Page 31 of The Orc's Bonded Bride

“You didn’t have a choice.” She stroked her thumb across his cheekbone, tracing the lines of his scars.

“They would have hurt them,” he said, so quietly only she could hear. “Samha. Lina. I couldn’t?—”

“I know.” She slipped her hand into his, ignoring the blood and the claws. “You protected them.”

His eyes flickered—amber to black and back again—as though the Beast within him hadn’t fully retreated. “Look at them, Lyric. They see what I truly am now.”

She glanced at the villagers’ faces—fear, uncertainty, confusion. But also relief. Lina and Samha were safe. The threat neutralized.

“They see someone who saved two of their own,” she insisted, squeezing his hand. “Give them time.”

Elder Tomas stepped forward, his weathered face unreadable. “Lord Trevain’s men?—”

“Would have done worse,” she interrupted, still holding Egon’s hand. “You know it’s true.”

His fingers twitched in hers, his amber eyes clouded with doubt. A knot formed in her throat as she watched his shoulders hunch forward, his massive body somehow seeming smaller under the weight of the villagers’ stares. The whispers continued to ripple through the crowd, and with each one, she saw him retreat further into himself.

This wasn’t just about today. This was years of rejection, of being seen as nothing but a monster, etched into every scar on his body.

“Egon,” she whispered, stepping closer while everyone else maintained their fearful distance. “Look at me.”

His gaze remained fixed on the ground, his breathing still uneven. Blood dripped from his knuckles onto the dirt.

She reached for his face, her palm gentle against his cheek. The contrast between her small hand and his scarred green skin made something in her chest ache. His skin was still feverish from the transformation, but he didn’t pull away.

“I see you,” she said, her voice steady despite the emotions threatening to overwhelm her. “Not what you think they see.”

His eyes finally met hers, filled with a vulnerability that she suspected few had ever witnessed.

“You protected them,” she continued, her thumb brushing across his cheekbone. “That’s who you are.”

He swallowed hard, his voice a ragged whisper. “I lost control.”

“You acted when no one else could or would.” She moved her hand to rest over his heart, feeling its powerful rhythm beneath her palm. “This is what matters. This is what I’ve always seen in you.”

Around them, the villagers’ whispers began to fade as Samha broke away from his sister’s grasp and approached them cautiously. The boy stopped a few feet away, his small face solemn.

“Thank you for saving my sister,” he said, his voice clear in the sudden quiet.

She felt Egon’s heart stutter beneath her hand, saw the flicker of disbelief cross his face. She kept her hand firmly against hischest, anchoring him to this moment, refusing to let him drift away into the darkness of his own thoughts.

He looked down at Samha, then dipped his head in acknowledgement. The boy’s usual grin flashed across his face for a second before he returned to his sister.

She laced her fingers through Egon’s and tugged gently.

“Come,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the hammering of her heart. “Let’s go home.”

Home.The word slipped out so naturally, as if the cottage had always been meant for both of them. He accompanied her without resistance, his big body casting a long shadow as they walked the familiar path. The silence between them felt charged, electric with unspoken emotions.

Once inside, she closed the door and leaned against it, watching as he stood awkwardly in the center of their small home. His shoulders remained hunched, his eyes darting around as if seeking escape. Blood still stained his hands—evidence of what he’d done to protect those who now feared him.

“They’ll never accept me here,” he said, his voice rough. “Not after what they saw.”

“I accept you,” she said simply, taking his bloodied hands in hers, feeling the lingering heat of his transformation. Without looking away from him, she reached up, cupping his face between her palms. His breath caught as she rose onto her tiptoes, bringing her lips to his.

The kiss was gentle at first, a whisper of contact. A question. His response was hesitant, restrained, as if afraid of breaking her. She pressed closer, deepening the kiss, her fingers sliding intohis hair. She poured everything she couldn’t say into that kiss—her trust, her desire, her acceptance of all that he was.

A low growl rumbled in his chest as his massive arms encircled her, lifting her slightly off the ground. His kiss turned hungry, desperate, before he abruptly set her down and pulled away, breathing hard.

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