Page 10 of Her Rugged Orcs

The orc brothers in the last cell are the worst. They lean forward, tusks gleaming in the dim light, undressing her with their eyes.

"We fight together," one growls, "we share everything after."

"Of course." Eira's voice doesn't waver. "I'll make it worth your while."

My vision blurs red. The thought of their hands on her, of anyone's hands on her?—

A low growl rumbles in my chest as I watch Eira extract herself from that last conversation. She's gathered what we needed: guard patterns, escape routes, weak points in security. But the cost—watching her debase herself, hearing her promise herself away—claws at something deep inside of me.

The patter of Eira's footsteps echoes through the dim corridor as she retreats from the last cell. A flash of movement catches my eye – grimy fingers shooting through iron bars, latching onto her delicate wrist.

I move. No thought. Pure instinct.

My hand engulfs the human's wrist. The bones beneath his flesh are twigs waiting to be snapped. I squeeze. The satisfying crunch of breaking bone mingles with his howl of pain. His grip on Eira releases instantly.

"She is ours," I say, my voice carrying the promise of death. The words taste right on my tongue. True.

Eira stands perfectly still beside me, her breathing steady despite the violence. When I glance down, her green eyes meet mine – not with terror, but with something more complex. Like she's seeing me clearly for the first time.

"Dren." Eira's voice is soft, her fingers brushing over my forearm. The touch sends electricity through my skin. "We should go."

Laughter ripples through the cells. My jaw clenches. These men think this is about possession, about claiming.

"Move," I tell Eira, positioning myself between her and the cells as we walk. Every prisoner's eyes follow us, but none dare reach out again. They've learned.

The torchlight flickers across Eira's face, highlighting the strength in her jaw, the determination in her eyes. She doesn't need my protection – she's survived this long on her own – but she has it anyway. Whether she wants it or not.

When we return to our cell, her mask slips for just a moment. I notice the slight tremor in her hands before she hides it.

"Did you get what we needed?" Murok asks.

"Everything." She wraps her arms around herself. "The sewers run beneath the eastern wall. Guard changes happen every four hours. And the lock mechanism?—"

"Enough." The word comes out rougher than I intend.

Her eyes lock with mine, and the careful mask she wears cracks just enough for me to glimpse the pain beneath. My chest tightens. Those eyes have seen too much darkness, too much cruelty. Without conscious thought, my hand reaches for hers. Her skin is soft against my palm as I trace my thumb across her knuckles, memorizing each ridge and valley.

She doesn't pull away. The trust in that simple act makes my throat tight.

"You didn't have to do that back there," she murmurs, her voice barely a whisper. The torchlight catches the gold in her hair, creating a halo effect that makes her look ethereal.

"I do what is necessary." I drop her hand and step back, putting space between us. The cell walls feel too close, the air too thick with her scent – like rain and spring flowers. If I stay this near, I might forget myself. Might pull her against my chest and swear oaths I have no right to make.

The urge to protect her wars with the knowledge that she isn't mine to protect. Not really. Not the way I want.

"Necessary?" A hint of sharp wit creeps into her tone. "Breaking a man's wrist was necessary?"

"He touched what wasn't his to touch."

Her eyes narrow. "And am I yours to touch?"

The question hits like a blade between my ribs. No, she isn't mine. She isn't anyone's. That's the point my violence was meant to make, but the words tangle in my throat.

I turn away, studying the shadows on the wall instead of her face. "You're no one's property."

The silence stretches between us, heavy with things unsaid. When I risk a glance back, something soft and surprised flickers across her features before she buries it beneath her usual mask.

I lead Eira back to where Grash and Murok huddle in the corner of our cell, leaving our tense moment behind. The guard's stolen keys press against my thigh, a constant reminder of what's at stake tomorrow.

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