Page 44 of Her Rugged Orcs

The mountain air grows colder as night settles in. I watch Eira from across our makeshift camp. She's been tracing patterns in the dirt for the past hour - battle formations, I realize with a mix of pride and concern. Always planning, always preparing for the worst.

I move to sit beside her, close enough to feel her warmth but not so near that she'll bolt. "We're not letting you go," I murmur, studying her profile.

"That's not your choice," she mutters, her finger never pausing in its dance through the dirt. The patterns shift from battle lines to intricate swirls - the kind of meaningless designs that betray a troubled mind.

"No, it's yours," I admit reluctantly, softening my voice in a way I rarely allow myself. Being vulnerable has never come easily to me, but for her, I'll try. "It's always been yours."

She finally meets my gaze, and what I see in those green depths makes my chest ache. There's a war raging behind thoseeyes - fury at our deception wrestling with a desperate need to believe in the truth we're offering. I recognize that look. I've seen it in the eyes of warriors torn between duty and desire.

But this isn't just about trust or betrayal. I've spent enough time studying her to understand the deeper wound. She's never given her heart to anyone - how could she, when it was the only thing she truly owned. She's clearly guarded it through years of abuse and ownership, kept it safe when everything else was taken from her. And now we're asking her to hand it over, just like that.

"We shouldn't expect you to give yourself to us so easily," I say, voicing my realization. "You've never had the luxury of choice before."

Her fingers still in the dirt, and I catch the slight tremor in them before she clenches them into fists. "How can you possibly understand that?" she whispers, and there's both accusation and wonder in her voice.

"Because I see you," I reply simply. "I've always seen you."

32

DREN

The dying fire casts shadows across Eira's sleeping form. I track every rise and fall of her chest, memorizing the way her pale hair catches the firelight. My fingers tingle, wanting to brush that errant strand from her face. But I remain still, a sentinel in the darkness.

The night wind whips around me, but all I can focus on is her. The soft curve of her neck where it meets her shoulder. The slight furrow between her brows even in sleep. The way her fingers curl into the fabric of my cloak – the one I draped over her three nights ago that she hasn't returned.

I shift my weight, silent as death, moving closer without disturbing the quiet. The settlement lies ahead, perhaps two days' journey now. Two days until everything changes again. Two days until she could walk away forever.

My chest constricts at the thought. I've survived torture, battle, the pits themselves – but losing her would break something in me I'm not sure could ever be fixed.

She stirs in her sleep, a small sound escaping her lips. My body moves before my mind can stop it, inching closer, ready to wake her from whatever dream haunts her. But she settles,and I freeze, caught between the need to protect her and the knowledge that my touch isn't welcome right now.

I curl my fingers into fists, fighting the urge to gather her into my arms like I once did while she slept. To bury my face in her hair and breathe in her scent until the world makes sense again.

Instead, I watch. And wait. And break a little more with each passing moment.

The morning sun filters through the trees as we break camp casting dappled shadows across Eira's body. She's gathering her dagger and my cloak, her movements precise and controlled.

A breeze lifts her hair, and she turns, meeting my gaze. The hardness in her green eyes softens for just a moment – but it's enough. My heart races at the flash of longing I catch there before she looks away. That glimpse tells me everything I need to know. She feels it too, this pull between us that refuses to die.

As we set out, I hang back, watching her walk ahead with Murok. Every step she takes draws my eyes like a moth to flame. The way she moves, graceful despite her weariness, the slight tilt of her head as she listens to Murok speak – I memorize it all.

Grash brings up the rear, his massive form casting long shadows across the forest floor. I fall into step beside him, my movements silent as always.

"She loves us," I murmur, the words carrying the weight of absolute truth. I know it as surely as I know how to kill, as deeply as I know the shadows I move through.

Grash's jaw tightens. "You sure?" His voice is rough with hope and doubt.

"She wouldn't still be here if she didn't." The words come without hesitation. I've watched her every move since she discovered our mission's truth. She's had countless chances to slip away in the night, to disappear into the wilderness. But she stays.

The tension in Grash's broad shoulders eases slightly at my words. He knows I don't speak unless I'm certain, and I've never been more certain of anything.

I move ahead without another word, closing the distance between myself and Eira. My place is here, just behind her left shoulder, where I can watch for threats and protect her from whatever comes. It's where I've always belonged since the moment I first saw her in the pits.

She doesn't acknowledge my closer presence, but I catch the slight change in her breathing, the way her steps falter for just a heartbeat. She knows I'm here. She always knows.

The forest path narrows, and I adjust my stride to match Eira's pace. My eyes track every movement around us – the rustle of leaves, the snap of twigs, the shifting shadows. Nothing will touch her. Not while I draw breath.

She stumbles slightly on a root, and my hand shoots out, steadying her elbow. The contact sends electricity through my fingers, but I force myself to let go when she regains her balance. Her sharp intake of breath tells me she felt it too.

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