Page 37 of Her Rugged Orcs

Murok dispatches two more with efficient brutality, his braids whipping through the air as he spins. The remaining dark elves realize too late they're outmatched. One tries to flee. Grash's thrown axe takes him in the back.

The last two fall to Murok's blade, their blood soaking into the earth. The clearing falls silent except for my brothers' heavy breathing.

"See?" I whisper to Eira. "Nothing to worry about."

She relaxes slightly in my grip, but her eyes remain fixed on our blood-covered companions. I understand her concern, but I won't let her go. Not yet.

I pull her closer, her slight frame trembling against my chest.

"I thought you wouldn't come for me," she chokes out, her fingers digging into my arms. The raw desperation in her voice ignites something deep within me. How could she think I would ever abandon her?

I tilt her chin up with one finger, forcing her to meet my gaze. Her eyes are wide, vulnerable, still carrying shadows of doubt. Something inside me breaks.

"I'll always come for you," I say, my voice rough with emotion. The words feel inadequate compared to the fierceprotectiveness surging through my veins. I would tear apart armies, burn cities to ash, wade through oceans of blood to reach her. She is mine to protect, mine to cherish, mine to worship.

She draws in a shaky breath, and I brush away a tear from her cheek with my thumb. My touch lingers on her skin, memorizing its softness. The urge to eliminate any threat to her happiness burns through me like wildfire.

Behind us, Grash and Murok move through the carnage, checking bodies, but I keep my focus on Eira. Nothing else matters but the woman in my arms, alive and whole. I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in, letting her presence calm the killing rage still simmering beneath my skin.

I will paint the world red before I let anyone harm her again.

27

EIRA

The night air chills my skin as I cling to Dren, my wrists burning from where the ropes cut deep. Blood cakes the side of my face where I was struck, making my hair stick uncomfortably. My whole body trembles, though I try to stop it.

Grash and Murok emerge from the shadows, their massive forms illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the forest canopy. Around us, twelve dark elf bodies litter the ground, their blood seeping into the earth. The metallic scent mingles with pine needles and the night air.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice cracking. "I shouldn't have run."

Dren's arms tighten around me. His eyes scan my injuries. His jaw clenches when he sees the raw flesh of my wrists and the gash on my temple.

"You're hurt." Grash's voice rumbles as he approaches, his eyes blazing with rage. He reaches for my face, his touch surprisingly gentle as he examines the wound on my temple.

I want to look away but can't. "I'm fine," I whisper, though my voice cracks. Stupid. Weak. I hate how small I sound.

"You're not fine," Murok says as he crouches beside us pulling out a water skin. "Hold still."

He begins cleaning the blood from my face, his movements precise and careful. I wince at his touch but lean into it all the same. "I thought..." The words die in my throat. I thought they wouldn't come. I thought I meant nothing to them. I thought wrong.

"We need to move," Dren says quietly, standing with me still in his arms. "More patrols will come."

Dren's arms tighten around me for a moment before he shifts, preparing to pass me to Grash. I don't resist when Grash reaches for me, his massive hands surprisingly gentle as he lifts me against his chest. The familiar scent of earth and steel wraps around me, and something inside me breaks.

They came for me. They shouldn't have - I ran from them, doubted them, and still they came. My fingers curl into Grash's shirt as tears threaten to fall. I blink them back, refusing to cry, but my body won't stop shaking.

"Never again," Murok says, his blue eyes intense as they meet mine. "You don't run from us. Ever."

I nod, not trusting my voice. Shame burns within me - shame for running, for getting caught, for needing rescue. But beneath that shame is something else, something that feels dangerously like hope again. They killed to save me from being dragged back to the pits. They risked everything.

"Let's go," Grash rumbles as he carries me away from the carnage they created.

I don't deserve this care and protection. But as Grash holds me close, as Murok glances back with concern in his eyes, as Dren stays close enough to touch, I realize I want to earn it.

Dawn breaks over the mountain peaks, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. We've been moving through dense forest for several hours, taking paths that seem to windunnecessarily through the roughest terrain. My body aches from the night's ordeal, but Grash's arms remain steady as he carries me, though his touch lacks its usual warmth.

"We should rest soon," Murok says as he scans the terrain ahead. "There's a clearing just beyond those rocks."

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