Page 20 of Bound By Blood (Orc Warrior Romances #1)

When I finally open my eyes, the boy sleeps peacefully, color returning to his cheeks. The angry red streaks have faded to faint pink lines. His fever has broken.

I slump backward, drained but triumphant. "He'll live."

Silence stretches like held breath. Then Ghasha speaks, voice carefully neutral.

"Impressive. But the real test isn't healing, human. It's what comes after."

Before I can ask what she means, footsteps thunder through the grotto. Drokhan appears, still in ceremonial armor, face dark as storm clouds.

His gaze finds mine across the space, and I see something I've never seen before in those amber depths.

Fear.

"What have you done?"

Drokhan's voice cuts through the grotto, but it's not directed at me. His eyes fix on Ghasha with barely restrained fury.

"What was necessary." The priestess doesn't flinch under his glare. "The human claims to serve our clan. We tested that claim."

"By risking a child's life?"

"By proving her power." Ghasha gestures to the sleeping boy, whose breathing now comes steady and deep. "See for yourself, Chief. The Kheval fires burn in her veins."

Drokhan's gaze shifts to me, taking in my exhausted state, the fading glow along my wrists. Something unreadable flickers across his features, pride, concern, and that troubling fear I glimpsed before.

"Leave us." His command rings with absolute authority.

Vega and Thila exchange glances but obey immediately. Ghasha lingers, studying me with calculating eyes.

"Remember, human. Power demands purpose. Choose yours wisely."

Then, she too melts into shadow, leaving us alone with the sleeping child.

Drokhan kneels beside me, massive hands hovering just shy of touching, as if I might shatter under his fingers. "Are you hurt?"

"Tired. Nothing more." I lean into his warmth, grateful for his solid presence. "How angry are they?"

"Angry enough." His jaw tightens. "The council demands answers I don't have."

"What kind of answers?"

"Whether you're blessing or curse. Whether our bond strengthens or destroys the clan." He lifts the child carefully, settling him on a bed of soft furs. "Whether I've forgotten my duty for human flesh."

The crude phrasing stings, even though I know he's repeating their words, not his own. "And what do you believe?"

"I believe," he says slowly, "that you saved a life today. That your power flows clean, without malice." His eyes find mine. "But belief isn't enough for some."

Of course it isn't. I should have expected the suspicion, the testing, the demand for proof of loyalty that will never quite be enough. I've seen it before, in my mother's careful navigation of House politics, in the way noble families circle perceived weakness like vultures.

"They'll keep testing me."

"Yes."

"Until I fail or break."

"Until they're satisfied you pose no threat." He settles beside me, close enough that his heat warms my skin. "Or until they decide the risk is too great."

And then what? Exile? Execution? Another convenient accident in the borderlands?

The questions taste bitter, but I don't voice them. Drokhan already carries enough weight without my fears adding to the burden.

"I should go back to my chambers. Let you handle your council without distraction."

"No." His hand catches mine before I can rise. "There's someone you need to meet first." We carry the boy to the healing room and leave him for the healers to watch.

He leads me deeper into the grotto, past healing pools and herb gardens, toward sections I've never explored. The air grows cooler here, heavy with incense and the electric anticipation that precedes thunderstorms.

We stop before a narrow cleft in the rock face, barely wide enough for one person. Drokhan hesitates, then speaks a phrase in Old Orcish. The stone seems to shimmer, revealing a hidden passage.

"The seer's sanctum. Few are permitted entry."

"Why are you bringing me here?"

"Because Morketh sees what others cannot. Her counsel might illuminate your path."

Or condemn it. But I follow him through the passage, emerging into a circular chamber lit by phosphorescent crystals. Symbols cover every surface, not the clean, geometric patterns of Kheval magic, but something older, wilder, carved when the world was young.

She sits in the chamber's heart, so ancient she seems a part of the stone itself. Her skin has the grey-green tinge of deep cave moss, her hair is white as bone, her eyes are milk-pale with blindness.

"Ah." Her voice rustles like dry leaves. "The flame-bearer comes at last."

Drokhan bows deeply. "Honored Seer. I seek guidance for?—"

"I know why you've come, young chief. As I know why she follows." Those sightless eyes seem to bore into my soul. "Approach, child of two worlds."

My feet carry me forward without conscious decision. Power radiates from this place, older and stranger than anything I've ever encountered. It makes my Kheval markings tingle with recognition.

"You've felt it, haven't you?" Morketh extends a gnarled hand. "The pull between opposites. Light and shadow, human and Orc, healing and destruction."

"I've felt something. Connection. Like recognizing like."

"Precisely." She grasps my wrist, feeling the glowing marks. "Two magics should not merge. Human healing flows cool and deliberate, shaped by will and knowledge. Orc fire burns wild and passionate, fed by emotion and instinct. Yet in you, they dance together."

"Is that wrong? Dangerous?"

"All power is dangerous, child. The question is whether you'll master it or be consumed." Her grip tightens. "But first, you must understand what you truly are."

The crystals flare brighter. Images flood my mind, not visions, but memories.

A young woman with my eyes fleeing through winter forests.

