Page 42 of Her Rugged Orcs

I close my eyes, remembering every gentle touch, every fierce protection, every moment I let myself believe I was more than just a task to be completed. "How can I believe anything you say?"

"Let me explain," Grash says, his golden-brown eyes burning with intensity. I turn away, but his massive form blocks me.

"There's nothing to explain." My voice wavers despite my attempt to keep it steady. "I was a mission. Simple as that."

"No." Grash's hand reaches for me, then drops. "Your sister told us where to find you, yes. But the moment I saw you in those pits..." He exhales sharply. "The way you held yourself, even when being restrained. The fire in your eyes when those bastards hurt you."

"Stop," I whisper, but Murok cuts in.

"You weren't broken," he says, his braids catching the firelight. "Despite everything they did to you, you remained unbroken. Do you know how rare that is?"

"I was trained to survive," I say softly.

"No." Dren's quiet voice makes me jump. "You were trained to submit. Instead, you fought with us."

"I killed that guard," I say, remembering the warm blood on my hands. "You made me into a killer."

"You were always a fighter," Grash growls. "We just gave you the chance to prove it."

"Your sister chose us specifically," Murok adds, his blue eyes intense. "But she didn't tell us to protect you the way we did. To kill for you. To..." He trails off, and I remember his lips on mine, his hands gentle despite their strength.

"The mission was to get you out," Dren says softly. "Everything else - that was real."

"You should have told me," I whisper.

"Would you have trusted us if we had?" Murok asks. "A slave girl being told her sister sent three orcs to save her?"

The truth of his words stings. I wouldn't have believed them. I would have assumed it was another trick, another trap.

"Your determination called to something in us," Grash says roughly. "Something that made us want to be worthy of your trust."

A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it. "And now?"

"Now," Dren moves closer, his eyes holding mine, "we want to be worthy of your love."

The tears come, hot and endless. My throat closes up as Dren's words echo in my head. Worthy of my love. Love. The word itself is foreign, dangerous.

I curl into myself, Dren's cloak a shield between us. My shoulders shake with silent sobs I can't contain. Their presencesurrounds me - Grash's worried rumble, Murok's sharp intake of breath, Dren's careful stillness.

"Eira," Grash's voice breaks on my name.

I press my face into my knees, unable to look at them. Unable to see the truth - or lies - in their eyes. My chest feels like it's being crushed.

The worst part is how much I want to believe them. How desperately I want their words to be true.

"Please," Murok whispers, and I've never heard him beg before. "Say something."

But I can't. Because if I speak, I might believe them. If I look up, I might see truth in their eyes. And then what? Then I'd have to admit that I want them - have always wanted them - mission or not.

The fire fizzles between us, and my tears fall silently into the dirt. I've never felt more alone than in this moment, surrounded by the three beings I want most in this world.

They wait for words I cannot give, for trust I cannot offer, for love I cannot admit. And so I stay silent, letting the night swallow my tears.

31

MUROK

Iwatch Grash pace back and forth. His massive form casts shifting shadows in the morning light. The mountain air bites at my skin, but his frustration radiates enough heat to warm the entire clearing.

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