Her Rugged Orcs

40. Grash

40

GRASH

I pace across the wooden floor of our modest living space. The fire crackles in the hearth, casting shadows across the walls of the home we three warriors share. My fists clench and unclench as I imagine Eira in her sister's grand hall, surrounded by luxury and comfort we could never provide.

"She won't come," I growl to myself, running a hand over my face. "Why would she choose this?" I gesture at our simple furnishings - the worn chairs, the basic wooden table, the weapons rack against the wall.

The door creaks open and my heart leaps, but it's just Murok supporting Dren. The disappointment tastes bitter in my mouth.

"Stop wearing a hole in the floor," Murok says, helping Dren to his favorite chair by the fire. "The healer says he's recovering nicely, though he'll have an impressive scar to show for it."

I grunt, resuming my pacing. "She's with her sister. In the great hall. With its silk cushions and golden plates and servants to attend to her every need."

"And you think that matters to her?" Murok's voice carries that edge of superiority that makes me want to punch him sometimes.

"Of course it matters!" I slam my fist against the wall, making the weapons rattle. "We offer her what? A warrior's life in a humble home? Shared with three scarred orcs?"

"You're an idiot," Dren mumbles from his chair, his silver eyes glazed with lingering pain but still sharp.

"What did you say?" I turn on him, my temper flaring.

"She doesn't want silk cushions," Dren continues, his quiet voice somehow filling the room. "She wants us. Her home is with us."

"You don't know that," I snarl, but my voice cracks. "Her sister can give her everything she deserves. Everything we can't."

Murok sighs heavily. "For someone so fierce in battle, you can be remarkably dense about matters of the heart."

I open my mouth to argue, but the sound of footsteps outside stops me cold. My heart races as I stare at the door.

The door creaks open with agonizing slowness. My breath hitches as Eira steps inside, her pale blonde hair catching the firelight from the hearth. My muscles tense, ready for her disappointment, for the moment she realizes what a downgrade this is from her sister's grand hall.

She takes in our living space - the worn but sturdy furniture, the weapons displayed on rough wooden racks, the simple cooking area. Her green eyes drift over everything, lingering on the fresh herbs hanging from the rafters, the stack of firewood I just chopped, the thick furs draped over our chairs.

My jaw clenches as I wait for the verdict. Surely she'll see how inadequate this is. How inadequate we are.

But then she smiles - that real smile that makes her eyes crinkle at the corners. "It's perfect," she breathes.

"Perfect?" I growl, taking a step toward her. "This isn't some fancy noble's mansion. There's no servants, no silk sheets-"

"I don't want silk sheets," she cuts me off, crossing the room to stand before me. Even with her head tilted back to meet my gaze, there's nothing submissive in her posture. "I want this. I want our home."

"Our home," I repeat, the words rough in my throat.

"Yes, you stubborn orc." She reaches up to trace the scar on my jaw. "I want our weapons on the walls, and herb bundles in the kitchen, and furs on the bed we share. I want to wake up between you three every morning."

"You deserve better than-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence." Her fingers press against my lips. "I deserve exactly what I choose. And I choose this. I choose you. All of you."

I catch her wrist in my hand, marveling at how delicate her bones feel beneath my fingers. But there's nothing delicate about the determination in her eyes. She knows exactly what she wants.

And somehow, impossibly, she wants us.

I can't help the grin that spreads across my face as I watch Eira suddenly turn and cross our modest living space. The firelight dances across her pale hair, making it glow like molten gold. My chest swells with joy - she's ours, choosing us, choosing this simple life we can offer.

Murok's knowing smirk catches my eye. Bastard's always right, much as I hate to admit it. Dren remains silent in his chair by the hearth, but his eyes track Eira's every movement with that intense focus that's uniquely his.

My breath catches as Eira approaches Dren. Despite his healing wound, she settles into his lap with grace, curling against his chest. His arms wrap around her instantly, protective and gentle, though I know the movement must pull at his injury.

"Careful of his wound," I growl, unable to help myself. The memory of his blood spilling across the battlefield is still too fresh.

"I won't break him," Eira says, but her hand drifts to rest carefully above the bandaged area. "Though I appreciate your concern, my overprotective warrior."

Dren's lips quirk up slightly as he presses a kiss to her temple. The gesture is so tender it makes my chest ache. The fire crackles, sending sparks up the chimney, and Eira's eyes drift over each of us. There's something in her gaze - a mix of wonder and contentment that makes my heart pound harder.

"What are you thinking about?" Murok asks, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

"How far we've come," she murmurs, her fingers absently tracing the tattoos on Dren's forearm. "From the pits to here. From captivity to freedom. From strangers to..." She trails off, but her meaning is clear.

"To family," I finish for her, my voice rough with emotion.

She nods, and the smile she gives me is worth every battle scar, every hardship, every moment of doubt. This is what victory truly feels like - not the clash of steel or the roar of battle, but the quiet certainty of belonging.

I watch as Eira then leans into Dren, her hair cascading over his broad chest. My muscles tense instinctively, but not from jealousy - from the sheer intensity of emotion coursing through me at the sight. She cups his face with those delicate hands that have killed to protect us, and when their lips meet, something primal and possessive inside me purrs with satisfaction.

Dren's eyes drift closed as she deepens the kiss, his massive hands gentle on her waist despite the raw power I know lies in them. The firelight plays across their skin - her pale flesh against his deep brown-green - creating a picture more beautiful than any battle victory I've ever witnessed.

"Finally stopped brooding about her leaving, did you?" Murok's voice carries that hint of amusement that usually makes me want to throw something at him, but right now I can't tear my eyes away from our woman choosing us - all of us.

"Shut up," I growl, but there's no heat in it. My chest swells with pride and possession as Eira breaks the kiss to smile at Dren with tenderness.

This is what we fought for. What we bled for. Not just to protect her, but to earn her trust, her love. To be worthy of moments like this where she gives herself freely, knowing we would die before letting anyone harm her again.

"You're thinking too loud," Eira murmurs, her eyes finding mine across the room. The heat in her gaze makes my blood surge. "Come here."

I move without hesitation, drawn to her like a weapon to its target. This is our victory - not just mine, but ours. And by all the gods, we've earned it.

I reach them and scoop her up. Her legs wrap around my waist instantly, the heat of her body pressing against mine through our clothes.

"Mine," I growl against her lips before claiming them in a fierce kiss. Her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer as she matches my intensity. The firelight shines across her pale skin, making her glow like something ethereal, but the way she moves against me is pure earthly desire.

"Yours," she breathes when we break for air. "All of yours."

My hands tighten on her thighs, supporting her weight easily as I stand in the middle of our living space. The heat from the hearth warms my back, but it's nothing compared to the fire burning through my veins at her touch.

"Careful of her," Murok drawls from his corner. "Some of us would like a turn later."

I bare my teeth at him over Eira's shoulder, but she just laughs - that bright, genuine sound that makes my chest ache with emotion.

"Don't worry," she says, trailing kisses along my jaw. "I have plenty of love for all my warriors."