Page 18 of Captured By the Orc

The ship’s console hums softly in the darkened cockpit, a lullaby of false security that I drown out with the drumming of my heartbeat. Blue and green lines arc across the holo-screen, star charts mapping out a cold, indifferent universe that doesn’t care about the turmoil churning inside me.

After I glance back at Garoth, who is sleeping, his deep breaths assuring me of that fact, I swipe at the screen, zooming in on a cluster of blinking lights not too far from here.

My fingers dance over the controls with practiced ease, plotting the coordinates with a precision that hides the turmoil of my emotions. Each tap is a step away from Garoth, from the intoxicating danger he embodies. The safety of distance is a bittersweet potion—I crave it even as it poisons me.

It’s a space weigh station, nondescript and neutral—perfect for disappearing. My chest tightens, and a tear escapes, tracing a hot path down my cheek. “This is for the best,” I whisper, but the words are a frail shield against the onslaught of what-ifs.

With trembling hands, I input the final commands, setting the autopilot with a betrayal that sears my soul. It’s done. The die is cast, and not even the stars can rewrite this fate.

I don’t look back as I move through the corridors. The ship seems to breathe around me, each creak and groan having me hold my breath. If Garoth wakes up and catches me, I won’t be able to leave. But he continues sleeping and I fight myself not to crawl into his bed with him and forget everything but him and me.

The transporter beam lights up a step from where I am.

“Garoth...” His name is a silent plea on my lips. The teleportation sequence initiates, and the cosmos swirls into a vortex of light, ready to swallow me whole.

The world shimmers and fractures, disassembling my atoms and casting them across the void.

When I materialize, the station is silent, devoid of warmth. My gaze locks onto the viewport just in time to see his ship—a sleek silhouette against the backdrop of distant stars—slip away into nothingness.

“Goodbye,” I choke out, the word is a shard of ice lodged in my throat. Tears blur my vision, carving tracks of sorrow on my face and I scrub them away.

The chill of the weigh station seeps into my bones, a cold reminder of the void Garoth’s ship has left in its orbit. I draw in a shuddering breath, my heart still raw from the self-inflicted wound of departure.

A flicker of movement to my left catches my eye. The inky blackness of space seems to shift, revealing the hulkingsilhouettes of massive ships emerging from the shadows. My breath catches in my throat as realization dawns.

“Stupid,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head. “You should’ve known they’d track you.”

I spin on the balls of my feet, ready to bolt, but the sight before me snuffs out any spark of hope.

Warlords.

Their towering forms, a terrifying blend of orc and troll, loom before me, muscles rippling beneath scarred, green-tinged skin. Their eyes, glowing with predatory intensity, fix upon me like targeting lasers.

Their towering forms cast shadows that stretch across the sterile floor like dark omens. One step, two steps—they close the distance with predatory ease.

“Didn’t think we’d let you slip away that easy, did ya?” The lead warlord’s tusks glint in the dim light as his lips curl into a cruel smirk.

“Bad move, sweetheart,” another one sneers, his grip iron as he clamps down on my arm, bone ornaments clinking ominously in his braids.

I wince, not at the pain, but at the realization that it isn’t just my safety hanging in the balance—it’s my people. All the lives I’m desperate to protect.

“Let me go,” I say steadily despite the tremor that threatens to betray my fear. “You won’t get away with this.”

“Ah, but we already have,” the first warlord says, his crimson eyes glinting with malice. He leans closer, and I can smell the stench of blood on his breath. “Your hero won’t save you now.”

My heart clenches as I’m in the cold grip of the enemy.

“But I’m not exactly helpless.” I reach for my blast to realize I left it behind on Garoth’s ship.

“Brave words for a human,” he scoffs, and the other warlords chuckle. They’re so sure of themselves, so certain of their power.

“Bravery’s got nothing to do with it,” I retort, struggling against their hold. “It’s about doing what’s right, even when the odds are against you.”

“Right?” Another laugh, cruel and sharp. “You think your peace talks and little speeches can change the galaxy?”

“Better than living by the sword and dying by it,” I shoot back. It’s a gamble, provoking them like this, but if I can distract them, maybe I can find a way out—a door, a panel, anything.

“Enough!” The leader’s roar silences his comrades. His hand tightens around my arm, fingers digging into my flesh. “You’re coming with us. The warlord council will decide your fate.”

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