Her Rugged Orcs

43. Dren

43

DREN

T he dawn light seeps through the gaps in our wooden walls, painting stripes across Eira's sleeping form. My side still aches, but the pain is nothing compared to the warmth spreading through my chest at the sight of her curled against me.

Mine. Ours. Finally.

I ease myself up, careful not to wake her or my brothers. Grash's snores rumble softly while Murok sleeps like a predator, ready to spring even in rest. The furs beneath us still hold our combined warmth.

The wound pulls as I stand, but I ignore it. Nothing will stop me from providing for Eira this morning. Our humble kitchen waits, and I know exactly what to make - the hearty stew my mother taught me before I became a warrior.

My fingers trace the wooden counter as I gather ingredients. The simple act of chopping vegetables grounds me in this new reality where Eira chose us - chose me. The knife moves steadily through carrots and potatoes as I remember her words from yesterday.

"You can't die. We were supposed to share our future together."

The memory makes my hands pause. I'd faced death before, but never had I fought so hard to live as I did in that moment, seeing the tears in her fierce green eyes.

I stoke the hearth fire, letting the flames lick higher. The iron pot settles with a satisfying weight as I add meat and vegetables. The scent of cooking food fills our home - our home, not just a shelter or hiding place.

"You're up early," Eira's sleepy voice comes from behind me.

I turn to find her wrapped in one of our furs, her hair tangled from sleep. The sight steals my breath. She could have had anything - her sister's wealth, a normal life. Instead, she chose this. Chose us.

"Go back to sleep," I murmur, but she's already padding toward me, bare feet silent on the wooden floor.

"Smells good," she says, peeking into the pot. Her presence next to me feels right, like a missing piece slotting into place.

I pull her close, careful of my healing wound, and press my face into her hair. She fits so perfectly against me. The stew can wait for a moment. Right now, I just want to hold what I never thought I'd have - a future, a home, a woman who sees past the monster to the heart beneath.

Eira soon slips one of my shirts over her head, the fabric draping to her mid-thigh. My possessive nature flares seeing her in my clothing. She catches my stare and a slight blush colors her cheeks as she moves to join me at the cooking pot.

"What can I do?" she asks, reaching for a knife to help cut the remaining vegetables.

I guide her hands, showing her how to slice the carrots just right. The simple domesticity of teaching her my mother's recipe fills me with a peace I've never known. Her small frame fits just right against my chest as I stand behind her, my hands covering hers.

"Like this," I murmur against her ear, guiding the blade. She shivers at my touch, and I have to resist the urge to forget about breakfast entirely.

A loud yawn announces Grash's awakening. "Something smells good," he rumbles, stretching his massive frame.

Murok sits up more gracefully, his braids perfectly intact even after sleep. "Well, well. Our silent brother cooks?"

"My mother's recipe," I say simply, adding the vegetables to the pot while keeping one hand on Eira's waist. She's mine to touch now, and I won't waste a moment of it.

We gather around our rough-hewn table, the morning light streaming through the windows. Eira ladles the stew into wooden bowls, and something within me tightens watching her serve my brothers. This is what I fought for, what I nearly died for - this simple moment of family.

"This is actually good," Murok says, surprise evident in his voice.

Grash just grunts in approval, already on his second helping.

Eira sits between us, her leg pressed against mine. "Thank you," she whispers, and I know she means more than just the meal.

I squeeze her thigh under the table, watching my brothers banter over breakfast, watching her smile more freely than she ever has. I don't deserve this happiness, this peace after all the blood on my hands. But I'll hurt anyone who tries to take it from us.

My fingers trace the delicate bones of Eira's wrist as she sits beside me, her skin warm under my touch. The morning light catches in her pale hair, turning it to molten gold. Every breath she takes, every subtle movement, draws my attention like a moth to flame. Mine. Ours.

The wooden bowl before her still holds traces of the stew, and the domesticity of sharing this meal with her, with my brothers, fills my chest with an unfamiliar warmth. Her pulse quickens under my fingers - she feels it too, this connection that needs no words.

Grash reaches across our rough-hewn table, his massive hand engulfing hers. "We're never leaving you, Eira." His voice carries the weight of an oath. "You belong to us, and we belong to you. Forever."

