Page 45 of Her Rugged Orcs

"I don't need your help," she mutters, but there's less bite in her words than before.

I say nothing, but I don't move from my position at her left shoulder. Let her protest. Let her push me away. I'll still be here, watching, protecting, loving her with every silent breath.

Murok glances back, his eyes knowing. "There's a stream ahead. We should stop for a moment."

Eira's shoulders tense at his words. She hates stopping, hates being reminded of her human limitations. But I can see the tremor in her legs, the way her breathing has grown heavier.

"No." Her voice is steel wrapped in silk.

I step closer, close enough that my chest nearly brushes her back. "You need water," I say, my voice low enough that only she can hear. "Let me take care of you."

She whirls to face me, green eyes blazing. "I don't need?—"

"You do." I hold her gaze, unflinching. "And I need to give it."

Something flickers in her expression – confusion, longing, fear. She looks away first, but not before I catch the slight softening around her mouth.

"Fine," she says. "But only for a moment."

It's not submission – Eira never submits to us, not truly. But it's acceptance, however small. And for now, that's enough. I'll earn the rest, day by day, action by action, until she understands that my devotion isn't a mission or a duty. It's as essential as breathing.

She is my purpose now. My reason. My everything. And I will prove it with every breath I take.

The stream gurgles over smooth stones as I guide Eira toward the water's edge. Her feet slip slightly on the wet rocks, and my hand instinctively catches her arm, steadying her.

"I can manage," she mutters, but doesn't pull away.

The sunlight catches in her pale hair, making it gleam like spun gold. I want to pull her next to me until she stops fighting this thing between us.

Instead, I crouch beside her at the water's edge, one hand hovering near her elbow as she cups water in her palms. The stream is clear enough to see the pebbles at the bottom, the small fish darting between shadows.

Grash and Murok fill their water skins upstream, giving us space while staying close enough to watch over her. Always watching, always protecting, even when she doesn't want it.

A breeze rustles through the trees, carrying the scent of pine and... something else. My nostrils flare, catching a whiff of leather and oil.

My muscles lock. There, in the shadows between the trees – movement. Silent. Practiced. The glint of dark armor.

My fingers dig into Eira's arm, halting her motion as she reaches for more water. She looks up, ready to protest, but must see something in my face because she goes still.

"Dren?" Her voice is barely a whisper.

I don't answer. Can't answer. My eyes track the shadows, counting. One. Three. Five. More.

Murok notices next, his body tensing like a drawn bow. Grash's hand moves to his axe.

Dark elves. They've found us.

The forest goes quiet, like it's holding its breath. We're surrounded.

33

EIRA

Dren's fingers bite into my arm as I reach for more water. I look up, ready to snap at him, but the intensity in his silver eyes stops the words in my throat.

"Dren?" My voice barely carries over the sound of the rushing stream.

He doesn't answer, his gaze scanning the treeline. I follow his eyes and count the shadows that shouldn't be there. One. Three. Five. More lurking beyond my sight. The forest has gone unnaturally quiet, like nature itself is holding its breath.

---