Page 13 of The Shadow Orc's Bride

They fell.

Through the night, through the bitter cold, plummeting like a stone toward the courtyard below. Wind whipped past her ears, tearing at her hair, and her bound body jolted hard against his iron shoulder. Eliza’s eyes flew wide as the ground rushed up to meet them.

She saw the guards below—torches glowing, armor gleaming faintly in the moonlight. Her throat seized with panic, and she tried to scream, a desperate, muffledmmmphbursting against the gag.

But even that sound was stolen.

The shadows writhed around them, suffocating, smothering her attempt. And then he landed—sure-footed, solid as stone. The resounding thud of his weight striking the earth never came. It was swallowed whole, devoured by the shadows.

Before she could catch her breath, he was moving.

He ran through the night with impossible strength, each stride long, tireless, swift as the wind. A phantom bearing her away, silent, relentless. Her castle blurred past—the towers, the walls, the courtyards she had known since childhood flashing like fading memories.

Everything familiar turned distant in an instant.

And her guards—her own men—remained oblivious. Not a single head turned as she was carried past, her muffled cries devoured, her presence erased.

It was terrifying.

Also infuriating.

She was helpless in his grasp, bound, gagged, powerless. Her pulse roared in her ears, her body tense with useless rage. And yet—despite the fear, despite the fury—she forced herself to cling to one fragile ember.

Hope.

He hadn’t killed her. She didn’t understand why. Perhaps the threat of the vengeful Ketheri had been enough. Or maybe… it was something else. Something in him she couldn’t yet name.

Whatever the reason, this orc wasn’t just a mindless killer. He was ruthless, yes—but also calculating.

And that thought, against all reason, gave her hope.

Chapter

Seven

He reached the outer wall.

At last, he stopped. The sudden halt jolted her, the world swaying around her in silence. For a breath she only stared at the sheer stone rising above them, higher and broader than anything a human man could scale while burdened. Confusion clouded her panic.

How did he think he was going to haul her over that? Even with his unnatural shadow magic, it seemed impossible.

Then he shifted her.

Unceremoniously, without a shred of care, he adjusted her weight, slinging her more securely over one shoulder. Still like a sack of grain, she thought ruefully, the absurdity biting through her terror for a fleeting instant.

His shoulder flexed beneath her. She felt the shift of muscle through the layers of fabric, the raw, unyielding strength that carried her as if she weighed nothing at all. The night pressed in cold and merciless, her thin nightgown offering little protection—but his body radiated warmth, heat rolling from him in waves that seeped into her skin.

Such power.

This was the closest she had ever been to an orc… when she wasn’t trying to kill them. She had seen them fall on the battlefield, had seen their blood stain the earth. She had even killed a few herself—on horseback, sword swinging, the distance between them bridged only by steel and fury.

But not like this.

Not bound. Not pressed against one, carried as his captive. Not feeling the raw strength of his body beneath her, nor the shadows curling around them both like a cloak.

Her heart hammered wildly, battering against her ribs. She wasn’t sure anymore if it was only from fear.

Then he began to climb.