Page 184 of The Orc's Captive Bride
Something was happening to her, something that filled him with both awe and terror.
“We’ve made it,” he said, unnecessarily.
Baralt moved up beside them, his expression grim. “Just in time. Look.”
He pointed to the horizon where the first edge of the moon was visible—larger than normal, with a reddish tint that would deepen as it rose.
The Blood Moon. Tonight.
“I can feel it,” Thea whispered, her voice holding that strange, resonant quality that had been growing stronger since they left the Stone Circle. “We need to hurry.”
He nodded, guiding his horse down the path that led to the base of the cliff. The others followed silently, a small but determined force against the might of Lasseran’s empire.
This is madness, his practical mind whispered. Eight warriors against an army. A handful of rebels against the most powerful ruler the Five Kingdoms has ever known.
But his Beast disagreed, growling with savage confidence. Lasseran was just a man. A powerful man with dark magic, yes, but still mortal. Still killable.
And they had something Lasseran didn’t: His mate, the vessel of the goddess.
The goddess who nearly took her from me, he thought, hands tightening on the reins.The power that almost cost her life.
He still dreamed about it—the endless white mist, the pain of walking through his worst memories, the voice demanding his sacrifice.
He would make the same choice again without hesitation.
They reached the base of the cliff where the city perched. No gates here, just a sheer rock face that most would find impossible to scale. But he wasn’t most people.
He dismounted, helping Thea down. “There’s a tunnel,” he explained to the group. “Used by the orc warriors when Lasseran wants us to come and go unseen.”
“Convenient,” Baralt remarked, one eyebrow raised.
“He never imagined we’d use it against him.” Khorrek’s smile held no humor. “This way.”
He led them along the cliff base, counting his steps carefully. One hundred and seventeen from the lightning-struck tree. Then up twenty-three feet. There—a narrow crack almost invisible unless you knew exactly where to look.
“Single file,” he instructed. “Watch your heads.”
He went first, ducking into the tight passage. It widened after a few steps, opening into a rough-hewn tunnel that sloped gradually upwards. Thea followed close behind him, then Egon and Lyric, with Baralt and his three warriors taking up the rear.
They moved in silence, guided by the faint blue luminescence of the fungus that grew along the tunnel walls—another secret Lasseran thought safely kept.
After several minutes of steady climbing, the tunnel branched, and he paused, orienting himself.
“Left,” he decided. “Leads more directly to the temple district.”
“Left,” she agreed, but there was an odd certainty in her voice that made him look back at her.
Her eyes caught the blue glow, reflecting it back like twin stars.
She knows. Somehow, she knows.
The realization sent a shiver down his spine. He turned the corner—and froze.
A massive orc warrior stood blocking their path. Morak. One of Lasseran’s most loyal. One of the most brutal.
Khorrek’s Beast surged forward, claws and fangs ready. He had no sword—they’d left the horses and most of their gear hidden—but he’d tear Morak apart with his bare hands if necessary.
To his shock, Morak dropped to one knee, his head bowed.
