Page 9 of Her Rugged Orcs

Her green eyes lock with mine, challenging. "And what happens when they expect more than promises?"

"Nothing happens that we don't allow," I say, my voice dropping to a dangerous pitch. "You're not actually being offered. You're bait in a trap."

Grash's growl fills the cell. "If anyone touches her?—"

"They won't," I cut him off. "Because we'll be watching. Every moment. Every interaction." I turn back to Eira. "You're not a tool. You're a player in this game now."

She steps closer, studying each of us in turn. The way she moves reminds me of a predator assessing potential allies – careful, weighing the risk against reward. Her gaze lingers on Dren's silver eyes, Grash's protective stance, before returning to me.

The silence stretches between us as she considers our alliance. Then something shifts in her posture – subtle, but unmistakable. Her shoulders straighten and her chin lifts. No longer a victim, but a huntress.

"I'll do it," she says, her voice steady. "But on one condition – I choose which fighters to approach. I know which ones are desperate enough to be useful, and which ones are too dangerous to trust."

I nod firmly, respecting her insight. She's survived this long by reading people – it's time we put that skill to use for our freedom.

The shadows cloak our movements as we slip through the torch-lit corridors. I scan each intersection before signaling the others forward. The regular cells stretch before us, a maze of iron bars and desperate souls.

Eira moves like silk on water between us, her steps precise and silent. My tactical mind catalogs every detail – the way she pauses at certain cells, the slight tilt of her head when something catches her interest. She's reading these fighters like I read battlefield maps.

"Stay close to us," I murmur, placing my hand on the small of her back. The touch is possessive, a clear signal to the watching eyes that she belongs to us. The fighters press against their bars as we pass, drawn by her presence like moths to flame.

Grash's growl rumbles behind us. "I don't like this."

"You don't have to like it," I say, keeping my voice steady. "You just have to trust her judgment right now."

Eira stops before a particular cell, her eyes sharp in the dim light. She doesn't speak, doesn't point, but I catch the way her fingers twitch – marking this one in her mental ledger.

"Some of these men have nothing left to lose," Dren whispers, his silver eyes scanning the shadows.

"That's exactly what we need," I reply, watching Eira's calculated pause before another cell. "Men with nothing to lose will fight the hardest for a chance at something more."

She moves again, each step deliberate. The silk of her dress whispers against stone as she leads us deeper into the cell block. The air grows thicker here, heavy with desperation and unwashed bodies.

"I've seen enough," she says finally, her voice barely a breath.

I nod, noting how she's managed to survey the entire block without drawing attention to her true purpose. Clever girl. "Back to our cell then."

As we retreat, I catch the calculating gleam in her eye. She's chosen her targets, but she's smart enough to keep that information close for now. In a place like this, even the walls have ears.

7

DREN

Ipress against the stone wall, melting into the shadows as Eira approaches her first target the next day. My fingers curl into fists when she stops at the human's cell, her shoulders drawn back in practiced submission.

"You've been here longest," she says, her voice carrying that deadly sweetness. "You must know every guard rotation by now."

The human presses against his bars, reaching for her through the iron. My muscles coil, ready to strike, but I hold back. This is the plan. Our plan.

"What's it worth to you, pretty thing?" His grimy fingers brush her sleeve.

Eira doesn't flinch. "Whatever you want, after. I know how to please."

The rage building within me threatens to spill over. Each word she speaks to these men is like acid in my veins.

She moves to the elves next, her hips swaying just enough to draw their attention. Their eyes follow her like wolves tracking prey. One of them whispers something about the sewers beneath the arena, and I commit it to memory even as my jaw clenches.

"Such valuable information deserves a reward," she purrs, and I taste blood from biting the inside of my cheek.

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