Page 14 of The Orc Protector's Secret Baby

I grip the makeshift blade tighter, its jagged edge digging into my palm. The pain grounds me, keeps the panic at bay. I've survived worse. I can survive this.

But which clan is he from? The markings I glimpsed... Swordstone, maybe? My mind races, cataloging everything I know about them. Brutal. Efficient. Not as fond of "playing" with their prey as some. Small comfort.

A twig snaps nearby. I freeze, not daring to breathe.

I hear him breathe a deep sigh. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Lies. Always lies with them.

My fingers twitch around the blade. If he finds me, I'll go down fighting. No more running. No more cowering.

"Please," he continues, closer now. "I just want to talk."

Talk? Since when do orcs want to talk? It has to be a trick. Some new, cruel game.

I press myself harder against the tree, willing myself to melt into its bark. My legs ache to run, but I know he'd catch me in seconds. All I can do is wait. And hope.

The forest falls silent. No birdsong, no rustling leaves. As if the whole world is holding its breath along with me.

Then, a shadow falls across the ground beside me.

"Hey, come out! I'm not going to hurt you!"

His voice rumbles through the forest, setting my teeth on edge. My fingers tighten around the makeshift blade, knuckles white with tension. Liar. They're all liars.

Images flash through my mind – bruises, blood, screams in the night. Years of torment at their hands. My body bears the scars of their "kindness."

"I just want to talk," he continues, his footsteps crunching closer. "You're safe, I promise."

A bitter laugh threatens to escape my throat. Safe? With an orc? There's no such thing.

I press myself further into the hollow, ignoring the way bark scrapes against my skin. My wet hair clings to my face, and I resist the urge to push it away. Any movement could give me away.

"Look, I know you're scared," he says, his voice softer now. "But I'm not like the others. I won't harm you."

My jaw clenches. How many times have I heard those words? How many times have they been followed by pain and humiliation? They'll say anything to lure you in, to make you drop your guard.

I can see his massive feet now, just beyond my hiding spot. My heart pounds so hard I'm sure he must hear it. One wrong move and I'm done for.

"Please," he tries again. "I'm Cagan of the Swordstone Clan. I give you my word as a warrior that I mean you no harm."

Swordstone. Of course. One of the most brutal clans out there. My grip on the blade tightens, ready to lash out if he comes any closer. I'd rather die fighting than go back to that life.

He sighs, a heavy sound full of... frustration? Concern? No, it has to be an act. They're all monsters underneath, no matter how convincing their masks are.

His massive form rounds the corner of the tree, and I seize my chance. My muscles coil, ready to spring. I've only got one shot at this.

I slip from my hiding spot, silent as a shadow. My bare feet barely make a sound on the forest floor. Years of running, of surviving, have honed my body into a weapon.

The orc's back is to me. He's distracted, still calling out empty promises. Fool.

I pounce.

In one fluid motion, I'm behind him, my makeshift blade pressed against his thick, green neck. My other arm wraps around his massive chest, using his own bulk for leverage.

"Don't move," I hiss, pressing the jagged edge harder against his skin.

He tenses, muscles bunching under my arm. For a heartbeat, I think he might try to overpower me. My grip tightens, ready to slash if he so much as twitches.