Page 14 of The Orc Who Saved Christmas

"I'm leaving now,"I say firmly.

Her expression crumbles, replaced by a look of desperation that mirrors the sinking feeling in my gut. "Stay," she pleads, her hand reaching out to me. "Celebrate Christmas with us. You've earned a place at our table."

I shake my head, a growl rumbling in my throat. "I'm not interested in your human holidays," I say, turning my back on her. My broad shoulders stiffen as I walk away, each step driving the knife deeper into my chest.

Her voice follows me, a soft entreaty carried on the wind. "Thrag!" she calls out, but I don't stop. I can't. The sound of my name on her lips is a siren's call, one that threatens to completely shatter the fortress I've built around my heart.

I push myself harder, the familiar burn of exertion a welcome distraction from the tumult of emotions raging within me. The settlement fades into the distance, swallowed by the relentless expanse of snow and ice.

Alone once more, I allow myself a moment of weakness, my breaths coming out in ragged gasps. The image of Claire's face, lit up with the joy of homecoming, haunts me. I tell myself it's for the best. She belongs with her own kind, among the warmth and chatter of human life. Me? I belong to the wilds—a solitary beast, fit only for the cold embrace of solitude.

But as the sun crests the horizon, casting long shadows across the frozen landscape, I can't shake the feeling of her arms around me, the heat of her body against mine. For a fleeting moment, I'd allowed myself to imagine a different life—one where I wasn't alone, where the weight of my past didn't hang heavy on my shoulders.

I grit my teeth, forcing the thoughts aside. I am Thrag, son of Thrak, last of my line. I have no room for softness, for dreams of what could never be. My path is one of survival, of clinging to a life that has been stripped of meaning and purpose.

15

THRAG

The biting cold nips at my skin, a familiar companion in this harsh wilderness. As I trudge through the snow, I can hear Claire's laughter, her pleas echoing in my mind. It’s a haunting melody I can't silence.

"Forget her," I growl to the wind.

Yet, as I put distance between myself and the human settlement, her face remains etched in my memory. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the image, but it clings to me.

When I’m about halfway between the settlement and my lair, the guttural sound of laughter pierces the stillness of the afternoon. I duck behind a boulder, my senses on high alert. The voices are unmistakable—Icefang orcs. Their cruelty is as legendary as their resistance to the cold.

Peering out from my hiding place, I see the pale blue orcs gathered around a fallen beast. They carve into its flesh with sadistic glee. Its cries of agony are a gruesome symphony to their twisted amusement.

"Look at this one squirm," one of them sneers. "It's almost as if it doesn't enjoy our company."

The others erupt into laughter, a sound that sets my teeth on edge.

"That human settlement is next," another Icefang declares, his voice brimming with malice. "We'll take the women, kill the rest. Burn it all to the ground."

A red haze descends over my vision as their words sink in. The thought of Claire and her people falling prey to these monsters ignites a fire within me—a primal need to protect.

The Icefangs are known for their ruthlessness. They are the antithesis of all that is good and honorable in the orcish code. I have spent many moons trying to outrun the shadow of my past, to forget the horrors I have witnessed and the blood that stains my hands. But now, faced with the prospect of more innocent lives being snuffed out, I find myself at a crossroads.

I could walk away. I could leave these orcs to their savagery and continue my solitary existence, unburdened by another's welfare. Yet, as I watch them from the shadows, a sense of responsibility takes root in me. Claire's voice rings in my ears, her words about hope and love resonating with a part of me I thought long dead.

I know what I must do. I will not stand by while these monsters lay waste to the settlement—to Claire's home. I am no hero. But I am a warrior, and I will not let the Icefangs destroy the fragile spark of hope that Claire has fought so hard to kindle in her people's hearts.

I crouch low, my muscles coiling like a spring as I prepare to confront the orcs. My heart beats a steady rhythm in my chest, a drumbeat of impending battle.

As I step out from behind the boulder, my axe gleaming in the pale sunlight, I utter a silent promise to the woman who has unwittingly become my greatest weakness—and my most unexpected source of strength.

"I will keep you safe, Claire," I vow. "Even if it costs me my life."

I stalk the periphery of the Icefang orcs' gathering, my grip on my axe as unyielding as the resolve hardening in my chest.

One of the orcs strays from the group. A growl rumbles in my throat as I seize the opportunity. My axe slices through the air, finding its mark with deadly precision. The Icefang's head separates from his shoulders in a spray of crimson.

The remaining orcs whirl around, their snarls echoing through the forest as they charge toward me with bloodlust in their eyes.

There are ten of them, their numbers daunting even to an alpha like me. But the thought of Claire's face fuels my resolve. I will not falter.

I meet their charge head-on,my axe a deadly extension of my will. Each swing is a declaration of my intent to protect what matters. The clash of steel against steel, the crunch of bone yielding to my strength, the cries of pain as my enemies fall—it is a grim dance.

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