Orc raiders pursuing her, not with violence but desperation.

A wounded chief bleeding out in the snow.

Hands that glow with healing light, saving a life and forging a bond that would shape generations.

My great-grandmother. The family secret my mother never quite spoke aloud.

"You see now." Morketh releases me, leaving my wrist burning where she touched. "The blood runs true, though diluted by time and human breeding. You are not the first to bridge our peoples, merely the first in many years."

I sink to my knees, overwhelmed by revelation. Mixed blood. Orc ancestry. Everything I was taught to fear and despise flows in my veins.

"Why didn't she tell me? My mother, my grandmother, why keep it secret?"

"Because human nobility would see it as contamination. Orc clans would see it as weakness." Morketh's laugh holds no humor. "Fear makes fools of all peoples."

Drokhan moves closer, his presence steadying. "What does this mean for her safety? For the clan?"

"That depends entirely on her choices." The seer's attention returns to me. "Power without purpose is destruction waiting to happen. You must decide what you serve. Your own desires, your human heritage, or something greater."

"I serve life. Healing. The oath I took as?—"

"Pretty words. But when the test comes, and it will come soon, will you choose comfort or courage? Will you flee back to human safety, or stand and fight for the bond you've forged?"

The bond. Our joining last night, sacred and profane and transformative. Already it feels like a lifetime ago, eclipsed by politics and revelation.

"I won't abandon what we've found."

"Won't you?" Morketh tilts her head. "When your human family demands your return? When the clan council weighs your life against their traditions? When choosing love means choosing exile from everything you've ever known?"

She's right. I haven't truly considered the cost, the full weight of defying both worlds for the sake of one impossible connection.

"Your flame will either bind or burn," the seer continues. "Forge lasting peace with our peoples, or ignite a war that consumes everything you hold dear. The choice, and its consequences, are yours alone."

The chamber falls silent except for the soft drip of water somewhere. Drokhan's breathing, steady and controlled. My heartbeat, loud as thunder in my ears.

Bind or burn. Peace or war. Everything or nothing.

"How do I choose correctly?"

"You don't." Morketh settles back against her cushions. "You choose honestly, with full understanding of what you risk. Then you live with the results."

Honesty. Such a simple word for something so terrifyingly complex.

I think of my mother, graceful and proper, who taught me healing arts but never their true origins. Of House Thorne's reputation, built on careful alliances and political marriages. Of the life I'm expected to live, comfortable, constrained, safe.

Then I think of Drokhan's hands mapping my skin with reverent hunger. Of power flowing between us like shared breath. Of a sick child healing under my touch, regardless of blood or birthright.

I know what I want. But do I have the courage to seize it?

"The council's growing impatient," Drokhan says quietly. "They'll want decisions soon."

"Then we shouldn't keep them waiting." I rise, legs steadier than they have any right to be. "But first, I need to understand exactly what I'm fighting for."

Morketh's blind eyes seem to see straight through me. "Wise. But remember, understanding and accepting are different things entirely."

We leave the seer's sanctum in silence, returning through twisted passages to the grotto's main chamber. But as we emerge into phosphorescent light, raised voices echo from the entrance. Not the measured tones of council debate, but something sharper. Angrier.

Human voices.

My blood turns to ice water. I know that cadence, the crisp consonants and careful pronunciation of noble education.

"No." The word escapes before I can stop it.

Drokhan's head snaps toward me. "What is it?"

"My family. They've come for me."

Of course they have. My family would never allow their offspring to simply vanish into Orc territory. My mother's sister, Lady Jazmin pleas for me. Not when House reputation teeters in the balance. Not when political marriages and careful alliances depend on maintaining proper appearances.

"I have to face them."

"Not alone."

"Yes, alone." I turn to meet his amber gaze, drawing strength from his steadfast presence. "This is my choice to make, my consequences to bear. You've already risked enough for my sake."

"Eirian—"

"No." I press fingers to his lips, silencing protest. "Your clan needs their chief focused on their welfare, not distracted by human politics. Let me handle my family. Let me prove I can stand for what we've found."

Bind or burn. Peace or war.

Choose honestly, with full understanding of what you risk.

I steel myself against the backlash I know is coming, tears, recriminations, threats both subtle and direct.

Jazmin's disappointment will cut deeper than any blade.

Father's cold fury will freeze my bones.

They'll speak of duty and honor and family name, of everything I'm throwing away for momentary passion.

But they won't speak of the child who breathes easy because power flowed through my hands. They won't speak of ancient bonds bridging impossible divides. They won't speak of love that transcends blood and breeding and carefully maintained prejudices.

My compassion won't be punishment. Not anymore.

I straighten my spine, adjust my healer's sash, and prepare to face the life I'm choosing to leave behind.

"Whatever happens," I tell Drokhan, "know that last night changed everything. Not just the magic, but everything . I won't let fear make that choice for me."

His fingers brush my cheek, gentle as butterfly wings.

The voices grow louder, more insistent. Time to discover what honesty costs when everything you've ever known struggles with balance.

Bind or burn.

I choose to bind.