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"You're weak!"

A crash of furniture summons Miranda out of her chamber, where the tantrum interrupted hours of study. Out of the master bedroom, a man rushes out, slamming the door behind him, catching his breath.

Miranda, dressed in her loose-fitting house clothes, eyes the stranger, noting his unkempt hair, his broad shoulders, and his wide-eyed stare.

"She picked ya up from the arena?" Miranda asks, leaning against the doorframe.

The young man wipes his brow and nods. "Ah, yeah. I just won a fight, but damn, she's stronger than the challenger I went up against today."

"That's where you got your black eye?" she asks, "or from the old woman."

He reaches up.

Miranda chuckles. "Yer one of the lucky ones. Once she gets in a bloodlust, that's it. You gotta fight or run."

"I didn't want to do either," he says.

Miranda tilts her head. "Chasing her money or her tusks?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," she says, walking up toward him. "Loverboy."

"Look, kid. I'm leaving this place before that lady figures out how to open her door again."

He moves forward, bumping into her shoulder, but Miranda grabs him by the arm and throws him up against the wall, chest first. She leans in, standing on her toes. "Are ya, now? 'Cause it sounds like you're planning on leaving this 'girl' alone with a madwoman in an old manor. You came here for some action, didn't ya? Well, how about someone your age?"

He gulps, flexing his arm. "Let go of me!"

"Make me."

He snarls, throwing his free elbow back and smacking her. Miranda stumbles back, and he rushes her, shoving her shoulders up against the opposite wall, his breath heavy as he looks over her.

Her breath comes heavy, too, watching him with half-lidded eyes. "Bedroom's back there,' she says, tilting her head to the door beside her. She reaches out, grabs the knob, and turns it.

He swallows, and then he scoops her up. She drapes her arms over his shoulders and leans in, her forehead pressed to his.

"Let your frustrations out on me," she growls.

The young man nods, and he stomps on into the room.

Clothing falls to the wayside, torn off by the strong fighter's hands. Lips smash together in the throes of young lust. Strong orcish hands grip his sculpted human back as he looms over her, pressing his chest up against her own, his turgid length filling her.

Miranda rolls her eyes back, her head dangling over the edge of the bed, black hair sprawled and dangling.

As he thrusts within her, she thinks about all her fights with the old woman--the threats of how a real orc must have conflict and the madness that courses through Ognesha.

She wraps her legs around him, pulling him in closer. She lifts her head, looking into his desirous eyes--the eyes of a champion.

Soon, their lips lock, tongues dancing that dance of dominance as she slides fingers over his full head of hair. This was the human experience, even if it felt like the rush the old woman had explained the orcish side should cherish.

Miranda coos and gasps as she's taken by this strong man, her body unprotected, even as she holds him in, not allowing him to leave before the deed is done.

With a pitiful groan coming out of the fighter's throat, he shoots up inside her, coating her womanhood with the seed of life before he collapses onto her, panting heavily, patting her cheek.

"Oh... oh fuck..." he groans, pulling himself back. Her legs give way, sprawling out as he stands over her. "The lady's gonna be pissed."

"Let her be," Miranda says, snickering, sitting up and sliding off the bed.

He shakes his head, blowing out a deep breath. "No, no, I can't do this. I shouldn't have. I'm fuckin' dead."

"The hell's your problem, love?" Miranda asks, slipping off the bed and walking toward him. She massages his shoulders, leading him back down. "The old woman brought you over to shag, didn't she? Well, she couldn't do it, so I had to."

"That's just the thing," he says, swallowing a lump in his throat. "There were rules, you see. She was insistent on rules if I wanted to keep my career in the arena."

"Oh, fuck's sake. What are they?."

"She said I had to dominate her."

"Tch, good luck with that one."

"She said I couldn't touch anything in her house without her permission."

"Well, that only makes sense, right?"

"It's the last one, though. That's got me in a jam."

She leans in, resting her cheek upon his shoulder, running a hand over his chest. "Well, I'm sure it ain't that big a deal, mate. Just let it out, and I'll help ya out.

He takes a deep breath. "She told me, and it was in no uncertain terms. That I should never, ever, touch her daughter."

Miranda snorts, pushing herself up, arms around her stomach as she laughs in a mighty guffaw. "Oh, love. I'm not her daughter, I'm here, ward... or her pet. Or punching bag!."

He frowns.

"The old bird doesn't have any kids. She's never married. She's been playing you a fool."

"You... are Miranda, right?"

The shores of the far-off Warlands look oddly peaceful when the ship arrives. The orcish stronghold where they dock is structured with practicality in mind, with palisades and fences facing in-land and with a dockside open for all comers.

"Are you sure there's nothing more we can do for the two of ya?" the Captain asks.

Miranda grasps the old woman tightly, shaking her head. "No, this is for me to help her alone. After all, she is my mother."