Page 92 of Her Orc Protector

He turned away, shoulders rigid. "It doesn't matter what I think. The bond is broken. That's fact, not feeling."

"And because some magic faded, you've decided everything between us was a lie?" I demanded, frustration rising. "After everything we've shared—everything we've built—you'd throw it away so easily?"

He whirled back to face me. "Easy? You think this is easy for me?" His voice was raw now, the careful control slipping. "I knew from the beginning this wasn't permanent. I knew you'd outgrow needing me. I just didn't expect it to hurt like this."

Ellie whimpered at his raised voice, and I bounced her gently, shushing.

"Outgrow you?" I repeated, incredulous. "Is that really what you think of me? That I was using you until something better came along?"

"I think," he said, each word deliberate, "that you're like everyone else. You take what you need and move on. And that's fine. That's how the world works. I just..." He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking tired. "I just thought maybe this time it might be different."

Anger flared, bright and hot. "How dare you. After everything I've shared with you—my home, my child, my body—you still think I'm just using you? That I would discard you like... like..."

"Like what?" he pressed. "Like a tool that's served its purpose?"

"I never saw you that way," I said, my voice tight with the effort of controlling it for Ellie's sake.

"But you don't need me anymore," he insisted. "Your own words, Issy."

"I said I didn't need protecting," I corrected. "Not that I didn't need you."

"What's the difference?" he asked, the genuine confusion in his voice cutting deeper than his anger. "What am I besides a shield? Outside of war, outside of battle, outside of standing between you and danger—what use am I?"

In that moment, something clicked into place—a realization that made my heart ache. He truly didn't know. All this time, he'd seen himself only as a weapon, a barrier between those he cared for and harm. The idea that he might be valued for himself, not his usefulness, was foreign to him.

"You're everything," I said softly. "You're the way Ellie reaches for you first when she wakes. You're the sound of your laugh when Hobbie says something ridiculous. You're the warmth beside me at night. You're... you're home, Uldrek."

For a moment, something in his expression softened. Then his jaw set again, walls slamming back into place.

"Pretty words," he said. "But the bond is still broken. And I think we both know why."

I shook my head, exhaustion threading through my frustration. "I don't know anything anymore. Except that you've decided what I feel without bothering to ask me."

"Would you have answered honestly?" he challenged. "Or would you have said what you thought I wanted to hear to keep the peace? To keep things... convenient."

The implication hit like a slap. That I would lie to spare feelings. That I would pretend affection for convenience. That I was, in essence, no better than Gavriel with his manipulations and half-truths.

"Is that really what you think of me?" I took a step back, something cold and hard forming in my chest. "You think I'd use you. Lie to you. Stay with you out of... what? Fear? Habit? Convenience?"

Uldrek's expression shifted, regret flashing across his features. "Issy, that's not—"

"No." I cut him off, suddenly too tired for this circular argument. "I think we both need some space to figure out what we really want. Because clearly, we're not on the same page anymore."

He didn't argue. Didn't try to stop me as I moved around the room, gathering Ellie's things with one hand while balancing her against my hip with the other. She was fully fussing now, picking up on my distress despite my efforts to remain calm.

"Where are you going?" he asked finally, as I fastened Ellie's traveling sling. "Issy—"

"Don't." I met his gaze finally, letting him see the hurt there. "You've made your position clear. Now I need time to figure out mine."

The door opened, Hobbie returning with a handful of herbs. She took one look at the scene before her—me with Ellie in the sling, a small bag of essentials over my shoulder, Uldrek standing stiffly by the table—and sighed heavily.

"Going somewhere?" she asked, her tone carefully neutral.

"Just to Tinderpost. For the night," I replied. "Can you make sure he eats?"

Her eyebrows rose, but she nodded. "Of course."

I moved toward the door, pausing with my hand on the latch. Part of me wanted to turn back, to repair whatever had just broken between us. But the coldness of his words, the ease with which he'd reduced everything we shared to mere convenience, had cut too deep.

---