Page 66 of Orc's Veil

“Then let it kill me.” His gaze burns through the pain, raw and unwavering, holding mine with all the force of his will. “You have one chance to end this. One chance to destroy the thing that’s been feeding on your mercy for eight years. If you stop now—if you let it win because of me?—”

“I can’t lose you.” The words tear out of me, thick with tears I didn’t know I was crying. “Varkhul, I can’t?—”

“You won’t.” He smiles—that same predator’s smile he gave me when he first claimed me, when he pressed his palm to my chest and branded me as his. “But you will never forgive yourself if you sacrifice the world to save one executioner.”

He’s right. I know he’s right. And I hate him for it—hate him for being noble, for being willing to die, for loving me enough to choose my conscience over his life.

But I’m not going to let it come to that.

I close my eyes. Feel the power coursing through me—the freed souls, the boundary magic, the love that burns in the claiming mark over my heart. I feel Varkhul through our link, his pain and his determination and his absolute faith that I can do this.

And I realize the Sovereign has made a mistake.

It’s using Varkhul’s pain to control me. But our claiming goes both ways. Every moment of agony the chains inflict flows through our link?—

And so does my power.

I reach into our shared mark. Not to comfort Varkhul, not to shield him from the pain—to arm him. I pour the boundary magic into him, feel it flow from my blood to his, feel it flood his body with the same power that’s been burning through mine.

The shadow-chains sizzle. Smoke. Begin to dissolve.

No—The Sovereign’s voice is pure panic now.That’s not possible—you can’t share power through a claiming?—

“Our claiming isn’t like anything you’ve seen before.” Varkhul’s voice is stronger now, fueled by the magic pouring into him. The chains around him shatter—one, two, three—falling away like cobwebs before a flame. “We were made to destroy things like you.”

He drops to the floor, lands on his feet, and straightens to his full height.

Even after everything—the torture, the memories, the chains—he’s still terrifying. Still the executioner who’s ended hundreds of lives. Still the weapon the Veil-warden order forged and I reclaimed.

But now he’s my weapon.

Our eyes meet across the throne room. The freed souls swirl around us like a living storm, their light mixing with the blood still dripping from my wounds. The Sovereign is shrieking, its form unraveling further with every soul that escapes.

He crosses to me in three strides. His hands find my face—rough, scarred, trembling slightly—and he tilts my chin up to look at him. For a moment, we just breathe. Just exist in the same space, alive, whole despite everything.

Then his mouth crashes into mine.

It’s not gentle. It’s desperate and fierce and tastes of blood—his, mine, impossible to tell the difference. His tusks graze my cheek as he deepens the kiss, one hand sliding into my hair, the other pressing flat against the small of my back to pull me closer. I grab fistfuls of his ruined shirt and hold on like he’s the only solid thing in this nightmare realm.

The Sovereign screams louder. We ignore it.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, his breath hot on my lips.

“You came for me.” His voice is rough, wrecked.

“Every time.” I press one more kiss to the corner of his mouth, tasting the promise. “I’ll come for you every time. Now let’s finish this.”

And Varkhul smiles at me—that fierce, savage smile that makes my heart race and my blood sing.

“Ready to end this?”

I smile back. Feel the power building in my blood, the souls crying out for vengeance, the claiming mark blazing with shared purpose.

“Let’s kill a god.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

EIRENE