Page 29 of Savage Devotion (Orc Warrior Romances #2)

My sword clears its sheath before conscious thought completes the decision. Steel rings against steel as I intercept his blade inches from Ressa's neck, the impact sending shock waves up both our arms. Heldrik's eyes widen—not with fear, but with satisfaction.

"There it is," he says softly. "The savage reveals itself."

Around us, the tent erupts into motion. Guards surge forward, hands on weapons, shouting orders and threats. Outside, I can hear the camp responding to the sound of drawn steel—boots on ground, armor clanking, voices raised in alarm and confusion.

But none of that is as important as the fact that my blade locks against his, our faces inches apart, and his hot breath touches my skin.

"You want to see savage?" I pitch my voice low enough that only he can hear. "Keep threatening her."

"Threatening?" His smile reveals teeth filed to points. A human affectation meant to appear orcish and intimidating. "I'm correcting a mistake."

"Your mistake was drawing steel in my presence."

"My mistake was allowing her to live this long."

Rage surges through me like molten metal, white-hot and demanding release.

This human wants to reduce everything to simple categories—civilization versus barbarism, order versus chaos, us versus them.

He can't comprehend that his niece might have found something worth preserving in an enemy, or that an orc might be capable of loyalty to someone outside his own clan.

But I can show him what savage really means.

I twist my blade, leveraging his weapon aside and following through with an elbow strike aimed at his throat. He's fast for a human, getting his off-hand up to deflect the blow, but the impact still staggers him backward.

"Stand down! All of you, stand down!"

Nobody listens. Guards close in from three directions, crossbows appearing in hands that were empty seconds before. Heldrik recovers his balance and comes at me again, this time with the calculated fury of someone who's decided that making an example requires spectacular violence.

His blade work is good, better than good. Decades of combat experience show in every strike, every defensive position, every tactical decision. He fights like someone who's survived a hundred battles by being faster, stronger, and more ruthless than his opponents.

But he's fighting me.

And I've survived just as many battles by being smarter.

I give ground, letting him think he's driving me back through superior skill and aggression.

The tent's support poles limit his movement options while providing me with cover and leverage points.

When he commits to a overhead strike meant to split my skull, I step inside his reach and drive my shoulder into his chest.

The impact sends us both crashing into the map table, scattering pins and papers across the tent floor.

Heldrik grunts as his back strikes the table's edge, but he doesn't drop his weapon.

Instead, he tries to bring his knee up into my ribs—a dirty fighter's move that would have worked if I hadn't been expecting it.

I catch his leg, twist, and send him sprawling across the scattered maps. He rolls, comes up with his blade ready, and stares down the length of my sword.

"Yield," I say quietly.

"Never."

"Then die."

But before either of us can follow through on our respective threats, Ressa steps between us. No weapon in her hands, no armor protecting her body—just courage and desperation and the absolute certainty that this ends here.

"Stop. Both of you. This ends now."

Heldrik's blade wavers, uncertainty flickering across his features. "Ressa?—"

"Commander Vaelmark," she corrects sharply. "And you will address me by rank or not at all."

The correction stings him more than any physical blow could have. I see it in the way his shoulders sag, the way his grip loosens on his weapon. She's not just defying him. She's rejecting the familial authority he's used to control her decisions.

"You're choosing them over your own people."

"I'm choosing peace over war. Progress over tradition. Hope over hatred."

"Those are luxuries we can't afford."

"Those are necessities we can't survive without."

The tent falls silent except for the sound of our breathing and the distant commotion of the camp beyond. Guards still surround us, weapons still drawn, but nobody moves. They're waiting for someone to make the decision that will determine what happens next.

Heldrik straightens, his blade rising again. "Stand aside, Commander. This ends with the orc's death."

"Then it ends with mine as well."

Ressa hasn't moved, hasn't drawn a weapon, hasn't even raised her voice. But the simple statement carries absolute conviction—if he wants to kill me, he'll have to go through her.

And killing his own niece in front of her command would be a step too far even for someone as ruthlessly pragmatic as Heldrik Vaelmark.

