Page 11 of Bound in Flames (The Savage Hearts #1)
Chapter 11
Dex
T he clearing was alive with quiet activity as the hunters returned with their spoils. The air smelled of fresh game, and the warriors talked amongst themselves as they began to prepare our meal. Cleo lingered near the edge of the fire pit, her eyes darting between them.
She was trying to help, though her human methods were clearly amusing us all. Her hands moved with determination, though not with the efficiency of someone used to such tasks. She fumbled with the kindling, cursing when it refused to cooperate. She had a certain grace in the way she worked, even if it was tinged with frustration. It was rather endearing.
Gornak leaned against a tree nearby, his arms were crossed, and a small, rare grin tugged at his lips as he watched her work. The others were less subtle, their deep chuckles rumbling like distant thunder whenever she fumbled with a particularly stubborn piece of kindling or cursed softly under her breath. She was determined, and while her movements were awkward, there was a stubborn fire in her eyes that spoke volumes.
“Let me help,” she insisted as she crouched to arrange the wood, Against my better judgment, the snug pull of her dress around her ample curves drew my attention. The way it clung to the curve of her wide hips stirred something primal in me, a heat that mingled uncomfortably with my amusement at her frustration. The warriors exchanged bemused glances but said nothing, their respect for my authority evident even as their smirks widened.
Stepping forward, I crouched beside her, brushing past the lingering heat of her body as I reached for the flint. “It’s all in the angle,” I murmured, striking the stones deliberately slow to create a spark. The fire caught almost immediately, flames licking at the dry wood with a satisfying crackle.
She turned and her elbow brushed lightly against my stomach as she adjusted her position. Her cheeks flushed a soft pink, the color spreading as she glanced up at me. I felt the corners of my mouth tug into a grin, unable to resist her mix of determination and sudden shyness. Gods, despite the grime still coating her face, she was beautiful.
“Oh, is this orc flirting? Teaching a human how to cook over a fire?” she asked, arching a brow. Her voice was heavy with sarcasm, but a faint tremor betrayed her nervousness.
She was so close. I leaned in, invading her space, keeping my tone low and deliberate. “If I was flirting, little shaman, you wouldn’t be holding a knife.” My grin widened. “I’d have you melting in my hands.”
She turned away sharply, and the knife slipped from her grip, clattering against the ground. She scrambled to retrieve it, her cheeks glowing as brightly as the flames. I fought the urge to laugh but failed to suppress the amused twitch of my lips. Gornak’s deep chuckle rumbled from behind us. Cleo shot a sharp glare at him, though it did little to hide the embarrassment etched across her features.
“You’ve got a talent, Chieftain,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “Never thought I’d see the day a human would drop her guard so easily around an orc.”
“Shut it, Gornak.” My tone was light, but it carried a warning edge. Cleo refused to look at me, instead busying herself with wiping off the knife, and returning to peeling potatoes.
Rabbit stew was served and supper passed with easy conversation. My warriors, ever loyal and cautious, seemed to settle into an easy comfort with Cleo. They exchanged brief nods with her, their glances lingering as though they were trying to reconcile her fragile, human form with the immense power they had been told she possessed. Mixed emotions played across their faces, but one stood out clearly. Hope.
It was a rare and dangerous thing among my people. To be in the presence of someone who might truly alter the fate of the clans carried a weight none of us could ignore. That hope flickered like the flames of our fire, fragile yet persistent, against the backdrop of decades of oppression.
We had been hunted relentlessly, driven from our ancestral lands and into the harsh strongholds in the Marshes and the Black Mountains, where survival meant enduring the unendurable. The fucking Ostelan Crown, with their knights and their dark mages, had attacked us during a time of peace, breaking treaties and spilling blood. They painted us as monsters and savages, justifying every cruelty under the guise of righteousness.
Yet here we were, gathered around a humble fire with a shaman. A living symbol of a future we had long since stopped believing possible. The weight of her presence gnawed at me, a mixture of hope and unease that I couldn’t shake. Cleo’s presence wasn’t just a curiosity; she was a disruption, a raw challenge to the scars etched into our history.
The fire danced in her eyes, reflecting a softness that both unsettled and captivated me. It was more than her magic. She carried a promise of change and the thought made my chest tighten. We’d spent generations hiding in the shadows, retreating to the harshest corners of the earth while the Church of the Silver Hand hunted us to the brink of extinction. Against the odds, here was a shaman who could tip the scales.
Yet, that promise came with uncertainty. Could she even begin to grasp the enormity of what she had stumbled into? Did she have the strength to endure the trials that awaited her. The willingness to fight for a race not her own? The questions lingered like smoke as I watched her laugh softly at something Thorn muttered. For now, she seemed oblivious to the hope resting on her shoulders. A hope we were willing to bleed for—to die for—all for a chance at freedom.
