Page 34 of Her Rugged Orcs

"Damn it, little one," I mutter, ducking under a low-hanging branch. "You're mine to protect. You don't get to run from that."

A wolf howls in the distance, and my grip tightens on my axe. These mountains aren't safe, especially not for a human woman alone at night. Every shadow could hide a threat – dark elf patrols, bandits, wild beasts. The possibilities tear at my mind like claws.

I pick up my pace, following her trail as it winds through the rocky terrain. She's smart, moving through areas where theground is harder, trying to hide her tracks. But she forgets – I'm a hunter. I was born for this.

The trail leads upward, and my muscles burn with the effort of climbing. But I won't stop. I won't rest. Not until she's back where she belongs – safe, protected, with me.

A branch snaps somewhere ahead, and my heart jumps. "Eira?" I call out, my voice echoing off the rocks. Only silence answers, and that nagging feeling of dread grows stronger with each passing moment.

25

MUROK

The mountain forest looms dark and threatening as we converge near the rushing river. My boots crunch over dead leaves as I scan the ground, looking for any sign of her trail. An hour of searching has left us with nothing but frustration and growing dread.

"Anything?" Grash's voice carries a dangerous edge I've rarely heard before.

I shake my head, crouching to examine a broken branch. The moonlight filters through the canopy, casting strange shadows that play tricks on my eyes. But then something catches my attention – a glint of metal in the underbrush.

My heart stops when I recognize what it is.

"Here." My voice comes out rough as I reach down and lift Eira's dagger from the leaves.

Dren moves silently beside me, his eyes scanning the area with deadly focus. That's when I see it – dark stains on the leaves a few feet away. My experienced eyes know exactly what it is before I even touch it.

Blood. Still tacky. Fresh.

"Fuck!" The curse tears from my throat as I grab the hilt of my blade, my knuckles straining white against my dark green skin.

The three of us stand frozen, the implications of what we've found hitting us like a physical force. The rushing river seems to mock us with its constant motion while we remain paralyzed.

Grash's massive form is rigid with tension beside me. Dren has gone completely still, the way he does before a kill. And I... I can't move, can't think past the sight of her blood staining the forest floor.

We were supposed to protect her. I was supposed to see this coming. That's what I do – I plan, I strategize, I see the threats before they manifest.

But I failed. We all failed her.

I stare at the blood-stained leaves, my mind racing through every possible scenario. Each one is worse than the last. Images of Eira bound, bleeding, broken – they tear through my thoughts like shards of glass.

"She's in trouble," Dren breaks the silence, already moving ahead, his voice carrying the weight of a death sentence.

Beside me, Grash trembles with rage. His massive frame vibrates with it, his eyes wild with a fury I've never seen before. The small boulder nearest to him crumbles under his fist.

"This is all our fault," I admit. "We drove her to this."

My throat constricts as I remember the look in her eyes when we accused her. The hurt. The betrayal. How could I have been so blind? I'm supposed to be the strategist, the one who sees all angles. Instead, I let paranoia cloud my judgment.

Grash lets out a sound between a growl and a roar. "If they've hurt her-"

"They have," I cut him off, gesturing to the blood. My voice comes out harder than steel. "And they'll pay for every drop."

The sticky crimson on the leaves mocks me. Each spatter represents a failure – my failure. To protect her. To believe in her. To keep her safe.

I've led armies, planned battles, and outsmarted enemies. But right now, watching that blood dry on dead leaves, I feel like a green recruit facing his first fight. This isn't strategy anymore. This is primal, visceral fear for someone I... someone I need.

The confession sits heavy on my chest. I've never felt this depth of anger, this consuming fear. Not in all my years of warfare. Not even when I watched my closest brothers fall in battle.

This is different. She is different.

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