Page 45 of Scoring the Orc

I can't help but be swept up in the excitement. My heart races, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I clap and cheer, my voice lost in the sea of sounds. Despite the fact that his teammates encapsulate him, Jurto still searches the crowd with a wistful expression. When his eyes find mine, there's an unspoken promise in his look, a shared moment of triumph that bridges the distance between us.

I want to rush to him, to hug him, to kiss him for the victorious game he just led, but I control my instincts. I stay hidden in the shadows, not wanting to steal any attention off of Jurto. He deserves every second of this.

And I’m not entirely sure he wants his teammates to see him in a vulnerable spot. Especially not after such an electric win.

My legs tremble, not from exhaustion but from an overwhelming surge of relief and joy. Jurto’s victory doesn’t just signify a win in the game; it's a personal victory for us, a reassurance of safety and a future together. The field below is a canvas of celebration, with Jurto at the center, a warrior in his element, his victory roar melding with the cries of his teammates.

He stands tall among his fellow Bloodcrushers, their burly forms engulfing him in hearty embraces. They slap his back and shake him by the shoulders, a band of brothers united by their hard-fought triumph. Jurto’s face is alight with a raw, exhilarating happiness that I’ve never seen before. It’s infectious, and I can’t help but smile broadly, my heart swelling in my chest as I continue to make my way toward him.

When his roaring laughter and cheers subside, his gaze lifts again, searching the crowd. His eyes, those deep wells of passion and strength, lock onto mine.

He keeps searching for me, I think to myself. He wants to be with me.

Time seems to pause, the noise around us fading into a distant hum. In his look, I see everything—the battles fought, the love declared, and the quiet promise of a shared future. The intensity of his stare sends a warmth spreading through me. I am his, completely and irrevocably, and now, more than ever, I am relieved and grateful for it.

A wave of emotions crashes over me. The distance between feels insurmountable in this moment, filled with the chaotic joy of victory. I can't yet cross that expanse, not until the crowd thins and the last echoes of celebration fade. So, I stand here, in the secluded spot where he’s left me to observe the game, watching him revel in triumph, surrounded by his teammates, and I find myself reflecting on our journey together.

Jurto and I are an unlikely pair, our differences as stark as night and day. He, with his relentless warrior spirit, thrives in the clamor and clash of the game, while I, more reserved, find solace in the quieter, untouched corners of the world. Yet, despite these differences, or perhaps because of them, we've found a rhythm, a way to dance around our disparities and meet in the middle where love resides.

As he laughs, his head thrown back, the setting sun casting a glow around him, I realize how much he has grown. He's not just a player on a field; he's an orc who has faced down fears and fought battles, both literal and metaphorical, for us. This victory on the field is a testament to his strength and determination, qualities that reassure me despite the fears that often plague my thoughts.

He’s in love with me. I realize that now, and I’m hopelessly devoted to him. So much so, that the thought of losing him makes the air seem scarce within my lungs.

I wouldn’t be able to go on without him. I never felt this way under Aleryn’s ownership. And that’s the thing. With Jurto, I don’t feel like someone who is owned. I feel as if I am his equal. And he makes me feel as if I belong by his side.

We've had our share of challenges, moments when it seemed like the world was conspiring to pull us apart. There were times when I doubted, when the fear that I might lose him, or worse, crept into my quiet hours. But looking at him now, victorious and vibrant, I understand the depth of his commitment. Each game, each battle he's fought, wasn't just for glory or triumph; it was for us, for a future he's determined to secure.

He did this all for us. And I am so happy to spend the rest of my years by his side. No other team will dare challenge him for me, not after seeing what he’s capable of doing to the ones who test him.

30

JURTO

Around me, my brothers enjoy the spoils of our victory. Hrogun and Borka feast on some of the dried meats included in the large chest, while Varg and Rogar talk about how they’ll split the money amongst the team.

I’m not interested in those rewards. My prize awaits me in the shadows of the arena, and when the rest of my team discusses the riveting moments of the match, I slip away with ease.

Emilia, I think. My heart races at the thought of her and there’s a stirring in my loins that only she can manage to elicit. I’m coming for you.

Unsurprisingly, she’s waiting for me right where I left her. She’s good at obeying me. And she’s great at making me happy.

When she sees me, her eyes light up with an unspoken relief. My shoulders relax. I’m finally freed from the weight of the zyrphix match and can enjoy my newfound victory.

“Jurto,” she whispers.

At the sight of me, she rushes forward and embraces me tightly, her body trembling with relief. I return her embrace, enfolding her petite form against my powerful frame. When our lips meet, the kiss ignites a flame of passion and affirmation between us. It's a reassurance, a silent vow renewed in the wake of battle's chaos.

Breaking away, Emilia's eyes, wide and shimmering, meet mine. "Gods, I was so terrified when you fell. When that fucking idiot Gargash slammed into you like that," she confesses, her voice a fragile whisper against the din of my still-racing heart.

I can't help but smile, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "I'm tougher than that," I assure her, my tone light, trying to ease her worry. The battlefield is my realm, but here, in this quiet moment, I find a different kind of strength in her concern.

"But you were down, and I... I thought—" Her voice breaks, and she looks away, unable to finish.

I lift her chin gently, compelling her to look at me again. "I always get up, Emilia. For you, I always will." It's a promise, deep and unwavering. The truth is, the pain from the match still lingers, a dull ache that pales in comparison to the thought of her fearing for me.

Her eyes search mine, looking for the certainty that always grounds her. "You're sure you're alright?" she presses, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw, tender yet tentative. “You took a lot of heavy hits during the match.”

"More than alright now that I see you," I reply, my voice low. The warmth of her nearness seeps into me, dulling the physical discomfort that clings like the remnants of a bad dream. This, here with her, is what victory feels like.

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