Page 35 of Her Rugged Orcs

And I hate myself for letting my cynicism blind me to what was right in front of my face.

"We need to think this through," I force myself to say, even as my instincts scream to charge after her now. "One wrong move and-"

I can't finish the sentence. Can't voice the possibility that haunts us all.

Dren's eyes meet mine, and I see my own fear reflected there. "They took her alive," he says softly. "They want something."

"They want us," I realize, the pieces clicking into place.

"We need to get her back," Grash growls.

"We will." My tone is deadly calm despite the rage burning within me. "The dark elves are smart. They're drawing us in. But they don't know what they've awakened."

Dren melts from the shadows beside me, his eyes gleaming with deadly intent. "They'll die screaming."

"Something still doesn't add up," I growl, pacing the forest floor. "The elves shouldn't be able to track us this precisely. There's a piece we're missing."

Grash whirls on me, his eyes blazing. "Does it fucking matter right now?"

"It matters because I won't lose her twice!" The words rip from my throat before I can stop them. The admission hangs in the air, heavy with implications I'm not ready to face.

I've spent my life analyzing threats, calculating odds, and staying three steps ahead. But right now, all I can think about is her. The way she fits against me. The future I suddenly realize I want – need – with her in it. The cold calculation I usually pride myself on wars with something deeper, more primal.

But I know one thing with absolute certainty: I will burn their world to ash to get her back.

"We move now," I command, already striding forward. "They'll expect us to charge in blind with rage. So we'll give them exactly what they're waiting for – and then show them what happens when you take what belongs to us."

My brothers fall in beside me as we leave the blood-stained clearing behind. The dark elves are about to learn why you don't steal from orcs who've claimed something as their own.

The mountain path twists before us, the rushing river masking our footsteps as we track our prey. My braids whip against my face in the chill wind as I crouch to examine fresh tracks in the mud. These aren't just any tracks – they're dark elf boots, and they're carrying something. Someone.

Eira's scent lingers in the air, faint but unmistakable. Like spring rain and fear. My blood boils.

"They're close," I murmur, rising to my full height.

The trail leads us deeper into the forest until we catch the flicker of firelight through the trees. I signal for us to stop, dropping into a crouch behind a fallen log. Below us, in a small clearing, sits their camp – four tents, eight guards that I can see, and one larger tent where they're likely keeping her.

"I count twelve total," Dren whispers, materializing beside me like a shadow. "Two in the main tent with her."

My jaw clenches as I study the layout, already formulating our strategy. "Dren, you'll move in first. Create chaos in their ranks. When they're scattered..."

"We strike," Grash finishes, his voice promising violence.

26

DREN

Iglide through the shadows like a ghost. My every move is calculated and silent. The dark elves' camp sprawls below, their torches casting dancing shadows that become my allies. The night air carries their voices to me – rough laughter, casual conversation, the sound of men who think themselves safe.

Fools.

The largest tent pulses with soft lamplight. Through a gap in the canvas, I catch a glimpse of movement. Eira. My fingers tighten around my blade.

"Getting sloppy," I mutter, noting how the guards cluster together rather than maintaining proper perimeter positions. Their overconfidence will be their undoing.

I press myself against a tree, becoming one with the darkness as two guards pass within arm's reach. Their weapons gleam dully in the firelight – standard issue for Dex's pit guards. The familiar insignia on their armor confirms it.

"Did you hear what the pit master's planning for the girl?" one whispers.

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