Page 52 of The Orc's Captive Bride
Despite the awkward conversation, they finished eating in companionable silence. He found himself relaxing despite every warning his training screamed at him.
This was wrong. Dangerous. Stupid. But he didn’t want it to end.
And the next morning when Mira brought breakfast for two, he didn’t argue about joining Thea. He didn’t argue the next morning either and he fell into the rhythm of it despite himself.
Breakfast together every morning. Quiet conversation—or sometimes just a silence that was somehow comfortable rather than awkward. Then the library.
Hours and hours in the library.
He stood guard while she worked with Master Vorlag, who seemed less like Lasseran’s spy and more like an accomplice with every passing day.
And he listened. Not because he was ordered to. Not because Lasseran had commanded him to report on the translation’s progress. But because she fascinated him.
The way she attacked the ancient text with the same fierce determination she’d shown when demanding answers from him. The way her eyes lit up when she made a connection, her whole face transforming with intellectual joy. The way she’d chew on her lower lip when she was thinking, or push her glasses up her nose when frustrated, or mutter to herself in her own language when something particularly complex appeared.
She was brilliant. Not with Lasseran’s cold, calculating brilliance, but as warm and bright as sunlight.
He brought her water when her voice grew hoarse from reading aloud. Draped a shawl around her shoulders when she shivered. Made sure food appeared at regular intervals, even when she protested that she wasn’t hungry.
He took care of her, because she mattered to him. That was the problem. She mattered more than his orders. More than his duty. More than his own life.
And that was unacceptable.
On the fourth night, she fell asleep over her books again. Her head pillowed on her arms, glasses askew, ink staining her fingers.
She looked young like this. Vulnerable. Beautiful.
He stood there longer than he should have, just watching her sleep. The steady rise and fall of her breathing. The way her hair had escaped its pins to curl around her face.
I should wake her. Tell her to go to bed.
But she’d only argue and insist on five more minutes that would turn into hours. So instead, he did what he’d done the other nights. He carefully gathered her into his arms, and cradled her against his chest. She made a small sound—half protest, half contentment—and burrowed closer to his warmth.
His heart clenched.
This is wrong. Dangerous. Forbidden.
But he carried her back to her rooms anyway. The guards he passed said nothing. Didn’t even meet his eyes. They knew better.
In her bedroom, he laid her gently on the bed, then carefully removed her glasses and set them on the bedside table. He drew the blankets up around her, and she sighed in her sleep, one hand reaching out blindly.
For him.
He froze.
Walk away. Lock the door. Stand guard outside like you’re supposed to.
But her hand was still extended. Still searching. His Beast howled for him to take it. To climb into that bed beside her. To hold her through the night like he had on the journey to Kel’Vara. To claim what his instincts screamed was his.
“Khorrek?” Her voice was soft and thick with sleep.
“I’m here.”
Her eyes opened partway, unfocused without her glasses. “Don’t go.”
“You need to sleep.”
“Stay with me. Please.” Her fingers brushed against his arm. “Just until I fall back asleep. I don’t like going to bed alone.”
