Page 11 of The Orc's Captive Bride
Triumph filled him, even though it was a petty victory.
He turned to leave, then hesitated. This early in the year, the night would be cold. They were too far south for frost, but the temperature would drop enough that she’d be uncomfortable. Possibly worse than uncomfortable, if the shivering he’d seen was any indication.
And she was wearing nothing but his tunic.
He sighed and untied a heavy winter fur from the bottom of his pack, then spread it over her before he could talk himself out of it.
She made a small surprised sound before her hands came up to touch the fur, running over it with something like wonder. Thenshe tilted her head, looking at him with those sharp grey eyes as she asked a question.
The words were incomprehensible, but the meaning was clear in her tone, her expression, and the way she gestured between the furs and him.
Why?
Why was he helping her? Why was he being kind when he’d kidnapped her and dragged her away from the stone circle?
Good questions. He didn’t have good answers. The fact that she was his mission was not enough.
Ignoring the question, he settled onto the ground near the tent entrance, his back against his pack. Not on the bedroll. Not sharing her space. Just… blocking the entrance. Making sure the soldiers would have to go through him to get to her.
He could feel her watching him before she asked another question. A different question this time, but he ignored that too.
Instead he closed his eyes. “Sleep.”
The word wouldn’t mean anything to her, but maybe the tone would. Maybe she’d finally accept that arguing was pointless and let herself rest.
For a long moment, silence stretched between them.
Then he heard rustling as she burrowed deeper into the furs, followed by a small sigh that might have been exhaustion or resignation or both. Her voice was softer now as she asked another question. The words blurred together, running into each other as fatigue dragged at her.
He kept his eyes closed and his breathing steady. If she thought he was asleep, maybe she’d stop talking and actually rest.
The questions continued, but they were slower now, quieter, until they finally stopped.
He waited with the patience of a trained hunter as the silence continued for several minutes before cracking one eye open. She’d fallen asleep, curled on her side in the nest of furs, with her wild auburn hair spread across the bedroll like spilled copper. Her spectacles sat crooked on her nose, and one hand was tucked beneath her cheek.
She looked so small. Fragile. Breakable.
She is breakable. That’s the problem.
Orcs were built for endurance with thick skin that could turn a blade and dense bones that could withstand impacts that would shatter human skeletons. Even without the Beast Curse, their strength made them formidable opponents. With it, they were almost unstoppable.
But Thea was built like spun glass. One wrong move, one moment of lost control, and he could break her without even meaning to.
He should move—go back outside and sleep by the fire where he wouldn’t be trapped in this small space with her clean, sweet scent and the soft sound of her breathing.
Instead, he stayed exactly where he was, blocking the entrance and standing guard.
For Lasseran, he told himself. Because the High King wants her unharmed.
His Beast didn’t believe the lie, and neither did he.
But it was easier than admitting the truth—that something about this small, fragile, impossibly stubborn female had wormed its way past his carefully constructed defenses. When the mercenaries had looked at her with that cruel hunger, his first instinct hadn’t been to think about Lasseran’s orders.
It had been to protect her.
You’re getting soft.
Softness was dangerous. Softness got you killed. Lasseran had taught him that lesson early and often. Compassion was weakness, attachment was a liability, and the only thing that mattered was power—who had it, who wanted it, and what they were willing to do to keep it.