The past clawed at the edges of my thoughts, reminding me of the treaties shattered, the blood spilled on both sides, and the force that had driven my people to this point. Every step forward had been forged in suffering, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this fragile thread of possibility would be enough. Could it weave a future strong enough to endure the weight of the Crown’s wrath?
The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees as the camp settled into a quiet rhythm, the fire’s embers casting a faint light across the darkening clearing. I stood, stretching out my stiff back, and caught Cleo’s attention. She was sitting by the fire again, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her expression was lighter than before, and it warmed me to know she felt comfortable enough with my clan to relax. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up. There’s a stream nearby.”
She hesitated but nodded, her tired muscles causing her to groan as she stood. The press of her breasts against her dress sent my thoughts tumbling back to inappropriate places. Gods, help me. I grabbed two small pouches from one of the packs and handed it to her as we walked. “Lavender, rosemary, and a bit of oil,” I explained. “It’s not much, but it’ll do as a soap.” Her fingers brushed mine as she took it, and I felt the familiar warmth stir in my chest.
We reached the stream, its waters glinting silver under the late sun, a striking contrast to the oppressive gloom of the Shadow Lands. This place felt untouched by the darkness that had tainted the surrounding forest. The air was clean and crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and wildflowers. Fish darted beneath the surface, their movements sending ripples across the crystal-clear water. Bird calls mingled with the gentle rush of the stream. It smelled of purity and life, a sharp divergence from the decay and hostility we had trudged through. This place of peace felt almost sacred, the Gods themselves driving the darkness away from its waters.
Without a word, I began tugging off my boots and loosening the straps of my armor with practiced ease. The metal clinked softly as I set it aside, each sound punctuating the quiet rhythm of the stream. I found myself hesitating, fingers brushing the waistband of my leathers as I considered stripping down further. I decided against it, not wanting to push Cleo’s comfort too far—though the thought of her reaction flitted unbidden into my mind. Would her gaze falter, her cheeks flush as she tried not to stare at my cock? My jaw tightened as I imagined her face if she saw the unmistakable evidence of how her presence stirred something primal in me. The heat flared before I forced it down, focusing on securing my armor and boots neatly on a nearby boulder, and ignoring the tight strain in my pants.
Stepping into the water, the icy current wrapped around my calves and climbed higher as I waded deeper, soaking into my leathers and weighing them down. The smooth stones beneath my feet shifted, the chill biting into my skin in a way that felt both refreshing and grounding. Each step forward helped cool the fire simmering within me, though the sound of her soft breaths and faint movements behind me kept the edge sharp.
“It's safe to wash here,” I said, turning my back to give her privacy, grinding the herbs in my palm before sliding them over my chest. Was she watching me? I heard the rustle of fabric as she stripped, her movements hesitant.
The sound of her footsteps splashing into the water drew my head to the side. I allowed myself to keep her in my peripherals, telling myself it was for safety reasons. The temptation to turn and take her in completely was maddening.
A yelp broke the stillness, followed by a loud splash. I turned to see her emerge from the water, spluttering and gasping. Her hair clung in damp tendrils to her flushed face, and she blinked rapidly, trying to regain her composure. She’d slipped on one of the slick rocks, the current swirling hungrily around her hips and threatening to push her off balance again.
Without thinking, I moved to her, my hand encircling her arm and steadying her. The water splashed around us as my other hand settled at her waist. Her body tensed for a moment, then relaxed under my touch. Her wide eyes met mine, shining with a mixture of surprise and desire. For a heartbeat, everything else faded away. The feel of her, the faint tremble of her body under my hands, and the unspoken pull between us.
I had to fight not to let my gaze roam over her wet body, every inch of it a temptation I struggled to ignore. The white cloth of her undergarments clung to her like a second skin, the cotton nearly transparent. The laces at her ribs only accentuated the curves they barely concealed, and her hips flared in a way that made me feral with desire. Her flushed face, the soft pout of her lips, and her heaving chest as she tried to catch her breath only made resisting almost impossible.
The world seemed to fade, leaving only the feel of her against me and the sound of her ragged breaths mingling with mine. Her lips parted, and I thought I saw the same hungry desire flicker in her gaze.
“Careful,” I murmured, my voice rougher than I intended. “The rocks are slippery.”
“Yeah.” She didn’t pull away, her hands resting against my chest, fingers flexing as if testing the strength beneath them.
The tension between us crackled like a live wire. My instincts screamed to claim her. My hand moved up her shoulder, brushing back the damp strands of hair clinging to her. The softness of her skin was a stark contrast to the roughness of my calloused fingers, a sensation that sent a shiver through me. I tucked the hair behind her ear, the motion deliberate, and let my hand linger.
