Page 24 of The Orc's Bonded Bride

He gestured to Lyric’s garden and the repaired fence.

Tomas, the smallest of the group, finally found his voice. “Can we see your tusks up close?”

Before he could respond, the children crowded around him, their initial fear forgotten. He knelt down, allowing them to examine his features with unabashed curiosity. Their innocent acceptance loosened something in his chest—a knot of tension he’d carried for so long he’d forgotten it was there.

“Right,” he said finally, standing up. “If you’re helping, there are rules. Stay clear when I’m swinging the axe. Stack only what you can carry safely. And no climbing on the woodpile.”

The children nodded solemnly before scattering to their self-assigned tasks, chattering among themselves. Samha stayed closest to him, mimicking his stance as he worked. He looked over and found Lyric smiling at him from beside the bee hives. He smiled back and returned to work, keeping a careful eye on his new assistants.

The children departed just before sundown, glowing from his praise and clutching the honey drops Lyric had given them in small, grubby fists.

“You’re gathering quite a group of helpers,” she laughed as they watched them go.

“I enjoy their company. But do you think we’ll get another visit from the Elders tonight?”

She shrugged as she led the way into the cottage.

“I don’t think so. Everyone knows you’re here. And from what Harta told me this morning, Samha has been singing your praises all over the village.”

He winced.

“I hope that doesn’t include more stories about me fighting a hundred men at once.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me, but your kindness to him is more important—it says more about your character than a thousand apocryphal battles.” She smiled up at him and squeezed his hand. “Now how about slaying some vegetables for me? I thought we could make some stuffed peppers for dinner.”

He nodded, and they worked together in companionable silence. He’d always enjoyed cooking, but it was different with Lyric at his side. The domesticity of it all struck him as both foreign and achingly familiar—as if he’d been waiting his entire life to experience this simple peace.

She caught him watching her and smiled, that easy, unguarded smile that had been appearing more frequently these past few days. His chest tightened. He’d never imagined anyone, especially Lyric, could look at him that way.

“You’re staring again,” she said, but there was no reproach in her voice. Instead, she crossed the room and brushed her fingers across his arm as she passed, the casual touch sending warmth through his entire body.

“It’s hard not to,” he admitted.

She laughed, the sound clear and bright in the cottage’s warm air. She’d been doing that more too—laughing. Each time felt like a gift he hadn’t earned but treasured nonetheless.

“Set the table?” she asked, her hand lingering on his arm.

He nodded, going to fetch the wooden plates and cups and marveling at how easily they’d fallen into these rhythms together, as if the years apart had been nothing but a momentary interruption.

Throughout their meal, her knee pressed against his beneath the small table. She reached across to wipe a crumb from his shirt without hesitation, her fingers gentle against his skin. These small touches—unthinking, natural—meant more to him than she could possibly know.

After dinner, they sat on her porch, their shoulders touching as they watched the sunset paint the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks and fireflies came out to dance across the garden. When she leaned against him, his heart thundered so loudly he wondered if she could hear it.

“This is the first time I’ve ever been to the festival,” she admitted. “It never felt right before.”

“And now?”

“Now I have someone to come with me.”

She turned her face up to his, and he couldn’t resist bending down to kiss her. Each kiss they’d shared over these past days felt like reclaiming something lost—something he’d convinced himself he didn’t deserve. Her lips were soft against his, her hand coming up to rest against his chest.

When they broke apart, he traced a finger along her jawline. “I’ll be there as long as you want me.”

“That might be a very long time.”

His Beast growled with satisfaction, but he kept his touch gentle. They had weathered years apart. Now, they had the luxury of patience—of discovering each other slowly, deliberately. His brothers had found their mates, but he’d found something he’d thought impossible: a second chance.

She leaned her head against him again and he carefully wrapped his arm around her, still half-expecting her to pull away. Instead, she nestled closer.

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