Page 21 of Savage Devotion (Orc Warrior Romances #2)

"You've seen me bleed and stayed to bind the wounds. You've trusted me with your soldiers' lives. You've fought beside me without question when things went bad." His grip on my wrist tightens. "You've chosen to trust instead of suspect, even when suspicion would be safer."

"That's not enough."

"It's everything."

It steals breath leaving me dizzy. Because he's right somehow. All those careful calculations about political implications and command structure matter, but they're not the only things that matter.

Maybe trust is its own kind of tactical decision. Maybe choosing to believe in someone despite the risks is its own form of courage.

"I'm still afraid," I admit.

"Good. Fear keeps you careful. Makes you think before you act." He releases my wrist, but doesn't step away. "But don't let it make you so careful that you miss what's worth fighting for."

"And what's that?"

"Each other. Our people. A future where alliance means something more than temporary convenience."

The canyon suddenly feels too quiet, too intimate for the size of what we're discussing. But maybe that's appropriate. Maybe the biggest decisions get made in small moments, between heartbeats, when the world narrows down to just two people standing close enough to share breath.

"If we do this," I say carefully, "we do it honestly. No secrets, no hidden agendas. Whatever happens between us, it can't compromise our responsibilities to our commands."

"Agreed."

"And if the political situation changes, if our alliance becomes untenable..."

Looking into Kaelgor's eyes, I see the certainty there. I believe it might actually be possible.

"Alright." The decision feels both monumental and inevitable. "But we start by dealing with the spy. Whatever else happens between us, I won't let someone use it against our people."

"Where do we start?"

"By being smarter than they expect. By using their assumptions against them." I step back finally, giving myself space to think tactically again. "But first, we need to get you properly treated and these bodies back to camp."

"And then?"

"Then we set a trap."

The sun sits low on the horizon by the time we finish wrapping the bodies and gathering what salvageable equipment remains. Three canvas shrouds lie side by side on makeshift stretchers, silent testimony to my failures as a commander.

Kaelgor moves slowly but steadily, his injuries bound with field dressings that will hold until we reach proper medical supplies. The infection concern remains, but at least the bleeding has stopped. Still, I catch him favoring his left side when he thinks I'm not watching.

"The spy network," I say as we begin the trek back to camp. "I've been thinking about how to approach it."

"And?"

"Heldrik expects me to be emotional. Reckless. He's spent years telling anyone who'll listen that I'm too impulsive for real command responsibility." The bitter truth of it sits sour in my mouth. "So we use that against him."

Kaelgor adjusts his grip on one of the stretcher poles, rust-red eyes considering. "You want to play into his expectations."

"Exactly. Give him exactly what he thinks he wants to see." The plan crystallizes as I speak, tactics falling into place with satisfying precision. "A commander so compromised by personal feelings that she makes predictably poor decisions."

"What kind of poor decisions?"

"The kind that reveal who's feeding him information. The kind that force the spy to expose themselves to maintain their position."

We crest a small rise, and the camp comes into view below, scattered tents arranged in defensive positions around Heldrik's command pavilion. Smoke rises from cooking fires, and I can see sentries at their posts, maintaining the illusion of routine while harboring treachery in their ranks.

One of them betrayed these three soldiers to their deaths.

The thought kindles something cold and sharp. Not rage exactly, but something more focused. More useful.

"I have an idea," I continue, voice dropping lower as we approach the perimeter. "But it's dangerous. For both of us."

"Explain."

"Tonight, I announce my intention to raid the Bloodfang supply depot northeast of here. Completely unauthorized, tactically questionable, and motivated entirely by personal vendetta for their attacks on our positions."

Kaelgor's pace slows slightly. "The Bloodfang depot is heavily fortified. It would be a suicide mission for a small force."

"Which is exactly why Heldrik will believe I'm stupid enough to attempt it. Especially if I make it clear that my judgment is compromised by..." I gesture between us. "Recent developments."

"You want to use our connection as bait."

"I want to use the appearance of our connection as bait.

" The distinction matters, though I'm not entirely sure why.

"If the spy believes I'm planning something catastrophically reckless, they'll need to report it immediately.

And they'll need to be specific about timing, routes, force composition. "

"Which means they'll have to break communication protocol."

