Page 65 of The Orc's Captive Bride
“Liar.”
He was lying. They both knew it. But the alternative—losing control, hurting her, proving that he really was the monster Lasseran had created—was worse than any lie.
“Get dressed,” he said, his voice harsh. “I’ll have food brought to you.”
Then he walked out of the room before she could argue further. Before he could give in to the temptation to crawl back into that bed and do exactly what his body demanded.
The lock clicked into place behind him, and he leaned his forehead against the cool wood, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
What have I done?
He’d tasted heaven and then forced himself back into hell. And the worst part was knowing he had made the right choice. The only choice.
Because he was a weapon. And weapons didn’t get to have heaven.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Thea woke to cold sheets and an empty room.
Of course.
She rolled onto her back, staring at the carved ceiling beams. Her body still hummed with desire. Her lips felt swollen from Khorrek’s kisses.
And he’d left. Walked away like it meant nothing?—
No. Not nothing. Too much.
She’d seen the war in his eyes. The Beast demanding what the male had been taught to deny.
He’d told her the raw, terrible truth about what had been done to him. Lasseran had created child soldiers. Broken, traumatized child soldiers, raised to believe their only value lay in obedience and violence.
Her throat tightened.
She understood trauma theory. She could even lecture on the psychological impact of systematic abuse and indoctrination.But understanding it intellectually was different from seeing it carved into someone’s soul. From watching a male pull away from something he desperately wanted because he’d been taught he deserved nothing.
He thinks he’ll hurt me.
The irony would have been funny if it weren’t so heartbreaking.
Khorrek—who made sure she ate and drank, who carried her to bed when she fell asleep, who’d never touched her with anything but gentleness—thought he was the dangerous one.
Not Lasseran with his empty eyes and silken threats. Not this world that had stolen her from her home.
Him.
“Idiot,” she said aloud, then winced. He wasn’t an idiot. He was surviving the only way he knew how. But that didn’t mean she had to accept it.
She sat up, pushing the blankets aside, and immediately spotted the torn dress on the floor. Heat pooled low in her stomach as she remembered. She hadn’t known she was capable of such immense pleasure, lost to everything but the sensation of his hands, his mouth…
And then he’d stopped because he was afraid. Not of her. For her.
There was a difference.
She pushed herself out of bed and went to the bathing room, washing quickly but thoroughly, trying to ignore the lingering sensitivity in her skin as the water sluiced over her. She dressedslowly, her mind already working through the problem like she would approach any complex puzzle.
Khorrek had been conditioned to suppress emotion and view attachment as a weakness. Conditioning could be broken, but it took time and patience. And she had—three days.
Three days to decode an ancient text. Three days before Lasseran started hurting people. Three days to save not just herself, but the maid who’d brought her breakfast. Vorlag. Khorrek.
