Page 14 of Scoring the Orc

I dodge his strike, my reflexes sharp from years of combat. I lunge at him, tackling him to the ground. The crowd roars as I pummel him with my fists, each blow landing with a wet, crunching sound. Blood splatters across my knuckles and his face, and he struggles beneath me, trying to fend off my attacks.

With a savage growl, I grab him by the collar and slam his head into the ground. Blood streams from his nose and mouth, but I don’t stop. I want him to remember this, to know without a doubt that he’s been bested.

He manages to land a punch to my jaw, but it only fuels my rage. I grab his arm and twist, feeling the satisfying snap of bone. He screams in agony, but the sound is drowned out by the cheers of the crowd.

Finally, I stand, leaving Aleryn a broken, bloody mess on the ground. He clutches his side and his shattered arm, his face a mask of pain and defeat. I stand over him, my chest heaving with exertion, my eyes dark with triumph. “The spoils are ours,” I repeat, my voice carrying over the din. "All of them."

Aleryn glares up at me, his defeat bitter. He knows he cannot challenge me further. With a pained nod, he concedes, and the dark elves retreat, leaving the girl alone standing alone. I turn toward her expectantly.

As she approaches, her eyes dart around, taking in the scene of orcs celebrating and devouring their spoils. None of them even bothered to stop during my fight, too used to the bloodshed of our kind. She looks terrified, and yet, there’s a resilience in her gaze that catches my attention. She stops a few feet away from me, trembling, her eyes finally meeting mine.

“What’s your name?” I ask, my tone softer, though it still carries the weight of command.

“E-Emilia,” she stammers, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Emilia,” I repeat, tasting the name. It’s delicate, like her. I step closer, towering over her, and she tilts her head back to look up at me. I can see the fear in her eyes, but also a flicker of defiance. Interesting.

She swallows hard. I can tell she’s trying to be brave, but the uncertainty is clear in her eyes. I feel a strange mix of amusement and admiration. This will be... interesting.

Turning to my team, I raise my voice. “Tonight, we celebrate! For the Bloodcrushers and our new spoils!”

A cheer erupts from my teammates, and I feel a surge of pride. As they joke about who will claim Emilia, the air buzzes with crude comments and laughter. Rogar elbows Karg, a wicked grin on his face. “Think she can handle an orc, Karg?”

Karg snorts, “She looks like she’d snap in half! Maybe we should draw lots.”

Laughter ripples through the group, but I’m not amused. Anger flares within me, a protective instinct I don’t fully understand. These men are my brothers, my comrades, but their words about Emilia strike a nerve I didn’t know I had.

I step forward wordlessly, pushing past Rogar and Karg, who have managed to get between me and Emilia, silencing their banter. The crowd murmurs in surprise as I reach for Emilia.

Her eyes widen as I lift her chin with a calloused hand, forcing her to look at me. In that moment, everything else fades away—the noise, the crowd, the victory. It’s just her and me.

“She's mine,” I declare gruffly, my voice brooking no argument. Emilia recoils slightly, but I hold her firm, my fingers gently yet insistently keeping her in place. Her skin is soft beneath my rough hand, and her large green eyes flicker with fear and something else—something that intrigues me deeply.

The way her auburn hair cascades around her face, the freckles dotting her fair skin, the delicate curve of her nose—it all captivates me in a way I can’t explain. She seems so out of place here, so fragile amidst the brutality of our world. And yet, there’s a spark in her eyes that speaks of resilience, of defiance. I’m drawn to it, to her.

The murmurs of the crowd die down, replaced by a tense silence. My team falls silent too, recognizing and respecting their captain’s right to the prize. I see a few raised eyebrows and exchanged glances, but no one challenges me. They know better than to question my decisions.

“Understood, Captain,” Rogar finally says, breaking the silence. There’s a hint of respect in his voice, and he nods slightly. I can tell he’s surprised, perhaps even impressed, by my claim.

I release Emilia’s chin, my fingers brushing against the softness of her skin for a moment longer than necessary. She takes a step back, her breath quickening. I can see the confusion and fear in her eyes, but also that spark of defiance. Good. I’d hate for her to be completely broken.

As I look at her, I feel an unexpected pull. She’s beautiful, yes, but it’s more than that. There’s something about her that stirs something deep within me, a curiosity maybe. I want to know who she is, what she’s been through. I want to understand the fire that still burns in her despite everything – and how to make it burn only for me.

I’ve seen countless spoils of war, but none have ever affected me like this. There’s a possessiveness growing inside me, a need to keep her safe from the world’s harshness – for me to be the only that breaks her. She’s mine.

“Come,” I say, softer now but still authoritative. “You’ll stay with me.”

Emilia hesitates, then nods, her movements stiff and uncertain.

11

EMILIA

Ican do this. I can do this. I can do this.

My entire body trembling and my heart pounding, though, are telling me that I cannot, in fact, do this. I feel like I’m about to pass out, and Jurto – enough orcs were shouting it that it didn’t take long to figure out his name – must notice.

“Do I need to fucking drag you?” he huffs as he turns around. And even though I’m close to blacking out from fear, my mind still drinks in the sight of his shirtless torso. I shouldn’t think someone like this is so hot.

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