Page 138 of The Vampire's Bride

“He was a Vampire’s bloodsworn,” he grits through his teeth in disgust as Lysander growls at him. “He found me in the trade tavern and offered me a bag of gold on behalf of his master to find you and make sure you never made it home, Lady Juliet Greyvale.”

His gaze shifts to Lysander. “Vampires think we’re animals, like them,” he snarls. “But my kind have honor. I refused him, but a Goblin warlock took him up on his offer. So, my clansmen and I followed and killed him shortly after we passed through the Gate.”

Thulrak gestures to his friends, each of them with a murderous expression on their face as they stare at Lysander. “My clansmen traveled through the forest, making sure no one else had followed you, while I trailed after. They arrived here shortly before we did.”

One of the other Orcs unhooks a bag from his belt and tosses it at Lysander. It lands at his feet with a heavy clink against the wood. “That’s the coin he paid the warlock in exchange for your lives.” He looks at Lysander. “We thought you’d been sent to ensure the job was done.”

“I told you who I was,” Lysander snarls.

“We had to be sure,” Thulrak states firmly.

Tense silence fills the room. Lysander looks to me and I nod. “Release him.”

Lysander hesitates and the Orc narrows his eyes. “If I wanted to end you, I would have shoved my obsidian blade in your gut.”

My gaze drops to the Orc’s left hand, his palm curled around a blade I hadn’t noticed before that is pointed at Lysander’s stomach.

Thulrak grins as his gaze drops to the knife. “I’m familiar enough with your kind to know what’ll kill you.”

Lysander’s eyes widen and he releases the Orc, taking a step back. Reyla rushes to him, throwing her arms around his waist. “My son.” She sobs as Lysander loops an arm around her in return. “I was so worried for you.”

Thulrak and the others look at each other, something passing between them before he turns to me. “I know you’re going to ask, but we don’t know the name of the Vampire that wants you dead.”

“What did his bloodsworn look like?”

“A dark tunic and pants,” he murmurs, frowning. “But he did have something sewn into his cloak. A bird of some sort.” He looks back at his friends and they nod. “Like a raven.”

I inhale sharply. It’s Lord Stryker. It must be.

“Given that he wants to stop you from making it home.” Thulrak looks at me. “I suggest you leave now, before he sends someone else to try to kill you.”

“Why are you helping us?” I ask.

“Word of you and your mate has spread far and wide.” He meets my gaze evenly. “You are Lady Juliet Greyvale—one of the sanishon spoken of in the ancient prophecy of the Lythyrians.”

The innkeeper mentioned a prophecy but he didn’t explain what it was about. “What are you talking about?”

One of the other Orcs steps forward, his gaze almost reverent as it meets mine. “The prophecy of the sanishon and the Fallen Knight.”

I start to ask him to explain, but Lysander looks at me. “If what the Orcs say is true, there could be others coming for you, my Lady. I believe we should leave as soon as possible.”

“He’s right.” Thulrak looks at me. “Go. We’ll follow in the woods behind you.”

Lysander growls, obviously not thrilled about them coming with us, but before he can voice his protest, Thulrak adds, “Do not let your pride get in the way of your Lady’s safety.”

He gives them a reluctant nod.

We gather our things and head to the stables, mounting our horses and setting off toward the castle. The night is cold and clear, the moonlight casting an eerie glow across the winter landscape. Lysander flies ahead of us, checking for any hidden danger while the Orcs are somewhere in the woods nearby on their Dire Wolves.

The castle looms in the distance, shining like a beacon in the night from the dozens of burning torches lit up along the outer wall.

Lysander returns and swoops down low before landing in front of our horses. To their credit, neither mare startles at his sudden approach, but then again, I suppose they must be used to his presence since he is probably the one who tends to them at the Manor. “I do not detect any danger nearby,” he says, and we follow him toward the main gates to the courtyard.

A lone howl echoes from the forest and I turn back to see three of the Orcs on the main road far behind us, as Thulrak rides toward us on his dire wolf. “No one followed you here,” he says, answering my unspoken question.

“Thank you for helping us.” I gesture to the castle. “Would you like to come inside and warm yourselves by the fire?”

Lysander narrows his eyes in displeasure but remains silent.

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