Page 24 of Savage Devotion (Orc Warrior Romances #2)

The torch flame wavers in my grip, casting shadows that dance like memories across the collapsed stone. Twenty feet of space. Maybe less. The walls close in with each breath, and suddenly I'm not in Ember Hollow anymore.

I'm twelve years old, following Thek through the Crimson Mines.

"Stay close," he'd said. "These tunnels are older than the clans themselves."

But when the support beams cracked and the ceiling came down, I was alone. Thek had slipped through a gap I couldn't reach, his voice echoing from the other side of tons of fallen rock.

"Find another way out, Kael. I'll meet you at the surface."

He never came back for me.

I spent three days in those collapsed mines, drinking my piss and eating cave moss, before I finally clawed my way to a drainage tunnel that led to daylight.

Three days wondering if my brother had abandoned me on purpose, if the accident was just convenient timing for him to escape whatever trouble he'd gotten himself into.

I found out later that he'd tried. Spent two weeks digging with his bare hands until the clan elders dragged him away, told him I was dead and gone. But knowing the truth doesn't erase the fear. Doesn't stop the panic that starts in my gut and spreads through my chest like poison.

"Kaelgor. Your breathing."

I realize I'm hyperventilating, sucking air in quick gasps that make my vision blur at the edges. The torch shakes so violently that sparks fall to the stone floor.

Control. Focus. She's watching.

I force my breathing to slow, counting each inhale and exhale until the panic subsides. But the fear remains, coiled in my stomach like a serpent. Not just fear of the collapsed tunnel—fear of abandonment. Fear that when survival becomes difficult, people show their true nature.

"Better?" she asks.

"Fine."

But I'm not fine. I'm studying her face in the torchlight, searching for signs. Calculation. The moment she realizes that staying with me is a liability. Her chances of survival increase if she leaves me behind.

My gaze drops to her weapons belt, cataloging what she carries. Standard mercenary kit: curved sword, two throwing knives, a dagger at her left hip. The dagger hasn't moved. Still secured in its sheath, leather peace-tie still knotted.

She could have killed me when the ceiling came down. One quick thrust while I was disoriented.

She could have taken my weapons and left me for dead.

She could have ? —

"You could have left me," I say, the words coming out rougher than intended.

"What?"

"Your dagger. Still there. Unused." I gesture toward her hip. "When the collapse started, you had opportunities. Could have put steel between my ribs and walked away clean."

Ressa stares at me for a long moment, torchlight reflecting in her green eyes. When she speaks, I hear a note I can't quite identify. Hurt, maybe. Or disappointment.

"Is that what you think of me?"

"I don't know what to think." The admission tastes bitter. "People show their real nature when death gets close. When survival means making hard choices."

"And you think I'd choose to murder you?"

"I think you'd choose to survive. Smart tactical decision."

She takes a step toward me, and I smell the leather of her armor, the faint scent of steel and determination that seems to follow her everywhere.

"Let me be very clear," she says, each word precise as a blade thrust. "If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Not from some cowardly backstab in a collapsed tunnel, but in honest combat where you could see it coming."

The conviction in her voice surprises me. Not just the words, but the underlying fury. As if the suggestion that she might resort to assassination is genuinely offensive.

"Besides," she continues, "killing you would be wasteful. You're too valuable alive."

"Valuable how?"

"You know these tunnels. You understand orc clan politics. You're probably the only person in fifty miles who can tell the whether it's Echo Spirits and actual ghosts." She pauses. "And despite your charming paranoia, you're one of the few people I trust to watch my back."

Trust.

The word sits heavy between us. I want to believe her, but trust is a luxury I've never been able to afford. Too many people have proven that loyalty lasts only as long as it's convenient.

"Trust is earned," I say.

"Yes. It is." She turns away, surveying the blocked entrance more. "Which is why this conversation is particularly unfortunate timing."

Something in her tone makes my gut clench. "Meaning?"

"Meaning I have something to tell you. Something you're not going to like."

The serpent of fear in my stomach coils tighter. "What?"

Ressa runs her hand along the fallen stones, testing their stability before she answers. When she speaks, her voice is carefully neutral.

"House Vaelmark has been placing agents in orc territories for months. Gathering intelligence on clan movements, trade routes, internal conflicts."

"Spies."

"Yes."

"In my clan."

"Yes."

Rage builds hot and sudden as forge fire. I spin away from her, fists clenched, fighting the urge to put my hands around her throat.

Of course. Of course she knew.

The spy network we've been hunting. She's part of it.

Everything she's done, everything she's said, has been manipulation.

