23. Emilia

23

EMILIA

C lenching my jaw, I scrub the floors with renewed intensity while Burna and Yalia mumble things about me from somewhere behind me. With the way they gossip about me, in front of me in most cases, it makes me miss the camaraderie I used to have back in Aleryn's home.

At least there, we were all bonded due to our traumatic experiences with Aleryn. Here, things are so different.

"Humans are so strange," Burna says, shaking her head while she gives a lackluster shine to the nearest bookshelf. "They can hardly speak for themselves, they can't fight, they don't have any autonomy of their own."

"They're pitiful creatures, indeed. No wonder they're traded like clothes in the zyrphix arenas," Yalia remarks with a wistful tone.

How I wish I could turn around and tell them off for slacking off while I clean the floors by myself, but there's no use making enemies here when it seems I've made an enemy of the orc in charge.

I suppress a sigh, thinking about Jurto and how we went wrong. What could I have done differently?

Continuing to scrub the floor, I press the brush harder against the tiles, each stroke a bit sharper, a bit harder, channeling my frustration into my work. Burna and Yalia's murmurs morph into a background hum—irritating but ignorable. I don't need their sympathy or their mockery. I just need to get through this day.

Suddenly, a shadow falls over me, chilling and vast. I don't need to look up to know who it is. The heavy, oppressive presence can only belong to one person in this house. I try to keep my focus on the floor, on anything but him, but then his hand, large and unyielding, clasps my shoulder. I stiffen, my whole body coiled tight as a spring.

"You two," Jurto rumbles, referring to Burna and Yalia. "Leave."

Soon afterwards, I hear a scuffle of footsteps hurry out of the room. At least they're gone. But now, I'm alone with Jurto.

"You're not going to run from me, Emilia."

Jurto's voice is low and rough, like gravel being crushed underfoot. His grip tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to ensure I can't turn away. Reluctantly, I stop my scrubbing and face him, his dark eyes burning with an urgency that startles me.

"Gargash has thrown down a challenge," he rasps, his gaze never wavering. "He wants to win you in the next zyrphix match."

The floor seems to sway beneath me, and for a moment, I'm dizzy with a cocktail of fear and anger. "And what did you say?" My voice comes out sharper than I intend, edged with accusation.

Jurto's eyes narrow slightly, the lines at the corners deepening. "I haven't answered yet. But you know I can't refuse. It's not just about you—it's about honor, about standing."

I pull away from his grip, anger flaring. "So, I'm just a pawn then? Something to be wagered and won, over and over?" The words tumble out, bitter and twisted. Aleryn's wager is fresh in my mind.

He doesn't flinch at my words. If anything, his expression hardens. "You know it's not like that. This is how our world works, Emilia. I'm doing what I must to protect you, to keep you here with me."

"By fighting for me like I'm a trophy?" I shoot back, my hands clenched at my sides.

Jurto steps closer, his presence overwhelming. "No," he says firmly. "By fighting for us. Because whether you believe it or not, I want you here, Emilia. Not as a prize, but as—" He hesitates, his usual confidence faltering as he searches for the right words.

"As what?" I challenge, my heart pounding in my ears.

"As someone I care about. More than I should." His admission hangs between us, raw and unexpected.

I stiffen under his grasp, the old, familiar sensation of helplessness washing over me. Not this again, I think. The cycle of being fought over, the object in a game of brutal strength and cunning—it's too much. I laugh, a harsh, bitter sound that surprises even me. "Why should I believe you? After all, I'm just your slave."

Jurto's grip tightens, his fingers digging into my shoulders just enough to command my full attention. He leans in, his face only inches from mine, his expression fierce. "Don't be foolish," he growls, his voice low and menacing. "I won't lose you to that scum."

The intensity in his eyes, burning with a ferocious fire, ignites something in me. It's the look of a warrior, a protector, but also of desperation. This game, this life we're entangled in, it's more than just survival—it's about possession, power, and pride.

