Page 30 of Her Rugged Orcs

DREN

From the shadows near the fire, I watch the confrontation unfold. The flames cast dancing shadows across Eira's face, highlighting the tension in her jaw. I track every minute shift in her expression, every subtle tell that could reveal truth or deception.

"Well?" Murok's voice cuts through the crackling fire. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

The mountain wind whistles through the camp, stirring Eira's pale hair. She lifts her chin - that familiar defiant gesture I've seen countless times before. Her green eyes flash with something I can't quite read.

"Nothing," she says, her voice unwavering. "Nothing at all."

Murok narrows his eyes at her response, his braids shifting as he tilts his head. The tactician in him is clearly dissecting her words, searching for hidden meanings. But for once, he remains silent.

Beside him, Grash turns and walks away, his massive shoulders rigid with barely contained fury. His fingers flex around his axe handle - a gesture I recognize as his attempt to control his temper.

I notice the way Eira's throat works as she swallows, how her chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths. The color drains from her face, leaving her pale as moonlight. Her fingers tremble slightly before she curls them into fists.

The fire pops loudly, sending sparks into the night air. None of us flinch. The tension remains thick enough to cut with a blade.

From my position in the shadows, I catch every nuance of her reaction. If she's deceiving us, she's mastered the art of appearing genuine. My years of reading targets, of hunting in silence, have taught me to spot a liar. But Eira...Eira presents a puzzle I cannot solve.

The wind gusts again, colder now, and Eira wraps her arms around herself. Her eyes dart between the three of us, lingering for a moment on where I stand in the darkness.

I remain in the shadows, letting darkness cloak me as I watch Eira by the fire. The flames paint her skin gold, reminding me of that night in the ruins when she first came to me. Her touch had been electric yet gentle, as if she saw past the monster everyone else feared. For the first time, I had felt... wanted.

My chest constricts at the memory. The way she screamed my name, her fingers tracing the scars on my skin. I had given her everything that night - my body, my trust, my heart. Like a fool.

The evidence Murok presented can't be ignored. The dark elf patrols finding us too easily, always one step behind. The tracks that shouldn't exist. The coincidences that aren't coincidences at all.

Eira shifts, and the firelight catches her golden hair where I had pressed my lips that night. My fingers curl into fists. I want to cross the distance between us, demand answers, make her look me in the eyes and tell me it isn't true. But I remain still, silent, watching.

She hugs her knees to her chest, making herself smaller. A gesture I've seen before, when she's afraid. But afraid of what? Discovery? Or something else?

The memory of her surrender haunts me - how she melted into me, trusted me with her vulnerability. Was it all an act? Another manipulation from a woman trained to please?

My jaw clenches as Murok's words echo in my head: "The dark elves always know where we are." The tactical part of me knows he's right. The part that still feels her wrapped around me wants him to be wrong.

The fire crackles again. Eira's green eyes reflect the flames, and for a moment, they seem to look right through my shadows, right through me. I force myself to stay still, to remember that trust, like silence, can be a weapon.

I watch Murok suddenly turn and face Eira. The flames dance across his features, hardening them into something dangerous.

"If it's not you, then how do they keep finding us?"

His words slice through the night air. Before Eira can respond, he pushes himself up and stalks away, his footsteps heavy with accusation. The silence that follows weighs on my chest like a physical thing.

Eira doesn't move. Doesn't speak. Just stares into the flames as if they hold answers none of us can see. But I see the tremor in her lower lip, the way her fingers dig into her palms. Even in the flickering light, I see the hurt flash across her face before she buries it beneath that mask of indifference she wears so well.

My muscles ache with the need to go to her, to wrap her in my arms and shield her from these accusations. To press my lips against her temple and promise her that everything will be fine. That I'll protect her, even from my brothers' suspicions.

But the doubt gnaws at my gut like a hungry beast.

The fire snaps, sending sparks spiraling into the night sky. Eira flinches slightly, and my hands curl into fists. Every instinct screams at me to comfort her, but I remain rooted in place, torn between duty and desire, between suspicion and trust.

This uncertainty... this confusion... it's foreign to me. In battle, everything is clear - kill or be killed. But this? This twisting in my chest whenever I look at her? It's something I can't name, can't fight, can't control.

I watch as Eira curls into herself by the fire, her golden hair spilling across her shoulders. My fingers itch to brush through those strands again, to feel their silk against my skin. The memory of her naked body on top of me, of her touch, burns through me like wildfire.

"Fuck this," I growl under my breath, pushing away from the tree I've been leaning against.

I need distance. Space. Air that doesn't smell like her. Each breath near her is torture.

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