Page 17 of Orc's Veil

“Those aren’t the only options.”

“Aren’t they?” She holds my gaze, unflinching. “Your blood poisons the boundary. Mine heals it. Without me, your very presence here becomes a weapon against everything you’ve sworn to protect.”

I want to argue. Want to find a flaw in her logic, a way out that doesn’t require me to become everything I’ve spent twenty years destroying.

But she’s right. The evidence is in the blood mixing on my arm, in the Veil that’s settled for the first time since I arrived, in the tear that’s finally stopped widening.

I need her alive. The boundary needs her alive. And that means?—

That means defying the order.

Pain surges in my chest.

Eirene notices. Of course she notices.

“You’re hurt.” Her gaze drops to my chest, even though she can’t see the mark beneath my armor. “Not just the arm. There’s pain?—”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” Her free hand rises, hovers near my chest without touching. I should step back. Should break the contact.Should do anything other than stand here, bleeding into her palm, while her fingers drift closer to the place where the claiming mark is searing itself into my flesh. “I can feel it. The boundary—when our blood mixed—it changed. And now there’s heat, and…”

She trails off. Her hand drops. But I saw the way her eyes widened, the way her breath caught, the recognition that flickered across her face before she could hide it.

She felt it too. Whatever this is—this heat, this pull, this impossible awareness between us—it isn’t one-sided.

The knowledge should disturb me. Instead, it settles into my chest like an anchor, like certainty. Like fate.

TWELVE

VARKHUL

“We need to bandage this.” Eirene pulls her hand away slowly, reluctantly, and I feel the loss of contact like a physical blow. The moment our blood separates, the Veil shudders—not violently, not the way it did before, but enough to notice. A reminder. A warning.

“The boundary?—”

“Will hold. For now.” She reaches for a strip of cloth tucked into her belt—bandaging material, well-used. “Our blood mixed enough to create some kind of… buffer. The Veil isn’t rejecting your presence as violently anymore.”

I look at my arm. The wounds are still bleeding, but slower now. The black edges from the shadow-creature’s toxin have faded slightly, neutralized by whatever magic lives in her blood. The acid burn has dulled to a throb.

“What did you do to me?”

She pauses mid-wrap, the bandage half-wound around my forearm. “Nothing. I just—our blood touched. That’s all.”

“That’s not all.” I catch her wrist with my good hand, stopping her. Her pulse jumps beneath my fingers—fast, unsteady. Not fear. I’ve felt the pulse of frightened prey beneath my hands too many times to mistake it. This is different. “I canfeel the Veil now. Feel it differently than before. It’s not just rejecting me anymore—it’s…”

I struggle for words. The sensation is difficult to describe—the boundary is present in a way it wasn’t before, a hum at the edge of my awareness, responsive in a way that feels almost sentient.

“It’s recognizing you.” Eirene’s voice has gone quiet. Awed.

The Veil doesn’t hate orcs because of logic. It hates them because it learned to—fed the memory of betrayal by three centuries of witch-blood until the hatred became reflex. But reflex can be overwritten. My blood knows what to teach it.

“That’s—that shouldn’t be possible. The Veil hates orcs. It’s been three centuries since the betrayal, and the boundary has never accepted?—”

The Veil whispers.

We both go still. The sound isn’t audible—not really—but I feel it in my chest, in my blood, in the mark that’s burning bright enough now that the pain is constant. A voice without words. A call without sound.

It whispers Eirene’s name.