Page 12 of The Orc Who Saved Christmas

I hadn't understood it then, the significance of that word—Santa. But now, seeing these children in peril, it stirs a memory. A long-forgotten tale from my childhood, one of the rare moments where my mother's voice was soft, her eyes distant and filled with longing. Santa, a figure of generosity and magic, a symbol of a season that was never meant for the likes of orcs.

Claire's breathing is ragged, her fingers digging into my arm as she awaits my response. The pressure of her expectation is suffocating, yet there's a part of me that yearns to live up to it—to be the warrior she believes I can be.

I step away from her, my boots crunching in the snow as I move closer to the edge of our hidden enclave. The orcs are far enough away now that they won't hear us, but the children's sobs still carry on the wind, a haunting melody that threatens to unravel the last of my resolve.

"Thrag," Claire whispers, her voice now soft, pleading. "Please."

The word hangs between us, a single syllable that holds the power to shatter my self-imposed exile. I've spent so long running from my past, from the failures that haunt me, that the idea of stepping back into the fray terrifies me more than any battle I've ever faced.

The silence that falls between us is as cold and unyielding as the frost creeping over the landscape. Claire's eyes search mine for some glimmer of hope. She doesn't understand—she can't. I'm not the savior she's looking for. I'm a shadow that looms in the night, a disgrace to my kind and myself.

"I'm no protector," I say finally, the words tasting like ash. "I lost my clan. My family. They all died because of me."

Her hand finds mine, her skin pale against my rough, green hide. "They died because someone else took their lives. Not you.But you're still here, Thrag. And you can make sure no one else suffers like that," she whispers gently. Her grip tightens, those slender fingers threading through mine with a strength that surprises me. "You saved me. Twice. If you were truly the monster and failure you think you are, you wouldn’t have done that. You're a protector, whether you believe it or not."

Her words pierce the armor I've built around my heart, the one that's kept me alive through countless battles and the bitter loneliness that followed. I want to pull away, to tell her she's wrong, but something anchors me to this spot. It's not just her touch—it's the unwavering belief in her eyes.

Without another word, Claire turns and begins walking toward the orcs, her determination a palpable force. I watch her, this slip of a human who dares to challenge the darkness with nothing but her conviction. Her figure is soon swallowed by the swirling snow, but the sound of her footsteps echoes in my ears, a silent accusation.

"Damn human," I mutter, grabbing my axe and striding after her. My boots crunch through the icy crust, each step a testament to my own foolishness. I should let her go, let her face the consequences of her recklessness. But the thought of her out there, alone and unprotected, stirs a fury within me that I can't ignore.

As I catch up to her, I see the set of her jaw, the way her breath forms little clouds in the air. She's a warrior in her own right, armed with a courage that I've never known. "You're going to get yourself killed," I growl, my voice barely carrying over the wind.

She doesn't look at me, but her words are clear. "Then it's a good thing you're here."

We move as one, our steps muffled by the snow. The trees loom over us, their branches heavy with ice. I can feel the gravity of the moment, the tension that crackles between us like staticelectricity. Claire is a force of nature, a hurricane that's swept me up in its path. And try as I might, I can't find it in me to resist.

We halt at the edge of a clearing, the moonlight revealing the hulking forms of the orcs as they leer over their captives. The children huddle together, their bodies shaking with fear and cold. I clench my fists, the familiar rage simmering just below the surface.

“We need to do something fast, before it’s too late,” she insists.

My mind starts to race with possibilities, but none of them can ensure everyone’s safety. This might just be a losing battle, again.

13

CLAIRE

My heart thunders in my chest. I fill my lungs with the icy air and step out of the concealing shadows of the forest. My voice soon slices through the stillness. "Hey, you ugly bastards! Over here!" I shout. I wave my arms like a madwoman, knowing full well the danger that will course toward me.

The orcs' heads snap in my direction, their eyes gleaming with predatory intent. I feel their gaze like a physical force, a palpable threat that propels my legs into a desperate sprint. The forest becomes a blur of shadows and snow as I start to weave through the trees, the sound of pursuit growing ever closer. "This was stupid," I berate myself, the taste of fear metallic on my tongue. "So, so stupid."

Glancing back, I see the orcs gaining ground. Their snarls are a chilling symphony to the terror that claws at my chest. "Run!" I scream loudly to the children, my voice raw. "Run now!"

Within a matter of seconds, a frozen lake looms ahead. Its surface is a deceptive expanse of silver under the moonlight. Doubt gnaws at me—can I cross it? Will it hold?

The roar of the orcs behind me is a savage cacophony that spurs me forward. Just as my boot touches the ice, a massivearm ensnares my waist, yanking me backward. I'm airborne for a heartbeat before being unceremoniously dumped onto a snowbank. The impact knocks the wind out of me, and I gasp for breath, my vision swimming.

I look up, expecting to meet the cruel eyes of an orc, but instead, I'm met with a familiar, scarred visage. Thrag stands between me and the approaching danger, his body a tense wall of muscle and fury. "What the hell are you doing?" he snarls, his amber eyes flashing with anger.

"Saving those kids!" I retort, struggling to stand. My heart races not just from the adrenaline but from the nearness of him, the raw power that emanates from every inch of his orcish form.

"You're goingto get yourself killed," Thrag growls, his gaze never leaving the oncoming threat.

"I couldn’t just leave them!" I insist, my voice shaking with urgency. "They're my responsibility."

Thrag's jaw clenches, the cords of his neck standing out. "Just stay behind me," he orders, his voice a deep rumble that brooks no argument.

The orcs soon burst from the tree line, their weapons gleaming in the moonlight. Thrag stands his ground, his axe at the ready, a fierce protector against the encroaching darkness. The air crackles with tension.

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