I shake my head, trying to free myself from his unsettling grip and the conflicting emotions it stirs within me. "Why? Why go through all this for me? I'm just?—"

"You're not 'just' anything, Emilia," he interrupts sharply, his voice softening slightly, the harsh lines of his face smoothing as his anger gives way to something else, something painfully sincere. "You think I don't see how they look at you? How they underestimate you? But I know your worth. I see your strength, your resilience. And damn it all, I?—"

He stops, his jaw clenching as he struggles with his words, something uncommon for a man usually so dominated by sheer will and force. His hand moves from my shoulder to gently cradle the back of my neck, his thumb stroking my skin in a rare display of tenderness.

"This isn't just about keeping you as a prize. This is about choosing where you belong," he continues, his voice now a husky whisper. "With me. Not because you have to be, but because it's where you should be—free from the likes of Gargash."

My heart pounds fiercely in my chest, a chaotic rhythm that matches the tumultuous thoughts swirling in my head. Jurto's closeness, the heat of his body, the palpable concern in his eyes. All of it makes it hard to think, to breathe.

"But what if you don't win?" The question slips out, vulnerable and laden with fear. The possibility hangs between us, heavy and ominous.

Jurto's face hardens, the warrior reemerging. "I will win," he states with conviction, his grip firm but no longer painful. "I have to. For both of us."

Before I can gather my thoughts into words, Jurto closes the distance between us. His hand cradles the back of my head, pulling me toward him, and then his lips crash against mine in a searing kiss. It's forceful and desperate, filled with all the unspoken tensions and raw emotions that have been building between us.

Despite my confusion, my resistance begins to melt under the heat of his passion. My body reacts before my mind can catch up, responding to the intensity of his kiss with a surprising fervor. My hands, once limp at my sides, rise to clutch at his broad shoulders, pulling him closer. The world narrows down to the press of his lips, the firm grip of his hands, and the tumultuous emotions spiraling through me.

Jurto finally breaks the kiss, but he doesn't let go. His breath is ragged, and his eyes burn into mine with a fierce possessiveness that should frighten me—but doesn't. "You are mine," he rumbles deeply, his voice thick with conviction. "I protect what is mine."

His words wrap around me like a cloak, heavy with implications. The possessiveness should rankle, should ignite my defiance. Yet, in this moment, surrounded by his overpowering presence, I find a strange comfort in his declaration. It's as if his claim provides a shield against the chaos of our world, a chaotic world that threatens to sweep me away at any moment.

He keeps me close, one arm around my waist, as if afraid that I might slip away if he loosened his grip even slightly. I lean into him, my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. It pulses strong and sure under my ear, syncing for a fleeting moment with my own rapid heartbeat.

As I pull away and search Jurto's face, the harsh lines and the dark shadows under his eyes tell a story of sleepless nights and worrisome days. His urgency, I now see, isn't just about possession or pride—it's driven by a genuine care for me. The realization sends a warm, confusing ripple through my chest. Could Jurto, with his fierce demeanor and hardened shell, truly harbor feelings for someone like me? The thought is as intimidating as it is exhilarating.

His eyes, usually so commanding and unreadable, now flicker with a vulnerability he seldom shows. They trace my features as if memorizing them, as if he is seeing me for the first time. The intensity of his gaze stirs a hope within me that I scarcely dare to nurture, a fragile bud pushing up through a crack in a wall of stone.

"Jurto..." My voice is a whisper, laden with unspoken questions. "Why are you doing this? Why me? You could have any orc woman. Any one of them."

He exhales slowly, his breath stirring strands of my hair. "Because, Emilia," he starts, his voice low and earnest. "You see me for who I am. And that exhilarates me more than any zyrphix match."

His admission hangs in the air between us, bold and revealing. My heart skips, then steadies, as his words sink in. To be seen—to truly be seen by someone—is both a treasure and a terror. And here, in the dim light of the room, with his arms still around me, I feel treasured.

Jurto's eyes soften, and a slight smile tugs at the corners of his mouth—a rare, unguarded smile that brightens his entire face. It's a smile that speaks of relief, of a shared secret finally acknowledged.

He's willing to fight for what we have. Thoughts of the future don't seem as bleak anymore.