Page 38 of The Orc's Captive Bride
He was her guard—her jailer, no matter how he tried to frame it otherwise. And she was Lasseran’s pawn in the High King’s quest for more power.
Getting involved with her was suicide.
Even worse, getting involved with her could get her killed.
But his Beast didn’t care about logic or consequences. It had recognized Thea the moment their eyes met at the stone circle.
Mate.
“No,” he said aloud, as if speaking the denial would make it true.
She was human. He was an orc. They came from different worlds and lived in different realities. She wanted to go back to her world.
And even if none of that mattered—even if they somehow found a way past every obstacle—he was still a monster. He’d killed for Lasseran. Destroyed for him. Betrayed his own people for the High King’s approval.
He was everything his wild brethren accused him of being—a weapon without conscience.
She deserved better. She deserved someone who could offer her freedom. Someone who wasn’t broken beyond repair.
His enhanced hearing picked up the rustle of fabric from inside the room, followed by silence. She was alone in there, facing an impossible task with death as the price of failure. And he was out here, unable to help her in any meaningful way. Unable to even comfort her because he couldn’t trust himself to stop at comfort.
This is my punishment, he thought bitterly.For every moment I chose Lasseran over my people.
He had been given exactly what his Beast craved—a mate, fierce and brave and perfect—and she was completely untouchable.
He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the stone wall.
It was going to be a very long night.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
His mouth on her throat. Teeth grazing skin. The scrape of tusks against her collarbone.
Thea gasped, arching into the touch. Hands—large, rough, impossibly gentle—mapped the curve of her waist. Her ribs. The swell of her breast.
“Khorrek.”
His name came out as something desperate and aching; something she’d never felt before.
“Tell me to stop.”
His voice rumbled through her, dark and dangerous and edged with barely controlled hunger.
“No.”
“Thea.” A growl that was both warning and promise. “Tell me to stop before I can’t.”
She opened her eyes and met his gaze. Those golden eyes that saw too much, that looked at her like she was something precious instead of ordinary.
“I don’t want you to stop.”
He made a sound—half snarl, half groan—and his control shattered. His mouth claimed hers with devastating thoroughness.
And she met him with equal fervor.
Her hands found the hard planes of his chest. Traced the ridges of muscle and scars. Felt the rapid thunder of his heartbeat beneath her palm.
Alive. Real. Mine.
