Page 48 of Orc's Little Human
"They were Rusk's men." I flex my fingers, watching the blood crack across my knuckles. He knows all about Rusk, about the asshole and what he did to me."They knew about the brand. They came to take me back."
Korrath's jaw clenches, gold eyes flaring with that inner fire that speaks of barely leashed power. "They're dead."
"I killed them." The admission should feel like a confession, but it doesn't. It feels like truth, clean and necessary. "For Thali. To protect her."
Something shifts in Korrath's expression, pride mixing with fierce approval. He steps closer, his hands coming up to frame my face despite the blood coating my skin.
"You are strong," he says, and the words carry the weight of absolute conviction. "Stronger than they ever were. Stronger than they ever could have made you."
Strong.The word settles into my bones like truth finally recognized. Not broken. Not tainted. Not property to be reclaimed or used.
Strong.
The brand on my collarbone warms, but this time it doesn't burn. Instead, it feels like recognition, like a bridge spanning the space between Korrath's magic and my own hidden power. Like a bond that can't be broken by distance or time or the violent remnants of my past.
"I'm not who I used to be," I whisper, though I'm not sure if I'm telling him or myself.
"No," Korrath agrees, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones with infinite gentleness. "You're who you chose to become. A warrior. A protector. Mine."
His.Not in the way the camps tried to own me, not as property or possession, but as a partner. As equal. As someone worth fighting beside instead of fighting for.
The sound of splashing announces Thali's return, her voice calling our names with the particular pitch that means she's trying to be brave but needs reassurance. I turn toward the water, toward family, toward the future I'm finally strong enough to claim.
I am no longer a captive.
I am a warrior.
22
KORRATH
The bodies need to move before the scent of blood draws scavengers. I've seen what happens when carrion beasts catch the smell of human flesh—they'll circle for hours, and some of them are bold enough to test living prey.
I grab Jorik first, hauling his dead weight by the shoulders. The bastard's heavier than he looked alive, all muscle and gristle gone slack. Blood trails behind us as I drag him toward the deeper swamp, far enough from camp that whatever comes to feed won't bother us.
Selene watches from where she stands frozen, blood still coating her hands like war paint. She killed them both. Protected Thali. Protected what's ours.
Pride burns through my chest, fierce and territorial. My woman is a warrior.
Halvdan takes more effort—the angle of his wound makes his body catch on every root and stone. By the time I've hauled both corpses into the murky water where the bog will claim them, sweat beads across my shoulders despite the cool air.
When I return to camp, Selene has cleaned her hands in the stream but her clothes still bear dark stains. Thali sits closebeside her, chattering about the shells she dropped when she ran, but her voice carries the high, breathless quality that means she's working through fear.
"The pretty blue one cracked when I dropped it," Thali says, turning the broken shell over in her small hands. "But maybe it's still good? Maybe I can fix it with tree sap?"
"We'll find you another," Selene promises, and her voice is steady despite the tremor I can see in her shoulders. "Even prettier than the first."
I build up the fire as the sun begins its descent, the flames casting dancing shadows across our small sanctuary. Dinner is simple—dried meat and journey bread, with sweet berries Thali gathered yesterday. Normal things. Safe things.
But I watch Selene throughout the meal, noting how she startles at every small sound, how her eyes keep darting toward the places where the men emerged. She's holding herself together through will alone.
Thali's yawns grow longer as full darkness settles over the swamp. I bank the fire and spread her sleeping furs, listening to her sleepy rambling about tomorrow's shell hunting expedition.
"Will you tell me the story about the warrior who tamed the leviathan?" she asks, settling into her bedroll with the boneless exhaustion of childhood.
"Tomorrow," I promise, brushing her wild hair back from her face. "Sleep now, little sister."
She's out within minutes, breathing deep and even. Safe. Protected. Alive because Selene chose to fight rather than run.
