Page 41 of Owned By the Orc Warlord
The last detail draws a possessive growl from Rogar's throat, a sound that speaks of primal instincts barely contained by civilized behavior. His grey eyes flash with protective fury that makes my pulse quicken despite the circumstances.
"Let them come," he says, the words carrying lethal promise. "We've proven what happens to those who threaten what's mine."
The possessive declaration sends heat flooding through my chest, even as the practical implications make me shake my head in amusement. "Your diplomatic skills need work. That's exactly the kind of response that will convince other clans we're dangerously aggressive."
"Are we not?"
"We're strategically assertive," I correct. "There's a difference between defending what matters and actively seeking conflict."
"Is there? Because from where I'm lying, it looks like conflict seeks us regardless of our preferences."
The observation carries uncomfortable truth. Our victory over Dravik has established us as significant players in regional politics, attracting attention from allies and enemies alike. Success has created its own momentum, drawing us into conflicts and alliances that stretch far beyond our original objectives.
"Speaking of which," I continue, "there's been a development regarding Vex's betrayal. His communication protocols led our intelligence teams to other compromised networks. We've identified at least three more dark elf intelligence operations throughout the allied territories."
"Active operations?"
"Disrupted now, but they were extensive. Mapping defensive capabilities, identifying leadership hierarchies, even documenting personal relationships that might be exploited for leverage." I meet his gaze directly. "They knew about us, Rogar. Our bond, our tactical partnership, even details about our intimate conversations."
The violation of privacy sends cold fury radiating from his massive frame. The idea that our most personal moments havebeen catalogued by enemies transforms protective instincts into something approaching homicidal rage.
"How much did they know?"
"Enough to plan targeted operations designed to exploit our connection. Psychological warfare tactics, threats against me intended to compromise your tactical judgment, even contingencies for using our relationship to manipulate allied clan politics."
The systematic nature of the intelligence operation reveals a level of sophistication that goes far beyond simple military reconnaissance. The dark elves have been studying us as individuals, mapping the emotional landscape that shapes our decision-making processes.
"But there's something they missed," I continue, unable to suppress a smile that holds sharp edges. "They assumed our bond represented weakness rather than strength. That emotional attachment would make us more vulnerable rather than more dangerous."
"A critical miscalculation."
"One that cost them everything when circumstances required us to fight together rather than merely fight beside each other."
The distinction feels important as I reflect on how our relationship has evolved through crisis and conflict. What began as mutual attraction and political convenience has been forged into something far more substantial through shared trials and coordinated action.
"Zahra." His voice carries new gravity as he struggles to sit up despite Mora's strict instructions about rest and recovery. "There's something I need to say while my thoughts are clear and we're alone."
"What?"
"I've spent my entire adult life believing that leadership required emotional distance. That caring too deeply aboutindividuals compromised the judgment necessary to protect larger groups." His grey eyes search my face as if memorizing details that might disappear. "You've proven that assumption catastrophically wrong."
"How so?"
"Because caring about you—loving you—hasn't made me weaker or less effective. It's made me better at everything leadership demands. More creative in tactical thinking, more motivated to find solutions that protect everyone, more willing to take calculated risks for strategic advantage."
The admission touches something deep and vulnerable in my chest, validating feelings I've been afraid to examine too closely. After years of seeing love as luxury that survival couldn't afford, hearing it described as source of strength rather than weakness feels revolutionary.
"I love you too," I say, the words emerging with easier honesty than I expected. "Not just for what you've given me—safety, belonging, the chance to become someone worth being—but for who you are beneath all the armor and authority."
"Who am I?"
"Someone who chose compassion when cruelty would have been easier. Someone who saw potential where others saw only problems. Someone brave enough to trust a human female with secrets that could destroy everything you've built."
My hand moves to trace the tribal tattoos covering his shoulders, following patterns that speak of victories won and responsibilities accepted. Each mark tells a story of choices made under pressure, of moments when leadership demanded more than mere tactical competence.
"You made me believe I could be more than what circumstances created," I continue. "That strength could build rather than merely endure, that power could serve rather than dominate."
"And you showed me that the best leaders aren't those who stand apart from their people, but those who inspire others to become the best versions of themselves."
