18. Josie

18

JOSIE

I can barely contain my excitement as I watch Sarod dominate the field. My heart's racing, and I'm on my feet, cheering louder than I ever thought possible. It's like I'm seeing him for the first time, really seeing him. The way he moves, all power and grace, it's... breathtaking.

When he takes down that dark elf, I feel a surge of pride so intense it catches me off guard. I'm supposed to hate him, right? He's my captor, my tormentor. But watching him out there, larger than life, I can't help but feel a connection to him that goes beyond our complicated history.

The crowd around me is going wild, chanting his name. I find myself joining in, my voice blending with theirs. It feels good, natural even, to be cheering for him. My hands are clapping so hard they sting, but I can't stop. The energy in the arena is electric, and I'm caught up in the current.

As the match comes to its thrilling conclusion, with Sarod's team claiming another victory, something shifts inside me. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks - I like him. Really like him. Not just as a formidable zyrphix player, but as a person. The thought should terrify me, but instead, it fills me with a warmth I can't explain. My heart is racing, and it's not just from the excitement of the game anymore.

I think back to our moments together, the tense conversations, the shared laughter. Even our arguments have a certain spark to them now that I can't ignore. And the way he looks at me sometimes... could it be that he enjoys having me around too? I remember the way his amber eyes soften when we talk, how his deep voice seems to rumble through me. Gods, what am I thinking? This is Sarod we're talking about. But I can't deny the flutter in my stomach when I picture his face, scarred and green and so damn handsome it hurts.

The crowd starts to disperse, but I stay rooted to my spot, my mind reeling. I'm no longer just a reluctant servant in his home. I'm someone who matters to him, who he protects and values. The memory of him defending me against Grokus floods back, and I feel a rush of affection for him.

As I watch Sarod celebrate with his teammates on the field, I can't help but smile. He catches my eye and grins, that cocky, self-assured grin that used to infuriate me. Now, it makes my heart skip a beat.

I never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad I'm here. Glad to be a part of his world, even if it started in the most unconventional way. As I make my way down to meet him in the player's tunnel, I realize that for the first time since this whole ordeal began, I'm not thinking about escaping. I'm thinking about staying.

I push through the throng of excited fans, my heart still racing from the intensity of the match. The chants of Sarod's name echo around me, but I'm focused on getting to the player's tunnel. I can't wait to see him, to congratulate him on his victory.

As I weave between bodies, a chill runs down my spine. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I can't shake the feeling that someone's watching me. It's an eerie sensation, like icy fingers tracing my skin. I glance over my shoulder, but all I see are jubilant faces and raised fists. The crowd's energy is electric, but it does nothing to dispel my unease.

"Get a grip, Josie," I mutter to myself, shaking my head. But the sensation persists, growing stronger with each step. My heart starts to race, and I can feel sweat beading on my forehead despite the cool air.

I pick up my pace, trying to convince myself it's just paranoia. Maybe it's leftover adrenaline from the match, or the lingering effects of my complicated situation with Sarod. The roar of the crowd seems to fade into the background as my own thoughts grow louder. But deep down, I know it's more than that. There's a heaviness in the pit of my stomach, a primal instinct screaming at me to run. I've learned to trust these gut feelings, and right now, every fiber of my being is on high alert.

My eyes dart around, searching for anything out of place. The crowd seems normal enough - orcs, humans, and dark elves alike, all caught up in the excitement of the game. But there's something... off. A presence that doesn't belong.

I spot a gap in the crowd and make a beeline for it, hoping to put some distance between myself and whoever - or whatever - is watching me. As I break free from the mass of bodies, the feeling intensifies. It's like icy fingers trailing down my back, and I have to fight the urge to run.

"Almost there," I whisper, willing my legs to move faster. The player's tunnel is just ahead, and I know Sarod will be there soon. I'll be safe with him, protected. My heart races, pounding against my ribs as I push through the lingering crowd. Sweat trickles down my back, fear teeming off of me in waves.

But as I near the entrance, a shadow falls across my path. I don't want to believe it at first. My breath catches in my throat as I look up, expecting - dreading - to see the source of my unease. The tunnel's darkness seems to deepen, wrapping around me like a suffocating blanket.

My heart plummets when I recognize Grokus, his scarred face twisted in a malicious grin. His bulk fills the entrance, leaving no room for escape. I take an involuntary step back, my legs trembling beneath me.

"Well, well. If it isn't Sarod's little pet," he sneers, his voice a low rumble that sends chills down my spine. His eyes rake over me, and I fight the urge to shrink away. The stench of sweat and aggression rolls off him in waves, making my stomach churn.

Before I can react, his meaty hand clamps around my arm like a vise. I try to wrench free, twisting and pulling with all my might, but he's too strong. His fingers dig into my flesh, and I know there'll be bruises later.

"Let go of me!" I snarl, struggling against his tight grip.

Grokus laughs, a cruel sound that sends chills down my spine and makes my skin crawl. He's still injured badly from Sarod's beating, scars littering across his face in an ugly pattern. Some look fresh, barely healed, while others are older and more faded. He drags me away from the crowd, his bulk easily overpowering my resistance as he shoves me into a shadowy alcove.

"You think you're special, don't you?" he taunts, his foul breath hot on my face. The stench of stale ale and rotting meat makes me gag. "Think Sarod actually gives a shit about you?" His eyes, cold and menacing, bore into mine as he sneers. I can see the hatred there, the burning desire to hurt me just to get back at Sarod.

I glare at him, refusing to show fear. "You don't know anything about us," I spit, my voice steadier than I feel.

"Us?" Grokus scoffs, his laugh a cruel bark that echoes in the small space. "There is no 'us'. You're just another human whore to him. He'll toss you aside like trash when he's done." His grip on my arms tightens, and I can feel bruises forming beneath his massive fingers.

His words sting, cutting deeper than I want to admit. But I push the doubt away, clinging to the memories of Sarod's gentle touches, his rare smiles. "You're wrong," I hiss, meeting Grokus's gaze with as much defiance as I can muster.

Grokus leans in closer, his foul breath washing over me as his tusks graze my cheek. I flinch, trying to turn away, but there's nowhere to go. "Am I?" he growls. "Sarod doesn't care about humans. He won't bat an eye if I decide to have some fun with you." His free hand trails down my side, and I shudder in revulsion.

I struggle harder, panic rising in my chest like a tidal wave. "He'll kill you if you touch me," I threaten, but my voice wavers, betraying my fear. My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat, and sweat beads on my forehead.

"Will he now?" Grokus sneers, his eyes glinting with malicious amusement. "Let's test that theory, shall we?" His hand moves lower, and I brace myself, desperately hoping that someone, anyone, will intervene. I scan the area frantically, looking for a friendly face, but we're alone in this dark corner.

His free hand slides down my side, and I feel bile rise in my throat. The revulsion makes me want to retch, but I swallow it down. I kick out, catching him in the shin, but it only seems to amuse him. The impact sends a jolt of pain through my foot, but I grit my teeth, determined not to show weakness.

"Feisty little thing, aren't you?" he quips darkly. "Sarod always did like 'em with some fight." His breath is hot on my face, reeking of stale ale and something worse. I turn my head away, trying to escape the stench.

I open my mouth to scream, but Grokus clamps his hand over it, muffling my cries. The taste of dirt and sweat from his palm makes me gag. Tears of frustration and fear sting my eyes as he starts to drag me further away into the shadows. I dig my heels into the ground, trying to slow him down, but he's too strong. My mind races, searching for a way out of this nightmare.