29. Emilia

29

EMILIA

M y eyes swell with tears as I watch Jurto and his team fight off the Stonebreakers with everything they have. When Jurto went down, my knees nearly buckled in fear.

At that moment, my mind swirled with thoughts of us, of our relationship, of our potential future together.

And that's when I realize that I don't want to lose Jurto. I'm in love with him and I can't imagine living without him.

No matter what happens, I won't go with Gargash. I belong to Jurto. I'm finally willing to admit that.

The crowd gasps and cheers when a Bloodcrusher manages to sprint away with the ball in his possession. Jurto trails behind, blocking off Stonebreaker defenders who try to catch up with the player. Jurto even manages to slam into Gargash, who hit him with an illegal move earlier in the game.

"Is this it?" I whisper, clenching my fists until my knuckles turn white. "Are they going to win?"

My heart pounds like a drum, echoing the thunderous roar of the crowd as the Bloodcrushers reclaim control of the game. Jurto, sweat glistening on his broad shoulders, moves with a ferocity that both terrifies and mesmerizes me. Each muscle ripples under his skin, a testament to the relentless training and raw strength he wields. The sight of him, so powerful and determined, stirs up a heat in my core.

Gods, how can an orc be so beautiful?

The Bloodcrushers, led by Jurto, are a whirlwind of energy, their movements so synchronized it's as if they share one mind. They crash into the Stonebreakers with crushing force, each tackle sending shockwaves through the stadium. I watch, breathless, as they dismantle their opponents' defense, piece by piece. The Stonebreakers, once formidable and daunting, now seem to falter under the onslaught.

Jurto's eyes catch mine for a fleeting moment, fierce and fiery, and I feel an electric connection that roots me to the spot. It's as if his glance alone can reassure me, promising me that everything will turn out right.

The Bloodcrushers push forward, the ball now a mere blur between hands. One of Jurto's teammates, a massive orc with scars criss crossing his arms, breaks through the line. He barrels down the field, dodging a tackle with surprising grace. The crowd's cheers crescendo into a deafening wave, urging him forward, urging them all to victory.

Jurto, not content to just watch, plows through a pair of defenders trying to block his path. His determination is palpable, every fiber of his being focused on the win, on keeping me, on proving his worth and love in the only way he knows how. It's brutal and beautiful all at once.

"Come on, come on!" I mutter under my breath, my hands clasped so tightly together they ache. The atmosphere is electric, charged with anticipation and fear. The scoreboard shows the Bloodcrushers leading by one point. They only need one more goal to score, and with every second that ticks by, the Bloodcrushers edge closer to triumph.

As the game nears its climactic finale, the tension is almost unbearable. The crowd is a mix of frenzied shouts and held breaths, everyone on the edge of their seats. The Stonebreakers rally, desperation clear in their quick, chaotic plays, but the Bloodcrushers are relentless.

The stadium erupts into a cacophony of cheers and shouts, the sound so loud it seems to shake the very ground beneath my feet. People leap up from their seats, waving flags and throwing drinks into the air in a frenzy of excitement. The air is thick with jubilation, and confetti begins to rain down, swirling in colorful whirlwinds around us. The Bloodcrushers have not only won; they have dominated, sealing their victory with a spectacular final play that will surely be talked about for seasons to come.

Jurto stands at the center of the field, his chest heaving, a victorious grin splitting his face. His teammates rush to him, clapping him on the back, lifting him into the air. Even from this distance, I can see the light in his eyes, a wild, triumphant fire. He's more than just a winner—he's a leader who has carried his team through storms and strife to this moment of glory.

The Stonebreakers, on the other hand, are a stark contrast. They trudge off the field, heads bowed, shoulders slumped. The weight of defeat is palpable in their slow, heavy steps. Some fall to their knees and pound the ground with their fists in frustration, others simply stare blankly ahead, lost in the shadow of their loss. The humiliation is etched on every face, a stark reminder of the brutal nature of this game where today's champions could be tomorrow's defeated.