"How many?" My voice sounds distant even to me.

"I don't know specifics. That information was compartmentalized."

"How long have you known?"

"About the overall operation? Months. About agents in your specific clan?" She pauses. "I suspected. Wasn't certain until yesterday."

"Yesterday." I turn back to face her, and she must see something in my expression because her hand moves unconsciously toward her sword hilt. "You've known since yesterday and you didn't tell me."

"I was gathering evidence. Trying to identify specific individuals."

"While lying to my face."

"While protecting an ongoing investigation."

The distinction feels meaningless. Betrayal is betrayal, regardless of the justification.

"The envoy," I say, pieces falling into place. "The one passing messages to Heldrik. He wasn't working against you—he was working for you."

"I don't know. Maybe. Probably." Her composure is cracking, frustration bleeding through. "The spy network isn't centralized. Different cells, different handlers, different objectives. I know about the operation but not the operational details."

"Convenient."

"True."

I pace the small chamber, mind racing through implications. Every conversation we've had, every moment of apparent trust and growing connection, is now suspect. How much was real? How much of it was a careful manipulation to gain access to clan secrets?

"What was the mission?" I ask.

"Which mission?"

"Yours. Specifically. What were you sent to accomplish?"

She's quiet for a long moment, weighing her words. "Initially? Establish contact with Ironspine leadership. Assess clan stability and likelihood of alliance."

"And after we met?"

"Monitor your activities. Report on clan movements and potential vulnerabilities."

The admission stings more than I expected. Not just the betrayal, but the clinical efficiency of it. I've been a target, not a partner. An asset to be managed, not a person to be trusted.

"The attack on the camp," I say. "When the vine-beasts came through the perimeter. You fought them off."

"Yes."

"But you could have let them through. Could have used the chaos to eliminate a target and blame it on the beasts."

"I could have." Her voice is steady. "But I didn't."

"Why not?"

"Because by then the mission had changed."

"Changed how?"

She meets my gaze directly. "Because I'd started caring more about keeping you alive than completing my original objectives."

The words hang between us like a challenge. I want to believe them, but trust is a blade that cuts both ways. Once broken, it's never quite the same when reforged.

"Prove it," I say.

"How?"

"Tell me everything. Every detail you know about the spy operation. Names, locations, methods, objectives. All of it."

"That would compromise ongoing operations. Put other agents at risk."

"Those agents are operating against my people. Against my clan." I step closer. "If you want to rebuild trust, you start by choosing a side."

"It's not that simple."

"It is exactly that simple." The rage is building again, harder to control. "Either you're with House Vaelmark or you're with me. Either you're working to protect your spies or you're working to expose them. Choose."

"And if I choose wrong? If I burn bridges with my House and it turns out you're just using me for intelligence?"

"Then you'll know how it feels."

The accusation hits home. I can see it in the way her shoulders tighten, the way her breathing changes. She's been carrying this knowledge, this guilt, for longer than she's admitted.

"You want to know the truth?" She asks finally. "Fine. House Vaelmark doesn't trust me either. They think I've gone native, gotten too close to my targets. There's a recall order waiting for me when we get back to civilization."

"A recall order."

"Strip my command. Court martial for insubordination. Possible execution if they decide I've committed treason."

"Have you?"

She laughs bitterly. "Apparently that depends on your perspective. Heldrik thinks I have. My uncle thinks loyalty to family should override everything else, including personal feelings."

"Personal feelings."

"About you." She says it simply, without embellishment. "About us. About whatever this is that's been building between us."

Us.

The word carries weight I'm not ready to examine. Connection implies vulnerability, and vulnerability is a luxury I can't afford. Particularly not with someone who has already shown that her loyalties are complex.

But the admission changes things. Slightly. If she's telling the truth about the recall order, then she's already paid a price for whatever feelings she's developed. Even if she made that choice unconsciously, she already chose in some ways.

"What do you want from me?" I ask.

"Help me finish this. Find the spy network, expose the operation, clean out the corruption before it does more damage." She pauses. "And maybe... maybe figure out what happens after that."

"After."

"When the mission is over. When the political complications are resolved. When it's just you and me without all the other considerations."

The possibility is like hope and fear combined. A future without the clan obligations and House loyalties. A chance to build something real instead of something tactical.

But first we have to survive the next few hours.

First, we have to find a way out of this tomb.

First, we have to decide whether we can rebuild trust from broken pieces, or if some fractures run too deep to heal.

"The tunnel deeper in," I say, changing the subject to something manageable. "How far does it go?"

"I don't know. The maps only covered the major smuggling routes."

"Then we find out."