Page 20 of Her Rugged Orcs

A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it. I turn my face into the cloak, hiding it, hating how the fabric still smells like Dren. Hating how safe that scent makes me feel, even now.

The conversation drifts to watch rotations and travel plans, but their words blur together as exhaustion and emotion drag me under. My last conscious thought is of Dren's silver eyes meeting mine, and how real that moment had felt.

How real I'd thought it was.

I slip into sleep with the taste of betrayal bitter in my mouth.

The morning sun does nothing to warm the ice in my chest. I stare into the flames, watching them dance and blur as unshed tears sting my eyes. My fingers trace mindless patterns in the dirt, anything to keep from looking at them - my "protectors."

The crunch of leaves announces Murok's approach before he settles beside me, close enough that his arm brushes mine. I force myself not to flinch away.

"You're thinking too hard," he says, his voice carrying that familiar hint of amusement that once made my stomach flutter. Now it just makes me want to scream.

I glance at him sideways, taking in his sharp profile, the way his braids catch the morning light. He's watching me with those piercing blue eyes, like he can see right through me. Maybe he can. Maybe that's why they chose him for this mission - to read me, to manipulate me.

"I think I hate you," I mutter, and the words taste like truth on my tongue. Hate is simple. Clean. So much safer than the warmth that spreads through my chest when he looks at me like that.

"That's a start," he says with a smirk, clearly thinking I'm joking.

I'm not.

His shoulder presses against mine, casual and intimate, and my heart clenches traitorously. Yes, hate is definitely safer than whatever this is. Hate won't shatter me when they finally complete their mission and hand me over to my sister like a wrapped package.

14

GRASH

The snap of a branch pierces the pre-dawn silence. My muscles tense as I catch the telltale whisper of steel against leather - a blade being drawn. Dark elves. Finally found us. The forest's shadows stretch long in the dim light, perfect cover for those bastards.

"Down," I growl, keeping my voice low so that only our group can hear.

Murok immediately slides behind a thick oak, his braids disappearing into the darkness. Dren melts into the shadows like he was born from them. But Eira... my chest compresses as she hesitates, her green eyes meeting mine.

"Behind me," I order, gesturing to the dense undergrowth where I can shield her. To my surprise, she shakes her head.

"I can fight," she whispers, already gripping the knife I gave her.

"Eira-" I start, but Murok cuts me off with a sharp gesture. More movement in the trees. I count at least six dark elf shapes moving through the pre-dawn gloom. They're trying to surround us.

My blood burns hot, wanting to charge in and tear them apart, but I force myself still. Patience. Let them come closer. My fingers flex around my axe handle as I crouch lower, positioning myself between the approaching elves and Eira.

"Stay close," I breathe to her, not looking back. "When I move, you move with me."

She shifts closer, her shoulder brushing my arm. The contact sends an unexpected jolt through me. Even now, with danger closing in, I'm aware of her every movement, every breath.

The dark elves are almost in position now. I can smell their leather armor and hear the soft clink of mail. I can see their silvery hair gleaming in the weak pre-dawn light. They're getting closer. Too close. Any moment now they'll spring their trap, not realizing we're ready for them. Just a few more seconds...

I suddenly charge forward, my axe singing through the air. The first dark elf barely has time to widen his eyes before my blade cleaves through his shoulder, splitting mail and leather like paper. Blood sprays across my face, hot and metallic.

"Come on, you bastards!" I snarl, already swinging at the next one. To my right, Murok moves like water, his blade finding the spaces in their armor with surgical precision. One elf drops, then another, their throats opened in crimson smiles.

The crack of branches above signals Dren's hunt for the archers. A body tumbles from the canopy, followed by a gurgled scream cut mercifully short. Good. Let him handle the cowards who hide in trees.

I spin, my axe catching sunlight as it arcs through the air. Another elf tries to parry, but the force of my blow shatters his sword and continues through his chest. The wet crunch of bone breaking fills my ears.

"Behind you!" Eira's voice cuts through the chaos.

I turn in time to see a dark elf slip past me, reaching for her with long fingers. My heart stops - but Eira doesn't need myhelp. Her blade slides between his ribs with ease, her expression eerily calm as she watches the life drain from his eyes. She twists the blade before yanking it free, already moving to face the next threat.

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