your life.”

Anlo snapped back to lucidity in a heartbeat. Caring nothing if her system cart revealed itself, she snatched a bone dagger from within it, driving the blade deep into his flank when Wolffang’s guard slipped.

“Ahh!!” A deafening wolf howl split the woods alongside his agonized scream.

The weight pinning Anlo vanished in an instant. A silver wolf had burst from the underbrush and tackled Wolffang to the dirt. The two beasts rolled locked in a ferocious tangle of teeth and claws, both trapped fully in their wolf forms.

“Linghao! I spotted this little female first—you have no right to steal her!” Wolffang snarled, rage blazing across his beastly face.

His only reply was an even more furious, ear-splitting wolf cry.

Amid their echoing snarls, Anlo scrambled shakily to her feet and fled blindly through the trees. Thorny vines sliced open her limbs and cheeks, drawing bright streaks of blood, yet she dared not slow for even a breath. From Wolffang’s shouts, she knew the silver wolf was another rogue. Captured by either, her fate would be unspeakable.

She ran until every scrap of strength burned away from her bones, her vision swimming on the verge of collapse—when a familiar voice cut through the forest haze.

“Lolo!!”

She lifted her tear-blurred gaze and saw Baize, his face etched raw with frantic, crushing worry.

Anlo looked utterly ruined. Her hide skirt hung tattered to rags; raw, gashed wounds marred her soft limbs and cheeks, glistening with fresh blood. Tears streaked muddy tracks down her face, her small frame shaking like a frightened stray, and the sight wrenched Baize’s heart clean in two.

He stepped toward her slowly, gathering her gently into his arms with the softest care to soothe her trembling.

Anlo had yet to shake the paralyzing terror of the attack, and her body flinched instinctively at his hold. The second she registered Baize’s familiar scent, all her suppressed grief and fear burst free. She clung to him tight, burying her face against his chest and sobbing uncontrollably.

She’d been so close—so close to being violated by that rogue orc. If that silver wolf hadn’t burst in to fight Wolffang off, she dared not imagine what horrors would have befallen her…