Her Rugged Orcs

14. Grash

14

GRASH

T he snap of a branch pierces the pre-dawn silence. My muscles tense as I catch the telltale whisper of steel against leather - a blade being drawn. Dark elves. Finally found us. The forest's shadows stretch long in the dim light, perfect cover for those bastards.

"Down," I growl, keeping my voice low so that only our group can hear.

Murok immediately slides behind a thick oak, his braids disappearing into the darkness. Dren melts into the shadows like he was born from them. But Eira... my chest compresses as she hesitates, her green eyes meeting mine.

"Behind me," I order, gesturing to the dense undergrowth where I can shield her. To my surprise, she shakes her head.

"I can fight," she whispers, already gripping the knife I gave her.

"Eira-" I start, but Murok cuts me off with a sharp gesture. More movement in the trees. I count at least six dark elf shapes moving through the pre-dawn gloom. They're trying to surround us.

My blood burns hot, wanting to charge in and tear them apart, but I force myself still. Patience. Let them come closer. My fingers flex around my axe handle as I crouch lower, positioning myself between the approaching elves and Eira.

"Stay close," I breathe to her, not looking back. "When I move, you move with me."

She shifts closer, her shoulder brushing my arm. The contact sends an unexpected jolt through me. Even now, with danger closing in, I'm aware of her every movement, every breath.

The dark elves are almost in position now. I can smell their leather armor and hear the soft clink of mail. I can see their silvery hair gleaming in the weak pre-dawn light. They're getting closer. Too close. Any moment now they'll spring their trap, not realizing we're ready for them. Just a few more seconds...

I suddenly charge forward, my axe singing through the air. The first dark elf barely has time to widen his eyes before my blade cleaves through his shoulder, splitting mail and leather like paper. Blood sprays across my face, hot and metallic.

"Come on, you bastards!" I snarl, already swinging at the next one. To my right, Murok moves like water, his blade finding the spaces in their armor with surgical precision. One elf drops, then another, their throats opened in crimson smiles.

The crack of branches above signals Dren's hunt for the archers. A body tumbles from the canopy, followed by a gurgled scream cut mercifully short. Good. Let him handle the cowards who hide in trees.

I spin, my axe catching sunlight as it arcs through the air. Another elf tries to parry, but the force of my blow shatters his sword and continues through his chest. The wet crunch of bone breaking fills my ears.

"Behind you!" Eira's voice cuts through the chaos.

I turn in time to see a dark elf slip past me, reaching for her with long fingers. My heart stops - but Eira doesn't need my help. Her blade slides between his ribs with ease, her expression eerily calm as she watches the life drain from his eyes. She twists the blade before yanking it free, already moving to face the next threat.

The sight stirs something primal in me - pride mixed with an edge of fear. This isn't the same woman who trembled in the pits. This is someone forged in blood and steel, someone dangerous.

I shift closer to Eira, my back nearly touching hers. Her breathing is steady, controlled. When did she learn to be so calm in battle?

Another dark elf rushes at me, but I'm already swinging. My axe catches him in the chest, and the satisfying crunch of bone tells me he won't be getting up again. The metallic scent of his blood fills my nostrils, feeding the battle rage coursing through my veins.

Eira dances past me, her movements fluid and deadly. Her blade finds the throat of a charging elf, and she doesn't hesitate as she pulls it across his neck. The precision of her strike makes me smile with pride.

"Left!" Murok shouts.

I spin, catching the last attacker's sword with my axe handle. The clash of steel rings through the forest. One powerful shove sends him stumbling back, and Dren materializes from the shadows to finish him with a quick thrust through the spine.

Silence falls over the bloodied clearing. My chest heaves as I scan for more threats, but there are none. Just corpses cooling in the dawn air.

Eira stands among the dead, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Blood stains her cheek crimson, a stark contrast against her pale skin. Her knife drips steadily onto the forest floor, and her eyes are wild with adrenaline.

"You're learning fast," I say, stepping closer. My thumb brushes across her cheek, wiping away the blood. The touch sends electricity through my arm, and I notice how she leans into my hand ever so slightly.

Her eyes meet mine, and something shifts in them. Fear? Desire? Both? My hand slides to cup her jaw, and I feel her pulse racing beneath my fingers.

"I have good teachers," she whispers.

I should step back. Give her space. But the warrior in me, the primal part that claimed her in those pits, wants to pull her closer.

Her lips part slightly, and for a second, I think she might close that distance between us. Instead, she takes a small step back, breaking contact with my hand. The loss of her warmth hits worse than any blade.

We soon push southeast through dense underbrush, leaving the carnage behind. My boots crush fallen leaves with each step, but my attention isn't on our path - it's on Eira. She's keeping her distance, walking closer to Dren than to me. The space between us feels wrong.

Did I push too far back there? The memory of her skin under my thumb burns like a brand. The way she leaned into my touch, just for a moment, before pulling away...

"We need to find water soon," Murok says, breaking into my thoughts. "The stream should be close."

I grunt in acknowledgment, but my eyes track Eira as she navigates around a fallen log. Her movements are more confident now, less hesitant. The way she handled herself in that fight... She was magnificent. Deadly and beautiful.

"You're staring," Murok mutters, low enough that only I can hear.

"Mind your own business," I growl back. But he's right. I am staring. I can't help it. Everything in me wants to close this distance between us, to pull her up against me and...

She glances back, catching my gaze. For a heartbeat, those green eyes hold mine, and I see something there - confusion, want, fear? Then she looks away, moving closer to Dren's shadow.

My hands tighten into fists. She's mine. Has been since I claimed her in those pits. But claiming isn't enough anymore. I want her to choose me, to trust me. To want me the way I want her.