Page 111 of The Shadow Orc's Bride

The night pressed close around them, heavy with scent—wet leaves, river stones, her. The ache that had driven him into the forest changed shape, softer now, deeper. He kissed her again, slower, learning the curve of her lips, the rhythm of her breath.

There was no urgency in it, only need that had found its measure. They moved together as if the world had been holding its breath for this. The hunger that had once been violence became heat—measured, human, alive.

When they finally drew apart, the moon had shifted, the world quieter than before.

They lay on the cloak beside the water. The sound of the river was steady again. His pulse no longer fought him; the shadows beneath his skin dimmed, content for the first time in weeks.

Eliza rested her head against his shoulder. Her fingers traced the thin scars along his ribs. “Does it always feel like that?”

“No,” he said softly. “It never felt like this.”

She smiled, her breath warm against his skin. “Then we’re learning.”

He looked down at her. Moonlight brushed her hair, making it gleam pale gold. “You keep the hunger quiet,” he said. “But desire… listens too well.”

“Then we’ll teach it what to listen for.”

They lay in silence, the kind that filled rather than emptied the air.

“The clans first,” he said at last. “Then your city.”

She tilted her face toward him. “Your people, then mine.”

“If we survive both.”

“We will. We didn’t come this far to die in daylight.”

“You sound like a queen again.”

“And you,” she murmured, “sound like a man ready to lead.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple. The touch was light, reverent.

When they returned to camp, Azfar was awake, sitting by the fire. His gaze was clear, silver in the dim light.

“You look steadier,” he said. “It’s her, then?”

Rakhal said nothing.

“Desire anchors the living,” Azfar continued, turning the firestick idly. “But remember—it feeds the dead as well. The shadow likes warmth. It will crave what you crave. Be careful it doesn’t love her more than you do.”

“It won’t,” Rakhal said quietly.

Azfar’s thin smile curved. “For both your sakes, I hope you’re right.”

Eliza slept nearby, her breathing slow and even. The shadows that curled around Rakhal’s hands didn’t reach for her; they stayed close, listening.

He watched her for a long time, her hair spilling over the edge of her bedroll, the faint rise and fall of her chest. The ache in him was quieter now. Controlled. Chosen.

He lay down, facing her, and matched his breath to hers until the tremor beneath his skin remembered who it served. The coals burned low. Somewhere, a nightbird called once and fell silent.

The river went on speaking. He listened, and for the first time in a long while, it sounded like peace.

By dawn, their decision was final. The forest that had sheltered them had served its purpose - Rakhal had gainedenough control of the Shadow to risk open confrontation. With Eliza as his anchor, he could now withstand the strain of challenging Kardoc. Though the river and its peace had given them respite, the light of the forest was growing increasingly hostile to his Shadow nature.

"We leave today," he told Shazi as the camp stirred to life. "The plains call. It's time to gather those who would follow us."

Shazi nodded, her eyes sharp with approval. "The clans will feel your return before they see it. The Shadow in their blood will turn toward you like a compass needle."