Cleo leaned into me, her eyes burning with a need that matched my own. My thumb grazed the curve of her cheekbone, and the soft hitch in her breath was more intoxicating than anything I had ever experienced. Her eyes called to me, dragging me deeper. Hypnotized by the way her pupils were blown in arousal, I crowded her frame, leaning down until her face was mere inches from mine. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned in, just enough to obliterate any doubt about her intent. Her eyes, wide and unguarded, begged me to close the gap.
Every muscle in my body tightened, caught between desire for this human, and duty to my people. I could feel the heat radiating from her, the way her body leaned into mine as though surrendering to an invisible force. Her lips were so close, so tempting. I needed to taste them.
My chest heaved as I forced myself to breathe, to break the spell before it consumed me. My hand fell from her face, though the memory of her touch lingered, an echo I couldn’t shake. She stared at me, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted as if caught mid-word. The look she gave me was enough to unravel what little resolve I had left.
"Dex..." Her voice was like a siren, dripping in sensual power, calling me to my doom.
Before I could react, Cleo stepped closer, her body brushing mine with hesitant intent. Her hand slid to the back of my neck, cool fingers drawing me down to her. Her lips met mine, soft and uncertain. I froze. Then the intensity of her touch shattered my restraint. My hand gripped her waist, pulling her closer, her warmth searing through the thin fabric between us. Her scent filled my senses, grounding me in the moment, and everything else fading to nothing.
Cleo tilted her head and deepened the kiss. I was mindful of my tusks, careful not to let them tear her soft, delicate skin. When her tongue brushed against mine, a shiver coursed through me, my own hesitancy dissolving as instinct took over. The awareness of our differences only heightened my arousal. I gripped her tighter, my fingers skimming along the exposed curve of her back, tracing the delicate laces of her undergarment. The sound she made, soft and breathless, sent a bolt of need straight to my cock. My groan rumbled low in my throat as I crowded her against me, needing to feel more, to consume the connection that had sparked between us.
Her hands clutched at my shoulders, nails grazing my skin with just enough pressure to anchor me in the moment. My head spun, caught between the primal need surging through me and the impossibility of her yielding so completely in my arms. Her lips moved against mine with growing confidence, stoking the fire that roared in my veins. Her hip pressed against my throbbing cock, and I groaned, shifting to find more friction.
Instead, my boot caught on an uneven rock, and I stumbled, the world tilting as I lost my footing. Cleo’s startled gasp was the only warning before we tumbled sideways into the cold embrace of the stream. The icy water swallowed us whole, the shock pulling a strangled shout from her as she surfaced, sputtering and gasping for air.
Embarrassment burned hot in my chest, but her laughter cut through it, bright and unrestrained as it bubbled up from deep within her. She leaned back, wet hair clinging to her face, and I couldn’t help but laugh alongside her, the sound rough and low compared to her melodic joy. Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she brushed a hand over her face. Her grin wide and unguarded.
The water rippled around us, and our laughter faded into a quiet, shared warmth. The stream seemed to wrap us in its serene embrace, a brief reprieve from the chaos that surrounded our journey. I pushed my hair back from my face, catching her gaze as a smile lingered on her lips. Her expression softened, the wariness replaced by something more open, more vulnerable.
“You know, for someone who’s supposed to be intimidating, you’re surprisingly clumsy,” she teased.
I smirked, raising a brow. “Clumsy? I think you’re mistaking a tactical misstep for clumsiness. Maybe I just like seeing you all wet!”
She rolled her eyes, but the smile remained, and the shadow of her earlier unease seemed to fade momentarily.
“I already was.”
Gods, I don’t think she was talking about the stream.
"What?" she asked, catching my pained expression.
I hesitated, then let out a soft breath as I searched for the right words. "Just thinking about how unexpected you are.”
A single eyebrow disappeared into her hairline. "Unexpected?"
“Unexpected. Distracting. The most beautiful surprises usually are.” My gaze held hers. There was no artifice in her expression, no walls, just an openness that made my chest tighten. "You're not what I imagined, Cleo. In so many ways."
Her lips parted, her cheeks flushing again, but she didn't look away.
I was so fucked.
The sight of her like this—unguarded, laughter spilling from her lips like the sweetest temptation—sent a sharp ache through my chest. It was more than admiration, more than desire. It was hunger, longing, a need so fierce it stole my breath. I ached to touch her, to claim even a moment of that joy for myself, but the intensity of it startled me. When had she become this vital to me? When had her happiness started to feel like the very air I needed to breathe?
It would complicate everything. She was a shaman, a symbol of hope for my people, and I was their Chieftain. My duty had to come first. But every glance at her, every moment like this, made that duty feel like a chain tightening around my chest.