Page 59 of The Orc's Bonded Bride

“I know.” He reached for her hand, surprised by how natural the gesture felt now. “But if something happened there, I need to know what. This could be connected to Lasseran’s plans.”

Lyric’s fingers tightened around his. “Then I’ll come with you.”

“No.” The word came out sharper than he intended, and he forced himself to soften his tone. “Please, stay here. Talk to the villagers. See what else you can learn. Samha’s cousin, anyone who might have information.”

“You want me to spy for you?” A hint of amusement crept into her voice.

“I want you to be safe.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “And yes, gather information. You have their trust. They’ll talk to you.”

She searched his face, concern evident in her eyes. “And what if you find trouble?”

“Then I’ll handle it.” He tried to sound confident, though uncertainty gnawed at him. “I’ve faced worse.”

She sighed, relenting. “Be careful, Egon. And come back to me.”

He nodded, unable to voice the promise aloud. Instead, he pressed his forehead to hers briefly before turning away.

The lord’s estate lay several miles from the village, a journey he made in grim silence, his senses alert for any sign of danger. As he crested the final hill, the stench hit him first—blood and smoke and something else, something foul that made his Beast stir uneasily.

What lay before him was devastation.

The grand manor house stood in partial ruins, its eastern wing collapsed into charred rubble. Bodies littered the courtyard—guards mostly, their weapons still clutched in lifeless hands. Claw marks scored the stone walls, deep gouges that no human weapon could make.

He approached cautiously, every muscle tense. The silence was absolute—no birds, no insects, not even the whisper of wind through the trees. Just death and destruction.

He knelt beside one of the fallen guards, examining the savage wounds that had torn through armor and flesh alike. These weren’t the methodical kills of trained warriors. This was slaughter—wild, frenzied, bestial.

Moving deeper into the estate, he found more evidence of the rampage. Doors ripped from hinges. Furniture shattered. And everywhere, the distinctive scent of Beast warriors—but wrong somehow, fouler, more corrupt than any he’d encountered before.

He knelt beside a fallen guard, examining the savage wounds that had torn through armor and flesh. The man’s face was frozen in an expression of terror, eyes wide and staring at whatever horror had descended upon him in his final moments.

Rage bubbled in his chest, hot and familiar. He’d seen this pattern of destruction before—the wild, uncontrolled savagery of Beast warriors lost to bloodlust. But these wounds were different. Deeper. More vicious. The claw marks weren’t just meant to kill; they’d torn apart their victims with unrestrained fury.

He stood, scanning the courtyard with narrowed eyes. Bodies everywhere, but not a single noble among them. Just guards, servants, stable hands—ordinary people who had no chance against such monsters.

“Cowards,” he growled, his voice echoing in the empty courtyard.

The lord and his inner circle had fled, abandoning everyone else to face whatever horror Lasseran had unleashed. They’d saved themselves while leaving their people to die. The thought made his Beast stir, hackles rising in fury.

He forced himself to study the carnage, reading the story of the attack in the spilled blood and broken bodies. The Beasts had come from the north, the same direction as the abandoned training camp. They’d struck at night, overwhelming the guards at the gate before swarming the estate.

But these weren’t the controlled warriors he’d encountered before. These were something worse—mindless killing machines driven by nothing but rage. No strategy, no coordination, just pure destructive fury.

The scent was at least a day old. Whatever had done this was long gone, but the stench lingered—a foul, corrupted version of the Beast warrior smell he knew. Something had gone wrong with these males. Terribly wrong.

He made his way back to the village, his mind churning with dark thoughts. The stench of death clung to him despite his efforts to wash in a stream. He’d seen brutality in the fighting pits, had witnessed the worst men could do to one another, but this was different. This was slaughter without purpose—or rather, with a purpose too terrible to contemplate.

When he reached Lyric’s cottage, she was waiting at the door, her face tight with worry. The relief in her eyes when she spotted him quickly gave way to concern as she read his expression.

“What did you find?” she asked, pulling him inside.

He sank heavily onto a chair, suddenly aware of the bone-deep weariness that had settled into his body. “Death. Destruction. The estate is in ruins.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “Everyone?”

“The guards, the servants… all dead. Torn apart.” He couldn’t soften it, couldn’t find gentler words. “The lord and his inner circle escaped. Left everyone else behind.”

She sat across from him, her face pale. “What could have done such a thing?”

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