Page 56 of The Orc's Captive Bride
Monster.
The word screamed through her mind, but she locked it behind her teeth.
“You can’t?—”
“I can do whatever I wish, Dr. Monroe. I am the High King. My will is absolute.” He moved closer again, lowering his voice to an intimate whisper. “And you would do well to remember that your value to me is entirely contingent on your usefulness. The moment you cease to be useful, you become disposable. As does everyone around you.”
Her hands clenched in her skirts, her nails biting into her palms.
Don’t react. Don’t give him the satisfaction.
“Three days,” she said. Her voice came out surprisingly steady. “I’ll have progress for you in three days.”
“Excellent.” Lasseran’s smile widened. “I knew you’d see reason. You’re dismissed, Dr. Monroe. Do give Mira my regards when next you see her. Assuming, of course, that you do see her again.”
The threat hung in the air like poison.
She turned to leave, forcing herself to walk—not run—towards the doors.
Khorrek fell into step beside her. Silent. Radiating fury.
They made it halfway back to her rooms before her legs began to shake. Three-quarters before her breathing went ragged. By the time they reached them, she was trembling so hard her teeth chattered.
Khorrek closed the door behind and locked it with deliberate precision.
Then he just stood there, massive and furious and utterly still.
“Are you hurt?” His voice was barely above a growl.
“No. He didn’t—he stopped.” She sank onto the couch, her knees giving out. “He stopped.”
“Because you signaled me not to interfere.”
“If you’d interfered, he would have killed you.”
“I don’t care.”
“I care!” The words burst out of her, sharp with fear and frustration. “I care, Khorrek. I care if you live or die. I care if he punishes you for defending me. I care—” Her voice broke.
She pressed her hands to her face, trying to hold back the tears that threatened.
Not now. Don’t break now. You can’t afford to break.
But her body didn’t listen. The terror she’d suppressed in Lasseran’s presence came flooding back, overwhelming every defense.
She’d seen her death in his eyes.
And worse—she’d put Mira in danger. Vorlag. Everyone who’d shown her any kindness in this terrible place.
All because she couldn’t decode a text fast enough.
“Thea.” Khorrek said gently. “Breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“You’re hyperventilating. Slow down.”
He was right. Her breaths were coming too fast, too shallow. The classic symptoms of a panic attack. But knowing it and controlling it were different things.