The sunlight streaming through our window catches the moisture in her eyes. "I don't deserve you," she whispers, her voice breaking on the words. The guilt in her tone makes my grip tighten possessively on her wrist. She's wrong. So wrong.

Grash's snort breaks the tension. "That's the dumbest thing you've ever said."

I watch Murok's familiar smirk play across his face, but his blue eyes hold an intensity that matches my own feelings. "You deserve more than we ever gave you, Eira."

Words crowd my throat, threatening to spill out, but they're not needed. Instead, I release her wrist, letting my fingers drift up to brush her cheek. Her skin is silk beneath my touch. Our eyes lock - silver meeting green - and I pour everything I can't say into that gaze. The way she changed my world. The depth of my devotion. The promise that I'll kill anyone who tries to harm her again.

She leans into my touch, understanding everything I'm not saying. That's why she's mine - ours. She reads the silence as clearly as Murok reads his battle maps.

The heat of her body calls to me, makes me want to drag her back to our furs and show her exactly how much she deserves. But for now, this quiet moment is enough - Eira is safe and loved, surrounded by the warriors who would die to protect her.

My eyes never leave Eira as we move back into our living area, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath our feet. She could have chosen differently - could have stayed with her sister in luxury instead of battle-hardened orcs with blood on their hands. My fingers twitch with the need to touch her, to remind myself she's real.

"Kira told me something interesting," Eira says suddenly, perching on the edge of our shared bed. Her green eyes dance with an emotion I can't quite read. "About why she chose each of you specifically for the mission."

Grash settles beside her, his massive frame making the bed creak. "What do you mean?"

"She said..." Eira's voice softens. "She said she hand-selected each of you because you represent pieces of me." Her fingers trace patterns on the fur beneath her. "Dren's knowing silence. Grash's protective nature. And Murok's strategic mind."

My breath catches. The connection I've felt to her since the pits - the pull that made me want to protect her, possess her, worship her - suddenly makes sense.

"The universe has a sick sense of humor," Murok says, but his eyes are thoughtful.

I move to Eira, unable to resist any longer. My fingers thread through her hair as I tilt her face up to mine. "You were always meant to be ours," I growl softly.

She leans into my touch, her pulse quickening under my fingers. "I think I knew, even in the pits. That's why I couldn't stay away, even when I wanted to hate you."

"The universe brought us together," Grash rumbles, his hand spanning her lower back. "But we chose to keep you."

I pull her closer, needing to feel her warmth against me. Everything about her calls to something primal in my soul - her strength, her vulnerability, the way she fits against me like she was crafted for us alone.

"No wonder we feel so connected," she whispers, and I can hear the wonder in her voice. "It's like we're pieces of the same soul."

I watch as understanding dawns in Eira's eyes, her revelation about our connection making her glow from within. My fingers trail down her spine, feeling her shiver beneath my touch. The bed creaks as I shift closer, drawn to her like a blade to its sheath.

"You're all of ours," I growl softly against her neck, inhaling her scent. "Every piece of you belongs with every piece of us."

Grash's massive hand spans her waist while Murok's fingers thread through her hair. The sight of her surrounded by us, protected and cherished, makes my blood burn.

"I never understood why I couldn't choose between you," Eira whispers, her eyes meeting mine. "Now I know - I wasn't meant to."

I capture her lips first, tasting her need. Grash's mouth finds her neck while Murok claims her shoulder. We move as one, three parts of the same warrior's soul loving the woman who completes us.

Her fingers gouge into my arms as she gasps. The sound feeds something primal in me, but I keep my touch gentle. She's had enough roughness in her life. Now she'll know only devotion.

"My warriors," she breathes against my lips. "My protectors."

"Always," Murok murmurs, his usual sarcasm replaced with raw honesty.

Grash rumbles in agreement, his eyes burning with possession.

I pull back just enough to watch her face as we worship her together. The way her lashes flutter, how her lips part on a sigh - every reaction is precious to me.

Our kisses blend together until there's no telling where one ends and another begins. Just like us - separate pieces forming one unbreakable whole. The world may not understand, but they don't need to. This is ours alone.