She's protecting me. The realization hits with unexpected force. Not just standing up to her uncle or defending her decisions, actively putting her life between mine and his blade. Choosing my survival over her own family relationships.

Trust doesn't cover what that means.

"You would die for an orc?"

"I would die for what's right."

Heldrik's blade trembles in his grip, rage and disbelief warring across his scarred features. The silence stretches like a bowstring pulled to breaking point, every person in the tent holding their breath.

"You would die for what's right." He spits the words like poison. "And what about what's necessary? What about survival?"

"Survival through what means?" Ressa's voice stays steady despite the crossbows trained on her from three angles. "Fear? Hatred? Endless war?"

"Survival through strength. Through maintaining the natural order that has kept humanity alive for centuries."

Natural order. The phrase tastes bitter even in hearing it secondhand.

Every conqueror throughout history has claimed their dominance represents natural law, that subjugation serves some greater cosmic design.

It's easier than admitting you're taking what you want because you have the power to take it.

"The natural order you're describing has given us nothing but blood and ashes," I say, keeping my blade steady between them. "How many more generations die before someone admits it isn't working?"

"Orcs lecturing humans about natural order." Heldrik's laugh carries no humor. "Your people rape and pillage across the continent, and you dare speak of peaceful solutions?"

"My people fight for territory and resources, same as yours. The difference is we don't pretend moral superiority while we do it."

"At least you admit what you are."

"What I am is someone who recognizes that strength can build instead of just destroy."

"Pretty words from a savage with a blade."

Savage. He keeps returning to that word like a talisman, as if repeating it enough times will make it true. But the accusation loses power when it comes from someone who just tried to murder his own niece for disagreeing with him.

"You want to see savage?" I lower my sword slightly, not enough to be defenseless but enough to make a point.

"Savage is trying to kill family members who question your authority.

Savage is reducing complex political situations to simple categories because thinking hurts your head.

Savage is believing that might makes right while claiming moral high ground. "

His face flushes dark red. "You dare?—"

"I dare state facts. Your way has produced generations of warfare with no resolution in sight.

Your methods have cost thousands of lives on both sides without achieving meaningful victory for either.

Your philosophy reduces every interaction to dominance or submission because you can't imagine cooperation between equals. "

"Equals." The word emerges like he's choking on it. "You think orcs are equal to humans?"

"I think individuals earn worth through their actions, not their species. Some orcs are honorable warriors. Others are bloodthirsty raiders. Some humans are tactical geniuses. Others are bigoted fools who mistake cruelty for strength."

The insult hits home. Heldrik's grip tightens on his weapon, knuckles white with strain. Around us, guards shift position nervously, unsure whether they should intervene or let this confrontation run its course.

"Unity," I continue, pressing the advantage. "That's what your niece understands that you don't. Cooperation multiplies strength instead of just redistributing it. Combined forces can accomplish what isolated armies never could."

"Combined forces." He makes it sound like heresy. "Human soldiers taking orders from orc commanders? Human tactics contaminated by savage methods?"

"Human intelligence combined with orc resilience. Human discipline integrated with orc adaptability. Shared knowledge instead of hoarded secrets."

"Fantasies."

"Results." Ressa steps forward, voice carrying the authority of someone who's commanded troops under fire.

"Combined patrols have reduced bandit activity in contested territories by sixty percent.

Joint operations have cleared trade routes that were impassable for months.

Coordinated intelligence sharing has prevented three major raids that would have cost dozens of lives. "

She's been tracking this. Professional soldiers respect data over ideology, and she's speaking their language.

"Temporary gains," Heldrik counters, but his tone lacks the absolute certainty it carried before. "Built on foundations that will collapse the moment your orc allies decide human weakness makes us attractive targets."

"Weakness?" Ressa's voice sharpens. "What weakness? We've achieved more in three months of cooperation than two years of traditional warfare managed."

"You've achieved tactical victories while surrendering strategic advantage. Every human secret shared with orcs becomes a weapon they can use against us later."