Page 7 of The Orc's Bonded Bride

But even as he tried to deny it, he couldn’t escape the truth. The child he remembered had fulfilled the promise of beauty that had hidden beneath the dirt and lack of food. Even from here he could tell her eyes were the same soft green, although her hair had darkened to a rich chestnut brown. Her features had sharpened into elegance, her body filled out with soft curves and long limbs. The years had transformed the girl he’d known into a woman in her prime.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to turn away, to continue down the mountain and forget what he’d seen. But the moment he did, he could see another memory—Lyric as he’d last seen her, her thin face tear-streaked and terrified, calling for him as she was dragged away, even though she couldn’t have seen him in the darkness. The image was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday, not over a decade ago, and his throat tightened at the memory.

He’d been assured that she was safe, that she would be cared for and protected—as long as he obeyed, and as long as he’d stayed away. He’d searched for her when he finally escaped the fight pits but she’d been long gone. He’s never expected to find her again, let alone in the tiny corner of the Old Kingdom.

He wanted to know what had happened to her, how she’d come to be here, safe from harm. His Beast growled approvingly as he took a half step forwards, urging him to go to her, but instead he retreated deeper into the shadows, his mind racing. What twisted game were the gods playing?

His fingers dug into the rough bark of the tree he leaned against. Why would she be here, of all places? A remote village at the edge of the Old Kingdom, far from the sprawling markets and stone walls of Kel’Vara?

He watched as she straightened, suddenly alert. She scanned the tree line, as if sensing his presence. For a heart-stopping moment, he thought their eyes met across the distance, and he shrank back instinctively. Even if she could forgive him for what she undoubtedly considered his betrayal, what would she think of him now—huge and scarred, the violent life he’d led etched on his face.

She frowned, and then returned to her work, yet he couldn’t tear his gaze away. Everything about her called to him, tugged at something deep in his chest. That scent—sweet and warm—filled his senses again, making his head swim.

Had the Old Gods actually heard his awkward prayer? Was there a reason he was here?

He shook his head, dismissing the foolish thought. Coincidence, nothing more.

Still, that sweet scent filled his nostrils, distracting him in ways he’d never experienced. Honey and wildflowers, with something else beneath—something that made his blood rush hot through his veins. His usual hunter’s focus scattered like leaves in a storm.

He shifted his weight, meaning to retreat deeper into the forest’s shadows. His foot moved backward, searching for solid ground, but his attention remained fixed on her slender form as she worked in her garden.

A dry branch beneath his boot gave way with a sharp crack that echoed in the air.

“Fool,” he hissed under his breath, instantly freezing in place.

Across the clearing, her head snapped up. She set down her basket and straightened slowly, eyes warily scanning the tree line.

He pressed himself back against the rough bark of the ancient oak, cursing his carelessness. Decades of warrior training, countless battles and hunts, and he’d made a mistake a first-year scout would be ashamed of. All because he couldn’t control his reaction to her.

His heart hammered against his ribs as he held his breath. The forest had gone silent around them—even the birds seemed to wait. She took a deliberate step toward the trees where he hid.

“Who’s there?” Her voice carried clearly across the distance, firm and unafraid.

He weighed his options. He could vanish into the forest—he was still skilled enough to disappear if he moved now. Or he could reveal himself and face whatever came next.

Neither option appealed to him. The first felt like cowardice, the second like madness.

He remained frozen, his muscles tense with indecision. The rational part of his mind urged him to retreat into the forest depths—to continue his mission without this complication. Yet something stronger held him in place, rooted him to the spot as surely as the ancient oak he leaned against.

She took another step toward the tree line, her eyes narrowing as she peered into the shadows.

“I know you’re there,” she called, her voice steady despite the slight tremor in her hands. “Show yourself.”

The command in her tone stirred something in him—respect, perhaps. She stood alone, facing an unknown threat without backup, without weapons. Brave or foolish, he couldn’t decide.

With a resigned grunt, he stepped forward. Sunlight spilled across his scarred face and huge body as he emerged from the forest’s edge. He straightened to his full height, knowing the intimidating picture he presented—a towering orc warrior, battle-worn and grim, his axe hanging at his side.

He braced himself for the inevitable—her scream, her terror, her flight. These days it was the way of things between their kinds, especially for a single human female encountering him alone.

But Lyric didn’t scream. She didn’t run.

Instead, she went utterly still, her eyes widening as they locked with his. The basket slipped from her fingers, forgotten as apples tumbled across the ground.

Confusion flickered across her face, followed by something that made his chest tighten—recognition.

“Egon?” His name fell from her lips in a whisper, soft and disbelieving.

She remembered him.

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