Page 69 of The Orc's Bonded Bride

She turned to look up at Egon. Blood still trickled from the cut above his eye, and she reached up to wipe it away.

“You could have been killed,” she said softly.

“I wasn’t.” His golden eyes held hers, steady and sure. “Because of you.”

“I didn’t know what was coming. I just… felt it.”

“That’s enough.” Egon brushed a strand of dust-covered hair from her face. “Sometimes feeling is all we have to guide us.”

Around them, warriors gathered what supplies had survived, preparing to continue their journey. The wounded were being tended to, their injuries mercifully minor given the scale of the destruction. She knew they should help, but for just a moment longer, she couldn’t bear to step away from him.

“We should go,” she finally said, though her hands still gripped his arms.

“Yes.” Egon nodded, but made no move to release her. Instead, he bent down and pressed his forehead against hers. “Thank you,” he whispered, “for saving me.”

CHAPTER 27

Egon’s heart hammered against his ribs as they reached the pass leading down into the valley surrounding his clan village. Two days of hard riding had left his muscles aching, but that discomfort paled against the knot of tension in his gut. Lyric rode beside him, her face drawn with exhaustion but her eyes alert. He’d caught her watching him throughout their journey, concern etched in the furrow of her brow.

“Almost there,” he murmured, nodding toward the settlement nestled in the valley below.

The village looked unchanged—the longhouses flanking the central plaza with the tall, angular clan house at one end, and the meeting hall at the other. Warriors were training in front of the meeting hall and someone was bringing a flock down from the upper pasture, life continuing as though the world wasn’t teetering on the edge of chaos. For a moment, Egon envied their ignorance.

Lyric leaned forward in her saddle. “So this is where your brothers grew up?”

“Yes.” How often he had envied them that peaceful childhood, but if he hadn’t been born in Kel’Vara he might not have met Lyric and that was a thought too terrible to consider.

They rode through the outer perimeter, the guards raising a hand in greeting.

“Brother!” Lothar called as they reached the central square. “You’ve returned!”

Before he could dismount, Lothar was there, pulling him into a bone-crushing embrace. Wulf appeared moments later, his usual stoic expression breaking into a rare smile.

“You brought a guest,” Wulf observed, his gaze shifting to Lyric.

He helped her down from her horse, his hand lingering at her waist. “This is Lyric.”

Kari, Wulf’s mate, pushed through the small crowd that had gathered, her belly swollen with child. Behind her came Lothar’s mate, Jana, carrying a basket of herbs.

“You must be exhausted,” Kari said, taking Lyric’s hands in hers. “Come inside.”

Jana gave Lyric a warm smile. “Any friend of Egon’s is welcome here.”

“She’s more than a friend,” he said quietly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “Lyric is my mate.”

Silence fell. Wulf’s eyebrows shot up, and Lothar let out a surprised laugh.

“Well then,” Wulf said, clapping Egon on the shoulder. “This calls for celebration.”

He shook his head. “Later. We carry urgent news from Ulric.”

His brothers’ expressions shifted from surprise to something more knowing. Wulf’s gaze traveled between him and Lyric, assessing, while Lothar’s eyes sparkled with barely contained delight. The scrutiny made his skin prickle with discomfort.

“We should discuss Ulric’s situation,” he said, trying to redirect their attention.

“Of course,” Wulf agreed, but his eyes remained fixed on Egon’s hand, which had instinctively moved to Lyric’s lower back. “After you’ve both rested.”

As they walked toward the clan house, Lothar fell into step beside him, leaning close. “So, brother, you found yourself a mate after all. And here you were convinced the gods had forgotten you.”

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