KHURZOG
I stood in the kitchen, shirtless, bare feet on the cold boards. My hands shook while I cracked the eggs. I rolled my sleeves up out of habit, even though there was no shirt to roll. My arms still smelled of her — sweat, blood, magic, and sex. The echo of her power was still in my chest, like a second heartbeat.
I hadn’t planned this. Not Korth’val. No combat trial. No formal challenge. Nothing was the way it should’ve been. Maybe the fight in the pit counted — fists and blood and eyes on us — but it wasn’t supposed to end like this.
But I’d marked her. Bitten her. Fucked her full. She’d taken my blood in her mouth. Magic sparked between us.
It happened.
And orc law doesn’t give a shit if it’s an accident. Magic doesn’t either. Once it’s done, it’s done.
I couldn’t undo it. Truth was, I didn’t want to.
The only way forward was Shur’eth. Morning of unity. She’d eat what I gave her, speak our name, and it would be sealed. I’d have a Karnazh, a family of my ow. I wouldn’t be Ironhide anymore. I’d belong to her.
I stirred the eggs too hard. They came out overcooked. The coffee was strong enough to strip paint. Didn’t matter. I wasn’t used to cooking for anyone. Not since my childhood and the Bridge.
I cut the bread into thick, rough slices. Hummed under my breath to steady my hands.
In my head, I pictured her in my shower. Maybe already in my shirt . Her legs sore from me. Cunt leaking my seed. My tail flicked without me telling it to. The corner of my mouth twitched. A smile.
I was afraid. More afraid than of any fight. But under it there was a little thread of something I hadn’t felt in decades. Hope.
Maybe she’d stay.
She had to feel it too.
It wouldn’t be easy. But we’d manage.
I set the bread down on the counter and took a long breath. My tail thumped once against the cupboard. I needed her to eat and tell me her full name. Then it would be done.
“Witch,” I called, low. Warm, even.
No answer.
I waited a few heartbeats, then called again. “Layla?”
Still nothing.
But the water was running. I could hear it. The old pipes in the wall shook when they worked too hard — rattling in that tired way they always did when someone took too long.
I padded barefoot across the floor. Quiet. The boards creaked. My tail swung behind me, twitching low; it was already unsettled.
I knocked on the bathroom door once. Not hard.
“Layla?” I tried again. “Breakfast’s ready.”
Nothing.
I opened the door.
Steam poured out, thick and clinging. The mirror was fogged over, the tiles slick with condensation. The shower hissed behind the curtain, still running.
But the room was empty.
No puddles on the floor. No towel hanging used. No sign she’d even stepped in.
She just left the water on and vanished.
My stomach dropped. Like something yanked it hard and low.
I backed out of the room slow, hand still braced on the doorframe. My eyes scanned the hallway, already knowing what I’d see.
The front door cracked open.
Enough for a body to slip through without making noise.
She ran.
I bolted barefoot through the flat, past the counter, eggs forgotten. My tail whipped once behind me, hard enough to knock into a chair. It scraped across the floor with a screech, but I didn’t stop.
I hit the hallway in three strides. My voice roared out before I could stop it.
“Witch!”
It echoed down the stairwell. I didn’t care who heard.
Layla was gone. And I wasn’t letting her go without a fucking fight.
I took the stairs two at a time, feet pounding, tail lashing behind me. Didn’t care that I was half-dressed. Didn’t care who saw me.
“Witch!” I shouted again, louder this time. The whole stairwell rang with it.
Doors cracked open. Faces peeked out. Wide-eyed. Some ducked right back in. They knew better. When an orc yelled like that, no one wanted to get in the way.
My nose twitched. I could still smell her — faint, but there.
Down the second floor. Past the pit entrance.
Her scent was trailing now, fading, but not gone. I caught it on the edge of sweat and perfume and something electric. Magic. Mine and hers, tangled.
I slammed through the side corridor into the back hall of the speakeasy. Locker room door hanging open, the air heavy with last night’s smoke and powder and ghosts.
She’d been here.
I scanned the room. Her scent pulled me straight to her locker.
The door creaked as I opened it.
Inside — nothing but my shirt.
Crumpled.
She was in a hurry.
It still smelled like her. Her skin. Her cunt. Her sweat. Mine.
I reached out and gripped the metal edge of the locker until it dented under my hand.
She didn’t just run.
She left it.
Left me.
I didn’t stop to think. I spun and tore through the exit at the end of the hall, straight into the alley.
The daylight slammed into me like a punch. Too bright. Too many humans. Delivery carts rattled by, half-full of flour sacks and wine crates. Voices carried. Horns. Boots on wet stone.
I scanned everything. Everyone.
Nothing.
Too late.
She was already gone.
I stood there, panting, chest rising hard and fast. My ribs still ached from last night. My thighs were sore. My jaw was tight.
I still smelled of her.
I’d always smell like her now.
The world buzzed around me, distant and hollow. I felt like I was underwater, pressure building in my ears, in my blood.
She ran.
She didn’t understand.
Or didn’t want to.
She didn’t give me time to tell her.
But it was too fucking late.
Korth’val already happened. The bond was sealed. Whether she accepted it or not.
She could run to the next city. Hide in every club, every backroom, every speakeasy from here to the coast.
Didn’t matter.
Because she was mine now.
My Karnazh.
My Vash’turrah.
The one who lit my hearth.
And I would find her. No matter how long it took.
My fists clenched. My chest burned. The magic still buzzed under my skin, half-wild and aching for her.
And then I threw my head back and roared — a full-throated bellow that cracked through the alley, ripped through the streets, shook the birds off the wires and sent every rat scurrying for the dark.
A sound of claim, of fury, of a heart torn open and left to bleed.
Let the whole fucking city hear.
Let her hear.
Even if she was miles away by now.
She’d know.
She belonged to me.
And I was coming.