12. Jurto

12

JURTO

" I t was a great practice," Rogar says as he claps me on the back.

I grunt in response as we leave the training quarters. In truth, my mind wasn't totally focused on the game. Instead, I kept seeing fiery red strands and bright green eyes flash behind my eyes.

Which only led to my violent nature in the arena.

Krodash joins in. "You were a beast out there!"

Yeah. I was fucking unleashing all the aggression that Emilia has been working up in me. There's something about her innocence that I want to ruin, her compliance that makes me want to push her until she breaks. I want to see her come undone because of me, know I'm the only one who can control her, and then put her back the way I want.

In other words, I've become obsessed.

Obsessed with her. Obsessed with breaking her. Obsessed with being the only one to claim every part of her battered soul.

Hrogun bumps into me, pulling me from my thoughts. "Everything alright, Captain?"

We're almost to my home and I can see movement behind the window facing me. I have one of the largest homes on our base, a mix between the dark elves' style of mansion and the rustic mobile camps most orc clans are known for. It's big but still breathable, not full of useless shit I have no need for like an elf.

"Fine," I huff and break away from them toward Emilia. I swear that girl has magic with the way she's fucked with my brain and just being around her pisses me off.

Probably because I don't like feeling so out of control.

I smother the thought, annoyed at it, as I slam through the front door. All I know is I want to find her, to make her pay for making me feel this way. Maybe she doesn't deserve it, but if that's the case then her sad eyes and fear shouldn't make me so fucking hard.

She's in the courtyard, hanging freshly washed linens. I watch her from the shadows for a moment, her movements careful and precise. She's trying so hard to be perfect, to avoid my wrath. But I want to see what happens when she's pushed too far.

"Emilia," I call out, stepping into the light. She jumps, nearly dropping the sheet she's holding.

"Yes, Jurto?" she replies, her voice steady but her eyes betraying her nervousness.

I stride over to her, grabbing a corner of the sheet and yanking it from her hands. "You're doing it wrong," I sneer. "Can't you do anything right?"

She flinches. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll fix it."

I step closer, invading her space. "You're always sorry, but nothing ever changes. Maybe you need a better lesson."

Her green eyes flare with something that looks almost like anger. For a moment, she opens her mouth as if to say something, but then she closes it, lowering her gaze. I can feel the tension building within her, the defiance simmering just beneath the surface. It's intoxicating.

But then the flames die out and she just nods her head.

I'm almost disappointed. Because that one moment with her defiance made me want to bend her over and fuck it out of her.

I liked it more than her sad gaze or her tears. I like those, too, would love to see her cry as she begged me for more. But that fire… It makes me want to break her even more until she is a weeping mess for me and realizes that she will have to submit.

It's been three days of Emilia being too submissive. I hate it.

She's not crying. She's not fighting me. And I know there is more in her. I want it, want to crack her open and take it all for myself.

Today, I find her in the study, dusting the shelves. She's meticulous, careful with every movement. I watch her for a moment, the way her slender fingers trace the spines of the books. There's a grace to her, a quiet strength that she tries to hide.

"Emilia," I say, my voice breaking the silence. She startles, her back stiffening.

"Yes, Jurto?" she responds, turning to face me.

I walk over to her, my eyes never leaving hers. "You missed a spot," I say, pointing to a perfectly clean shelf.

She looks where I'm pointing, confusion clouding her features. "I'm sorry, I'll clean it again," she says, reaching for the rag.

"No," I say, grabbing her wrist. "You're not getting it. You're too focused on the task, not on the bigger picture."

She frowns, a flicker of frustration crossing her face. "What do you mean?" she asks, her voice tinged with exasperation.

What the fuck do I mean? I just want to make her angry, to put her a little further.

"You're too careful," I say, my grip tightening on her wrist. "Always trying to be perfect. It's pathetic."

She tries to pull her wrist from my grasp, but I don't let go. "I'm just doing what you asked," she says, her voice trembling with anger and fear.

"What asked was for shit to get done. Not for you to be falling all over yourself like you're begging for my approval." I sneer.

"I don't give a fuck about your approval!" Her eyes widen as soon as the words are out of her mouth and she tries to pull back from me, one hand coming up to cover the lower half of her face.

But fuck, my dick jerks at the way she just yelled at me. Not because I want her to try and dominate me because I can already picture her ass red as I punish her, tears covering her face. And damn if I don't want that right this second.

But I only want it when I know she'll fight back.

I've come to realize I could have already taken her. But I don't want her to let me. I don't even want her to give it. I want to rip it from her, just like I ripped her life and choices away. I want everything to be mine.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I didn't mean?—"

I scoff, the apology immediately filling me with anger. It's not what I want. I have no interest in apologies. I want a fight and then her eventual tears as I break her down into my perfect little mold.

Disgusted, I shove her away. "Get back to work," I snarl as I stalk out of the room, annoyed.

Emilia has been avoiding me for days, and my entire team has felt the wrath of it. I nearly broke Borka's arm today, and yet, I still haven't managed to calm myself. Not with every thought and reminder of this woman who has driven me out of my godsdamnned mind.

My body is thrumming with rage that I can't seem to work out in the arena as I approach the house. It has to come out, and I only have one outlet, one way to unleash all my rage as I fight the battle warring in me.

I want this woman in pieces at my feet and I want her thrash as I do it and beg for me to do it again. And yet, she has been too obedient for me to find any satisfaction in this. To have what I want.

The door nearly comes off its hinges as I slam it behind me. Inside, the house is quiet except for the faint sounds of Emilia working. I follow the noise to the kitchen, where I find her scrubbing the countertops, her small frame moving with determined diligence. She doesn't notice me at first, too absorbed in her task. But when she senses my presence, she stiffens, her hand pausing mid-swipe.

"Missing your cozy elf house, little human?" I rumble, leaning close to her with a mocking grin.

Emilia's brows draw together in a scowl. "My name is Emilia," she retorts crisply. "And I wish to serve my duties in peace."

I laugh, taken aback by the sudden appearance of her audacity, but pleased that it's finally coming out. Her defiance is a spark in the dull routine of her compliance, one I've been waiting for. Her fiery spirit belies her frail appearance, and I am craving to see more of this boldness emerge.

"What a mouth on you. You act as if you can tell me what to do. You belong to me now, Emilia," I say, savoring her name. "Don't forget that."

She meets my gaze, her green eyes flashing with a mixture of fear and defiance. "I haven't forgotten," she says quietly, returning to her scrubbing with renewed vigor.

There's something about her spirit that calls to me, a challenge I can't resist. I step closer, looming over her. "You're supposed to be cleaning, not daydreaming," I taunt, watching for her reaction.

Emilia's hands tremble slightly, but she doesn't stop working. "I'm doing my best," she says through gritted teeth. I move closer, my body practically pressed up against hers.

Emilia pauses, her hands stilling on the dish. She looks up at me, and to my surprise, there's a fierce anger in her eyes. It's a look that sends a jolt through me, something dark – an unhealthy desire. It awakens something primal within me.

"Do better," my voice is barely more than a low grumble.

I take a step closer, my gaze locking onto hers. The tension between us is palpable, a charged silence. But then she lifts her chin in the slightest show of defiance, one she hasn't given yet.

I feel a dark thrill at her resistance. Breaking her will be a pleasure, a challenge that excites me more than any battle ever could. And I can't wait until she is begging me to completely undo her, until her hate melts into a deep need. She can despise me – I'd prefer it that way, really – but she'll also want me.

She'll want me to be her fucking reckoning. I'll make sure of it.