"Exactly. Emergency intelligence takes priority over operational security. They'll have to risk exposure to get the information to Heldrik quickly enough for him to act on it."

We reach the camp's outer perimeter, and the sentries snap to attention.

I recognize both of them—Varrick and Jon, solid soldiers I've fought beside for months.

But even familiar faces feel suspect now, tainted by the knowledge that someone here has been selling information that got my people killed.

"Commander." Varrick nods respectfully. "Rough day?"

"Vine-beast attack in the canyon. Three casualties." I keep my voice level, professional. "Alert the medical tent that we have injured coming in."

"Yes, ma'am."

As we continue toward the center of camp, Kaelgor speaks quietly enough that only I can hear. "This plan of yours. What exactly do you need from me?"

"Public disagreement about the raid. You argue against it, I override your objections. Make it clear that I'm prioritizing emotional satisfaction over tactical sense."

"And privately?"

"Privately, we plan the real operation. Small team, surgical strike, designed to follow whoever takes the bait." I pause, considering the implications. "But that means you'll be putting yourself at risk based on my judgment. After what happened today..."

"Today wasn't your fault."

"Three families would disagree."

"Three families will grieve regardless of who's to blame. The question is whether their deaths serve a purpose beyond adding to your guilt collection."

It hits harder than they should, probably because they're true. I've been carrying guilt like armor for so long that I've forgotten it's supposed to protect something, not just weigh me down.

I help transfer Kaelgor inside while they take the other stretchers to the burial preparation area. The medic, a grizzled veteran named Torres, immediately begins examining the puncture wounds with professional efficiency.

"Vine thorns," he observes. "These need proper cleaning and fresh stitches. You did good field work, but there's still debris in some of the deeper cuts."

"How long?" I ask.

"Hour, maybe two for proper treatment. Longer if infection's taken hold."

I nod and step back, but Kaelgor catches my wrist.

"The raid announcement. When?"

"Tonight. After evening meal, when everyone's gathered around the fires." I meet his gaze directly. "Last chance to change your mind about this."

"Are you changing yours?"

The honest answer is that every instinct screams against deliberately creating conflict between us, even artificial conflict. But those same instincts failed to protect Sean, Taren, and Senna. Maybe it's time to trust calculation over intuition.

"No."

"Then neither am I."

Torres clears his throat pointedly. "Unless this conversation involves immediate medical decisions, I need space to work."

I release Kaelgor's wrist and step toward the tent flap. "I'll see you at evening formation."

"Ressa." His voice stops me at the entrance. "When this is over, when we've identified the spy..."

"What?"

"We finish the conversation we started in the canyon."

Heat rises in my cheeks, but I manage a nod before ducking outside.

The next few hours pass in careful preparation.

I review supply manifests and patrol reports, building a plausible case for the Bloodfang raid that will sound convincing to anyone listening.

I also quietly identify potential assets for the real operation, soldiers I trust implicitly, whose loyalty to me outweighs any external influences.

The list is shorter than I'd like.

By evening, word has spread about the casualties from the canyon mission. Tension settled over a camp, reminding people of their mortality, and the mood around the cooking fires became subdued. Perfect atmosphere for announcing a risky operation that plays on desires for revenge.

I find Kaelgor near the command fire, looking better after Torres's ministrations but still moving carefully. He's changed into a clean shirt that doesn't show the bandages beneath, but I can see the slight stiffness in his posture that suggests ongoing pain.

"Ready?" I ask quietly.

"Question is whether you are."

Before I can ask what he means, Heldrik approaches from across the fire circle. My uncle moves with the predatory grace of someone to command, silver hair gleaming in the firelight and pale eyes missing nothing. He nods to Kaelgor with barely concealed disdain before focusing on me.

"Heard you lost people today."

"Three soldiers. Good ones." I keep my voice steady, professional. "Vine-beast attack during reconnaissance."

"Reconnaissance for what purpose?"

"Evaluating potential routes for supply interdiction. The Bloodfang have been hitting our convoys regularly. Time to return the favor."

Heldrik's expression doesn't change, but I catch the slight tightening around his eyes that suggests interest. "Return the favor how?"