Page 55 of The Orc's Bonded Bride

His Beast stirred within him, not with rage but with possessive satisfaction.Mine. Ours.For once, orc and Beast were in perfect agreement.

He traced the curve of her spine, memorizing the feel of her, the scent of honey and flowers that clung to her skin even days away from her garden. When she shivered against him, he pulled the blanket more securely around them both, creating a cocoon of warmth against the night’s chill.

“Cold?” he asked, breaking the kiss just enough to speak.

She shook her head, her eyes dark with desire. “Not anymore.”

She kissed him again, and he lost himself in the sensation. His calloused hands, so accustomed to dealing death, now explored her body with reverent gentleness. Each touch, each kiss was an affirmation—that he was more than his scars, that she was morethan her past, that together they had found something worth fighting for.

For the first time in his life, he allowed himself to hope. Not just for survival, but for happiness. For a future where moments like this weren’t stolen between dangers, but freely given in peace.

CHAPTER 22

Lyric crept through the underbrush behind Egon, carefully placing each footstep as he’d shown her. The afternoon sun filtered through the canopy, dappling the forest floor with patches of gold. She watched his back as he moved with surprising stealth for someone so large, pausing occasionally to check their surroundings.

“Stay close,” he whispered, his voice barely audible above the rustle of leaves.

“You should wait here,” he’d told her when he first mentioned scouting the camp. “It’s safer.”

She immediately rejected the idea, giving him a defiant look.

“I’m not staying behind again. Not this time.”

He hadn’t argued, and she suspected he was just as happy for the two of them to remain together. Now, as they approached the ridge overlooking the valley, she felt her old instincts stirring. Growing up in Kel’Vara’s slums had taught her how to move unseen, how to slip through shadows without making a sound. Those skills had also come into use on the road but she hadn’thad any use for them since she’d moved to the village. They resurfaced with surprising ease.

They reached a fallen log, and he motioned for her to stop. He gestured toward a small clearing below with a row of tents. Behind the tents was another row of structures and it took her a moment to realize it was a row of cages, half-concealed beneath the trees. Her heart pounded against her ribs, but she focused on controlling her breathing the way he’d instructed. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slow and steady.

“Lasseran’s symbol,” he mouthed, pointing to the flag on the largest tent.

She nodded, studying the camp’s layout. A twig snapped somewhere to their left. Egon froze, his body tensing. Without thinking, she pressed herself against the forest floor, becoming almost invisible amongst the ferns and fallen leaves. She held her breath, remembering how she used to hide from the Dusk Guards when they swept through the slums.

There was no further sound from the forest and she cautiously raised her head again. The camp appeared to be completely empty—where were Lasseran’s men?

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, scanning the abandoned site. “There’s no one here.”

He motioned for her to stay put while he checked the perimeter, but she shook her head. She wouldn’t let him face potential danger alone, and she didn’t want to be left behind to wonder. They moved into the clearing together, every sense alert.

Up close they could see that the camp looked as though it had been vacated in a hurry. A pot of stew still hung over anabandoned fire, wisps of smoke curling upward. She pressed her palm near the coals.

“Still warm,” she murmured. “They can’t have left more than an hour ago.”

Around them, more evidence of a hasty departure littered the ground. Discarded weapons—a broken sword, a dagger with a cracked hilt—lay scattered among trampled grass. She knelt to examine footprints pressed into the soft earth, remembering how the herb woman who’d taken her in after Kel’Vara had taught her to read such signs.

“These tracks are chaotic,” she observed, tracing the outline of a boot print with her finger. “Not an orderly retreat. They were running.”

She followed the trail to the largest tent, its flap torn and billowing in the breeze. Inside, maps and documents lay strewn across a makeshift table, some half-burned as if someone had attempted to destroy them before fleeing.

“Egon,” she called softly. “Look at this.”

Her fingers hovered over a map marked with locations throughout the Old Kingdom. Several villages had been circled, including the one they’d left behind. Beside each marking was a number—a tally of some sort.

“What were they counting?” she asked him uneasily.

He shook his head grimly. “I don’t know. And I don’t know why they ran.”

Warning her to be quiet, he edged cautiously around the tent to examine the cages. Ten of them, the doors forced open.

“Do you notice anything about these cages?”

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