Around me, the crowd is a living, breathing entity of its own, pulsating with energy. Fans of the Bloodcrushers chant Jurto's name, a rhythmic, thunderous sound that fills the air. "Jurto! Jurto! Jurto!" they shout, as if their voices could lift him even higher. The atmosphere is electric, every soul in the stadium connected by the sheer thrill of the win.

I can't help but be swept up in the excitement. My heart races, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I clap and cheer, my voice lost in the sea of sounds. Despite the fact that his teammates encapsulate him, Jurto still searches the crowd with a wistful expression. When his eyes find mine, there's an unspoken promise in his look, a shared moment of triumph that bridges the distance between us.

I want to rush to him, to hug him, to kiss him for the victorious game he just led, but I control my instincts. I stay hidden in the shadows, not wanting to steal any attention off of Jurto. He deserves every second of this.

And I'm not entirely sure he wants his teammates to see him in a vulnerable spot. Especially not after such an electric win.

My legs tremble, not from exhaustion but from an overwhelming surge of relief and joy. Jurto's victory doesn't just signify a win in the game; it's a personal victory for us, a reassurance of safety and a future together. The field below is a canvas of celebration, with Jurto at the center, a warrior in his element, his victory roar melding with the cries of his teammates.

He stands tall among his fellow Bloodcrushers, their burly forms engulfing him in hearty embraces. They slap his back and shake him by the shoulders, a band of brothers united by their hard-fought triumph. Jurto's face is alight with a raw, exhilarating happiness that I've never seen before. It's infectious, and I can't help but smile broadly, my heart swelling in my chest as I continue to make my way toward him.

When his roaring laughter and cheers subside, his gaze lifts again, searching the crowd. His eyes, those deep wells of passion and strength, lock onto mine.

He keeps searching for me, I think to myself. He wants to be with me.

Time seems to pause, the noise around us fading into a distant hum. In his look, I see everything—the battles fought, the love declared, and the quiet promise of a shared future. The intensity of his stare sends a warmth spreading through me. I am his, completely and irrevocably, and now, more than ever, I am relieved and grateful for it.

A wave of emotions crashes over me. The distance between feels insurmountable in this moment, filled with the chaotic joy of victory. I can't yet cross that expanse, not until the crowd thins and the last echoes of celebration fade. So, I stand here, in the secluded spot where he's left me to observe the game, watching him revel in triumph, surrounded by his teammates, and I find myself reflecting on our journey together.

Jurto and I are an unlikely pair, our differences as stark as night and day. He, with his relentless warrior spirit, thrives in the clamor and clash of the game, while I, more reserved, find solace in the quieter, untouched corners of the world. Yet, despite these differences, or perhaps because of them, we've found a rhythm, a way to dance around our disparities and meet in the middle where love resides.

As he laughs, his head thrown back, the setting sun casting a glow around him, I realize how much he has grown. He's not just a player on a field; he's an orc who has faced down fears and fought battles, both literal and metaphorical, for us. This victory on the field is a testament to his strength and determination, qualities that reassure me despite the fears that often plague my thoughts.

He's in love with me. I realize that now, and I'm hopelessly devoted to him. So much so, that the thought of losing him makes the air seem scarce within my lungs.

I wouldn't be able to go on without him. I never felt this way under Aleryn's ownership. And that's the thing. With Jurto, I don't feel like someone who is owned. I feel as if I am his equal. And he makes me feel as if I belong by his side.

We've had our share of challenges, moments when it seemed like the world was conspiring to pull us apart. There were times when I doubted, when the fear that I might lose him, or worse, crept into my quiet hours. But looking at him now, victorious and vibrant, I understand the depth of his commitment. Each game, each battle he's fought, wasn't just for glory or triumph; it was for us, for a future he's determined to secure.

He did this all for us. And I am so happy to spend the rest of my years by his side. No other team will dare challenge him for me, not after seeing what he's capable of doing to the ones who test him.