Page 14 of Savage Devotion (Orc Warrior Romances #2)

"Duration of command authority?"

"Until I return or send alternative orders."

Open-ended commission.

Significant trust.

More than military necessity requires.

Personal confidence in her judgment.

Something shifts in her expression, recognition of the faith I'm placing in her capabilities. This isn't just temporary command—it's acknowledgment of her worth as warrior and leader.

Trust offered. Vulnerability exposed.

Professional courtesy or personal connection?

Both.

Definitely both.

"I won't disappoint you."

Promise given. Responsibility accepted.

Personal commitment rather than mercenary obligation.

She understands the stakes.

"I know."

Truth. Confidence.

Faith in her competence.

Maybe something more.

I move toward my equipment storage, mentally cataloging items needed for extended reconnaissance operation. Weapons, armor, supplies for several days in hostile territory. Standard preparation for dangerous work.

Routine. Familiar.

Combat readiness over personal concerns.

Focus on mission requirements.

Ressa follows, her presence both distraction and a comfort as I sort through gear. She understands military preparation, the methodical process that separates professional warriors from enthusiastic amateurs.

Shared knowledge. Common experience.

Understanding without explanation.

Partnership developing through mutual respect.

"Light armor?" she observes as I select leather reinforced with metal plates rather than full battle gear.

"Speed over protection. Reconnaissance requires mobility."

Tactical choice. Calculated risk.

Stealth and information over defensive capability.

Standard doctrine for advance operations.

"Weapons?"

I lift my paired fighting axes, balanced for close combat rather than throwing. The handles show wear from countless hours of practice and application, leather wrappings shaped by my grip.

Familiar weight. Proven effectiveness.

Tools of my trade.

Extensions of my will.

"Close quarters specialty. If I'm using these, stealth has already failed."

Truth. Last resort.

Preference for avoiding combat during reconnaissance.

Violence as final option when intelligence gathering goes wrong.

She examines my equipment selection with professional interest, noting choices that reveal tactical priorities and operational methods. Her questions probe for understanding rather than criticism.

Military mind. Professional curiosity.

Respect for competence.

Growing understanding of my methods.

"Communication protocol?"

"Daily signal fires if possible. Smoke patterns for basic status reports." I point toward the ridge overlooking our camp. "Watch the eastern peaks. Three columns means safe. Two means danger. One means retreat immediately."

Standard procedure. Practical necessity.

Also personal concern for her safety.

Warning system to protect her if operation goes badly.

"And if no signals?"

Realistic question. Uncomfortable possibility.

Missions go wrong. People die.

Personal mortality versus professional obligation.

"Assume the worst. Secure this position and await reinforcements."

Practical instruction.

Also personal fear.

What happens to her if I don't return?

What happens to me if she's gone when I get back?

The thought creates an unexpected tightness in my heart with a concern laced with tactical considerations. When did her safety become personal priority rather than professional courtesy?

When I started caring about her opinion.

When her challenges became welcome rather than annoying.

When her presence became comfort rather than complication.

Dangerous development.

Inevitable development.

Too late to change course now.

I finish equipment preparation in silence, hyperaware of her proximity as she sorts through defensive supplies and reviews camp layout. Her tactical thinking adapts quickly to orc methodology, integrating clan practices with human efficiency.

Natural talent. Proper instruction.

She'll hold this position successfully.

If anyone can protect our interests here, she can.

Personal confidence backed by professional assessment.

Garok approaches as I secure my travel pack, expression showing readiness for departure. His horse shows signs of recovery, head up and alert despite the hard ride that brought him here.

"Ready when you are."

Time to leave. Mission waiting.

Duty calls. Personal considerations must wait.

Always the same choice.

Always the same sacrifice.

I turn to face Ressa, noting the way her expression combines professional understanding with something that might be personal concern. She recognizes the danger inherent in reconnaissance operations, the possibility that this could be goodbye rather than a temporary departure.

Military reality. Occupational hazard.

Death waits at every mission.

Sometimes it wins.

"Kaelgor."

My name. Spoken with weight.

Meaning beyond simple address.

Personal connection acknowledged.

I meet her gaze, searching for words that convey appropriate meaning without exposing vulnerabilities that could complicate an already difficult situation.

What to say?

How much to reveal?

Professional courtesy or personal truth?

Instead of words, I reach into my belt pouch and withdraw a section of braided war-cord, three strands of leather and metal wire twisted together in the pattern that marks clan identity and personal honor.

Sacred object. Symbolic significance.

Gift of protection and promise.

Trust made tangible.

I hold it out to her, noting the way her expression shifts to recognition of its importance even without understanding specific cultural meaning.

"Ironspine protection cord. While you hold it, clan honor guarantees your safety."

Truth. Traditional significance.

Also personal vow.

My word as bond for her protection.

My life as guarantee of clan commitment.

She accepts the cord with careful reverence, noticing the intricate braiding that represents months of careful work. Her touch speaks of understanding that this is more than simple trinket.

"What does it mean?"

Direct question. Cultural curiosity.

Personal significance.

Recognition of symbolic weight.

"Protection. Promise. Return." The words come slowly, each one carrying meaning with the surface definition. "While you hold it, I'm bound to come back."

Sacred vow. Personal commitment.

Clan tradition adapted for personal purpose.

Promise that transcends duty or obligation.

Her fingers close around the cord, grip firm enough to suggest acceptance of both gift and meaning. When she speaks, she matches the significance of the moment.

"Then I'll keep it safe until you return."

Promise given. Responsibility accepted.

Personal commitment rather than polite courtesy.

Understanding of symbolic significance.

Faith in my eventual return.

I nod, satisfied that she grasps the importance of what's passed between us. The war-cord creates obligation on both sides—mine to return, hers to preserve what I've entrusted to her care.

Bond established. Connection acknowledged.

Personal stake in successful mission completion.

Additional motivation for survival.

Garok clears his throat, gentle reminder that duty waits for no one's personal complications. "Time to ride."

Military necessity. Mission priority.

Personal desires must yield to clan obligations.

Always the same choice.

Duty before happiness.

I shoulder my pack and move toward the horses, pausing only to meet Ressa's gaze one final time.

"Hold the position. Trust your judgment. I'll return."

Instructions. Promise. Personal vow.

Everything I can offer without compromising operational security.

Faith in her competence and my own survival.

"I'll be here."

Simple words. Complex meaning.

Promise of her own.

Anchor point for my return.

Reason to survive whatever waits at Skullcrack Pass.

I mount my horse and follow Garok into the darkness, the war-cord's absence from my belt feeling like phantom weight. Behind us, Ressa's silhouette stands outlined against the forge's dying glow, solid and reliable as the stone foundations that anchor clan territory.

She'll hold the position.

She'll be there when I return.

If I return.

When I return.

Personal determination backed by professional competence.

Mission success and personal survival.

Both necessary.

Both achievable.

Both worth fighting for.

The horses pick their way through darkness toward whatever waits at Skullcrack Pass, carrying us toward combat that will determine clan survival and personal future with equal weight.

Duty calls.

Honor demands.

Love motivates.

All three point in the same direction.