Page 36 of The Orc's Bonded Bride

His Beast prowled uneasily, sensing his nerves. For once, it didn’t feel like a curse or burden, but a strength he might need in the days ahead. If she could accept this part of him without fear, perhaps he could finally make peace with what he was.

With one last look at his grim handiwork, he melted back into the forest, relieved to be heading back to his mate.

CHAPTER 14

Lyric woke to the smell of smoke. Her eyes flew open, heart hammering against her ribs before she fully understood why. The cottage—normally dark at this hour—glowed with an unnatural orange light filtering through the shutters.

“Egon,” she whispered, reaching across the bed for him but finding only empty space.

She scrambled from bed, bare feet slapping against the wooden floor. The crackling sound grew louder as she threw open the door.

The night sky blazed. Flames leapt from the roof of the village storehouse, hungry tongues licking upward into the darkness. Silhouettes moved against the inferno—villagers forming a desperate bucket line from the well.

“No,” she breathed, her voice lost beneath the roar of the fire.

A figure broke away from the chaos, running toward her cottage. Egon. His massive frame was outlined against the flames, face grim and streaked with soot.

“They’ve returned,” he said, voice rough. “The lord’s men. More this time.”

Her throat tightened. “The children?”

“Safe. Elder Harta took them into the woods.” His golden eyes reflected the distant flames. “This is a message. They’re burning the harvest stores first.”

The village’s winter supplies. Without them?—

“They mean to starve us into submission.” Her hands balled into fists. “Where are they now?”

“Watching from the ridge.” His jaw tightened. “They want us to know they can take everything.”

A distant scream cut through the night. Not pain—rage. She recognized the miller’s wife’s voice.

“They’re moving to the east fields,” he said. “The grain?—”

She didn’t wait for him to finish. She grabbed her boots, yanking them on with trembling hands. The peace they’d found, the tentative hope they’d built—all of it crumbling like ash. She reached for the knife she kept by the door.

“What are you doing?” Egon caught her arm.

“What does it look like? I’m fighting back.” She tried to pull away, but his grip held firm.

“Lyric, there are too many. They’re armed?—”

“This is my home.” Her voice broke. “Our home. I won’t let them burn it to the ground while I hide.”

The flames climbed higher, painting the night in hellish orange. All their work, all their plans—consumed in minutes. But as she stared into the inferno, something hardened inside her. This wasn’t just about survival anymore. This was about standing against the darkness.

Her heart hammered against her ribs as she sprinted across the yard, Egon’s heavy footfalls close behind her. The smoke thickened with each step, acrid and choking. She pulled her sleeve over her mouth, eyes watering as she rounded the corner of her cottage.

The sight struck her like a physical blow.

Her apple trees—the ones she’d brought back to health—writhed in flames. Orange tongues licked up their trunks, consuming the branches that had been laden with ripe fruit. The fire danced from tree to tree, a cruel, living thing with purpose.

“No,” she whispered, the word catching in her throat.

Those trees had been her first act of permanence, her declaration that she belonged somewhere. That she was staying. She’d spent countless hours among them—pruning, watering, whispering encouragements when no one could hear.

A tall figure darted between the burning trees—one of the noble’s men, torch in hand, moving to set another ablaze.

“Stop!” she screamed, surging forward, but Egon caught her arm, his grip gentle but unyielding.

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