Page 64 of Her Rugged Orcs

The firelight flickers across the room, casting shadows on the furs strewn across our shared bed. Eira is sprawled between us, her pale skin glowing like moonlight against the dark green of my arm wrapped around her waist. Grash is on her other side, his massive frame pressed close, his warmth bleeding into her. Dren lies at the foot of the bed, his eyes tracking her every move, his silence as heavy as the weight of his devotion.

She shifts, her breath hitching as my fingers trail up her arm, and I feel the faintest tremor beneath her skin. I smirk, leaning in to brush my lips against the curve of her shoulder.

"Cold?" I murmur, teasing.

She tilts her head, her green eyes meeting mine, sharp and unyielding despite the softness in her expression. "With you three around? Hardly."

Grash’s gruff laugh rumbles through the room, and he pulls her closer, his hand splaying across her hip like a claim.

Dren doesn’t speak, but his hand finds her ankle, his touch feather-light, a silent reminder that he’s there, always watching, always waiting.

Eira sighs, her body relaxing into the tangle of limbs, and I can’t help but marvel at how far we’ve come. She fought us, hated us, betrayed us—and yet, here she is, curled in our bed like she belongs nowhere else. Because she doesn’t.

I kiss her again, deeper this time, my tongue sliding against hers in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Grash is kissing her neck, his growl vibrating against her skin, and Dren’s grip tightens, pulling her leg over his hips until she’s completely entangled with us.

There’s no space between us now, no separation. Just heat, and breath, and the shared pulse that binds us together. She moans, her hands gripping my shoulders, and I nip at her lower lip, drawing a gasp from her.

"You’re ours," I whisper against her mouth, my voice rough with the weight of too many emotions.

She nods, her eyes dark with need, but there’s something else there—something I’ve come to recognize as trust. "Yours," she breathes, her voice breaking.

Grash grunts, his hands roaming her body with possessive familiarity, while Dren’s lips find the inside of her thigh, his touch deliberate, unhurried. I watch her unravel, her body arching between us, her hair a pale cascade against the furs.

I’ve never believed in fate. Never believed in anything but strategy and survival. But Eira—she changed that. She challenged us, and in doing so, she carved a place for herself in our lives, in our hearts.

I lean over Eira, my braids falling forward as I study her face in the morning light. The way her pale skin glows against our darker forms stirs something primal in me. From the first moment in those pits, I knew she would be ours - even if she hadn’t realized it yet.

My fingers trace her jaw, tilting her chin up. "You understand what this means?" The words come out low, possessive.

She swallows hard, her fingers twisting in my tunic, but she doesn't pull away. The trust in that simple action makes my chest clench.

"Say it," Grash growls from behind her, his massive form pressing closer. His eyes burn with intensity over her shoulder.

Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips. The small gesture draws my gaze, makes me want to claim that mouth again. When she speaks, her voice is a whisper. "I'm your mate."

Heat surges through my veins at those words. This claim, this bond - it's more powerful than any battle strategy I've ever devised. My hand slides to cup the back of her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath my palm.

Dren moves like a shadow, the ceremonial blade glinting in his hand. His silver eyes meet mine as he presses the edge against her collarbone. Not to harm - to mark. To bind. To make her eternally ours.

As the blade traces our clan's symbol into her skin, her lips part in a soft gasp. I capture that sound with my mouth, kissing her deeply again, sealing this moment, this fate, this forever. She melts into me, and I feel Grash's approving rumble vibrate through us all.

The kiss tastes of destiny and desire, of battles won and peace finally found. When I pull back, her eyes are dark with need, and I see in them the reflection of everything we've fought for on our journey.

My lips press against the fresh mark on Eira’s collarbone, the jagged lines of our clan’s symbol still raw and glistening. The taste of her blood is sharp, metallic, and it sends a primal surge through me, binding her to us, binding us to her. My tongue slides over the cut, soothing, claiming. Her breath hitches, and I feel her shiver beneath me. She’s trembling, but not from fear—from the weight of what this means, what she’s giving us, what we’re giving her.

"Mine," I whisper into her skin, the word heavy with possession and something deeper. My fingers tangle in her hair, pulling gently, forcing her to look at me. Her eyes are wide, filled with trust and something that makes my heart swell. She’s ours. Finally, completely, irrevocably ours.

Grash’s growl vibrates through the room, his massive arms wrapping around her from behind. His hands are rough, possessive, sliding over her hips, her stomach, marking her just as surely as the brand on her skin. His mouth finds the curve of her neck, his teeth grazing, sharp enough to make her gasp but not enough to hurt. He’s always been like this—territorial, protective, his affection wild and untamed.

"Say it," he growls against her skin, his voice low, demanding. "Say you belong to us."

Eira’s breath catches, and she squirms between us, but there’s no escape. Not anymore. She’s surrounded, consumed, worshipped. "I belong to only you," she whispers, her voice breaking, and the sound of it sends a surge of triumph through me. It’s not just her body we’ve claimed—it’s her heart, her soul, everything she is.

Dren’s hands move over her body, his touch deliberate, gentle. He’s always been the quiet one, the shadow, but there’s a fierceness in the way he touches her, like he’s memorizing every curve, every scar, every breath. His eyes meet mine over her shoulder, and I see the same hunger, the same devotion mirrored in his gaze.

My mouth crashes into hers again, claiming her lips with a desperation that surprises even me. She tastes like sweetness and fire, like everything I’ve ever wanted and nothing I deserve. Her hands grip my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin, and I feel her moan against my lips. The sound of it, raw and unguarded, makes me want to ruin her and rebuild her in the same breath.

"You’re not just ours," I murmur against her mouth, my voice rough with need. "We’re yours. All of us. Forever."

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