Page 17 of Her Orc Protector

There was no pride in his voice, just a matter-of-factness that made me believe him.

"Why mark it?"

He shrugged, a slight lift of one shoulder. "Because I lived. That's the point."

I studied his face—the planes and angles of it, the faint scars that spoke of battles I could barely imagine. There was a solidness to him that had nothing to do with his size. A steadiness built from having faced the worst and survived it.

"Do you have others?" I asked. "Marks for battles?"

"A few." He rolled his shoulder, working out a kink. "Some for kills that mattered. Some for places I never thought I'd leave."

I hesitated, then: "Any you didn't mark?"

Uldrek's eyes met mine, something shifting in their golden depths. "Yeah," he said finally. "The ones I didn't want to remember."

The simplicity of it struck me. We all carried unmarked battles—the ones that left no visible scars, the ones we couldn't speak of even to ourselves.

Ellie chose that moment to voice her displeasure more insistently. I moved to her blanket, lifting her into my arms with practiced ease. She settled against me, one small hand clutching at my tunic, the wooden ring still gripped in the other.

"She's had enough for one day," I said, gathering our belongings. "So have I, I think."

Uldrek nodded, watching as I tucked the folded blanket into my satchel. "You did well. Better than most beginners."

"Probably because I'm more motivated than most."

Something like a smile touched his lips. "Fear's a decent teacher. But determination's better."

I adjusted Ellie against my chest, her weight familiar and grounding. The sun was warm on my back, and for the first time in too long, my body felt present, alive with a purpose beyond just escaping.

"Thank you," I said. The words came easier than I'd expected. "For teaching me."

Uldrek inclined his head slightly. "Same time tomorrow?"

I hesitated. "You sure you want to be seen with your fake mate in public again?"

His smile was lopsided, barely there but genuine. "Might help my reputation."

I snorted softly, surprised again by how easily he drew that response from me. "I doubt that."

"You'd be surprised," he replied, amusement warming his voice. "'Look at Wolfsbane, teaching his human mate to fight.' They'll think I'm enlightened."

"Are you?"

"Not even slightly. I just don't like uneven odds."

I nodded, understanding. It wasn't kindness driving him, necessarily. It was fairness—a warrior's practical morality.

As I walked away, Ellie now settled securely in her wrap against my chest, I glanced back once. Uldrek still stood in the yard, arms folded, watching the empty space where we'd been training. Then he turned, disappearing into the shade of the pergola, and I continued on my way back to Tinderpost House.

That night, as I lay in bed with Ellie tucked beside me, my muscles ached in unfamiliar ways. Faint bruises traced my forearms where Uldrek had gripped me—but not cruelly. Not like before. They weren’t warnings. They were badges. Effort made visible.

Ellie slept curled against me, her breath warm against my neck. I stroked my fingers gently through the soft wisps of her hair, soothed by the rhythm of her breathing. Safe. Both of us.

I thought of Uldrek’s voice—low, even, just this side of sarcastic.You’re not a tree.

I thought of his scent—leather, faint ash, a trace of something sharp and green, like pine sap after rain. Of how carefully he moved, even when his size should have made it otherwise. How he never reached without asking first. How his humor filled silences that could have frayed.

I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. More training, certainly. More aches. More quiet glances and unfinished sentences spoken with our bodies rather than words.

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