Page 36 of Her Rugged Orcs

My jaw clenches, but I remain still. Patience. Information is power.

"Dex wants her back in the pits. Says she's worth more now that she's run with orcs."

The rage that floods through me is liquid fire. These men talk about her like she's property. Like she's nothing.

A twig snaps somewhere to my left. The guards pause, heads turning toward the sound.

I don't move. Don't breathe. Let the shadows wrap around me like a cloak as I edge closer to the camp's perimeter. Years of practice have taught me how to become invisible, how to move without disturbing a single leaf.

From my new position, I can see inside the main tent more clearly. Eira sits bound to a post, her head high despite everything. Pride surges through my chest. Even now, she shows no fear.

Two guards flank her with their weapons ready. Twelve total in the camp, just as I counted. The odds don't concern me. I've killed more for less.

I wait, watching patterns, noting rotations. Soon, chaos will erupt. Soon, these men will learn why they should fear the dark.

I catch Murok's eye through the darkness and give the signal – two fingers pressed against my chest, then a sharp downward slash. His slight nod is all I need. Grash's massive form tenses beside him, ready for the chaos I'm about to unleash.

The guards in the tent laugh again, the sound grating against my nerves like steel on stone. Their voices carry through the canvas.

"Pretty little thing, ain't she? Even with those marks."

"Dex will make a fortune putting her back in the pits."

My blood runs cold, then hot again. The rage inside me boils over.

I slip through the tent's back entrance, my movements fluid and silent like smoke. The first guard never sees me coming. My blade opens his throat in one clean stroke and his arterial bloodsprays the canvas behind him. He drops without a sound, his eyes wide with surprise.

The second guard turns. His mouth opens in shock. Before he can draw breath to shout, my hands are around his neck. The crack of his spine breaking is oddly satisfying.

"Dren?" Eira's voice is but a whisper, her green eyes wide in the lamplight.

I move to her instantly and cut through her bonds with precise movements. Her wrists are raw and bleeding, along with a bump on the back of her head. Something primal stirs within me at the sight.

"Hold onto me," I murmur, gathering her into my arms.

"The others?" she breathes against my neck.

"Soon." I cradle her closer, moving through the shadows like they're part of me. Behind us, I can feel Grash and Murok's presence, waiting to unleash hell. But first, I need to get her safe.

Her breath hitches, and I tighten my hold as I carry her through the night, away from the camp that will soon become a graveyard.

I hold Eira against my chest as Grash and Murok burst into the dark elves' camp like lightning breaking across the sky. From our position at the edge of the clearing, I watch my brothers unleash their fury. Grash's axe cleaves through the first guard, splitting him from shoulder to sternum. Murok moves like liquid death, his blade finding the gaps in their armor with precision.

Eira trembles in my arms, but not from fear. Her fingers claw into my bicep as she tries to see past me to the battle. I shift, attempting to block her view of the carnage.

"Don't look," I murmur against her hair.

She ignores me, craning her neck. "But they?—"

"They'll be fine." My voice brooks no argument. Still, I feel her tension, her need to know they're safe.

The sound of breaking bones echoes across the clearing as Grash catches a dark elf's sword arm and snaps it like kindling. The elf's scream cuts off abruptly when Murok's blade finds his throat. They move in perfect synchronization, years of fighting together evident in every deadly dance step.

Three dark elves rush Grash. He meets them with a roar, his massive form becoming a whirlwind of violence. Blood sprays in an arc as his axe finds its mark again and again.

Eira flinches at a particularly wet crunch.

"The dark elves chose this fight," I tell her, my arms tightening possessively around her smaller frame. "Now they pay the price."

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