Page 4 of Bound in Flames (The Savage Hearts #1)

Chapter 4

Dex

T he rhythmic creak of the wagon wheels over uneven dirt was almost meditative. Almost. The metallic jangle of my cuffs kept dragging me back to reality, reminding me that every step the oxen took brought us closer to a fight I wasn’t sure I could win. I swept my eyes over the guards walking alongside the wagon, studying them, cataloging each potential weakness. The one on the left had a limp, subtle but there if you knew where to look. His boots told the story, worn thin on the inside edge, the mark of an old injury that never healed right. That kind of weakness would make him slow to dodge, sluggish under pressure. My eyes traced the way his hand hovered near his weapon, fingers twitching with impatience, as though he thought gripping the hilt tighter might compensate for his failing speed. It wouldn’t. It would only take a sharp kick to the knee to bring him down, writhing in pain as his screams echoed through the forest.

Another’s armor hung too loose at the shoulders, clinking with every step. A clumsy oversight. One solid blow would shove the metal into his neck or shatter his collarbone, leaving him gasping for air as his blood pooled beneath it. The leader, a burly man with a permanent scowl, carried himself with an air of misplaced confidence. Probably thought his rank made him untouchable. He’d be the first to fall, his surprise evident as I tore through him. Arrogance like his always bled the fastest.

I let my gaze drift to the wagon. The shaman—Cleo, as she’d reluctantly revealed—sat stiffly on the wooden bench, her wrists bound. She tried to appear indifferent, her green eyes fixed on the horizon, but I could tell she was listening to everything. Every insult from the guards, every faint clink of my chains. She was calculating, just like me. My gaze lingered a moment too long, tracing the curve of her neck and the way her shoulders tensed beneath her dirty dress. She was short and curvy, and there was a striking balance of strength and grace about her. She was so utterly human, a stark contrast to my own seven-foot, heavily muscled form. The thought struck me harder than I expected: how could I, a creature of war and wilderness, feel an odd pull of attraction toward someone so different? Perhaps it was that difference itself, the contrast of her soft, human curves against the hardened lines of my own body that fascinated me. Or maybe it was the fire in her that burned brighter than the cruelty of the world around her. She deserved so much better than what this life had handed her—a thought that only made the anger simmering within me grow hotter.

Bruises marked her arms, like ghosts of the hands that put them there. Cruel hands. The back of her hair was dark with blood that hadn’t fully dried, a fresh wound that spoke of recent violence. My jaw tightened. They’d handled her roughly, probably relishing her struggle. Anger flared in my chest, hot and immediate. I’d seen humans inflict worse, but knowing they’d marked her this way hit harder than I expected, sharp and visceral. Even covered in grime and battered by cruelty, she carried herself with a quiet resilience, a kind of fragile grace that only deepened the ache in my chest. She was sharper than she let on, but there was a vulnerability to her that made it impossible to look away. And somehow, that vulnerability felt like something I wanted to protect, even if I couldn’t explain why.

A small smile tugged at my lips. She was trying so hard to appear unaffected, but I could see the cracks in her composure. It was that blend of defiance and uncertainty that stirred something deeper in me. The humans would tear her apart if they got the chance. Hell, I’d seen them do worse to shamans. That’s why she needed me, even if she didn’t know it yet. I needed her too.

“You’ve been quiet,” I called out, my voice low enough that only she could hear. Her shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t turn. “Not enjoying the ride?”

“Why?” she replied, her tone sharp. “Hoping for some entertainment?”

I let out a low chuckle, the kind that rumbled deep in my chest, amused by her in a way she likely didn’t even realize. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just curious. It’s not every day I meet a shaman with such a fiery tongue.”

That got her. She turned her head, just enough for me to catch the flash of annoyance in her green eyes. “And what about you? For someone on their way to their execution, you seem awfully chatty.” Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t look away again. Progress .

The wagon hit a bump, jolting her forward. She caught herself on the bars, her knuckles whitening against the iron. I watched the movement closely, my mind spinning with possibilities. She was stronger than she realized. She would need to be if we were going to get out of this alive.

“Tell me, Cleo,” I said, leaning closer, my voice low and deliberate. “Do you even know why they’re hauling you off to Knight’s Hold?”

Suspicion flickered across her face as she straightened. “Because they’re afraid of what I might do.”

“Afraid of what you could do,” I corrected, letting the words roll off my tongue with an edge of amusement. “Not because you’re dangerous, at least not yet. Because of what you represent.”

She hesitated, her brows knitting together as she searched my face. “And what’s that?” she asked, her voice quieter now, the defiance still there but tempered by uncertainty.

“ Balance . For centuries, humans have ruled this land because they’ve made sure they’re the strongest. They’ve crushed anything that threatened their power. Shamans and orcs were destined to work the earth as one. Together, we could build a world stronger than anything they could ever hope to control. That terrifies them.”

Her brows furrowed, and I could see her trying to process my words. She wanted to argue, to push back, but doubt lingered in her eyes. Good . That meant she was listening.

“You’re wrong. If they’re so afraid of us, why not just leave us alone?” she asked.

“Because fear makes people stupid, and humans have been for a long time. Look around you, Cleo. Your kind is hunted, my people are scattered, and the only ones who benefit are the cowards in their castles.”

The wagon lurched again, and she flinched, her chains rattling. I softened my voice. “You’ll never be safe with them. The only place you’ll find safety is with the clans. With me.”

Her eyes locked onto mine, a spark flaring in their depths like embers catching fire. “And why should I trust you?” she demanded, her voice sharp, each word laced with challenge.

“You shouldn’t,” I admitted. “But I’m your best chance. Unless you’d rather see what the Crown planned for you.”

She didn’t respond, her lips pressing into a thin, stubborn line, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her. I could practically see the wheels turning in her head, weighing the risk, calculating the odds. Smart girl. She wasn’t the type to leap without looking, but I could tell she wasn’t one to stay idle for long either.

Her gaze flickered briefly to the guards before snapping back to me. She didn’t trust me. That was smart too. Trust would come later. For now, though, I could see the consideration in her eyes. She was already thinking, already planning.

One of the guards approached, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. I straightened, schooling my expression to that of boredom. He sneered but didn’t say anything, retreating to adjust the oxen’s harness. My grin returned as I turned back to Cleo.

I inclined me head towards our captors. “They’re sloppy. The one with the limp wouldn’t make it ten paces if I went for his weak leg. That one’s armor? It’s loose enough to ram a blade through and still have room to twist. Their leader thinks he’s untouchable, but he’s careless.”

Surprise flickered across her face at my detailed assessment of the guards. “You really think you can take them?” Her tone hovered between doubt and curiosity.

“I can get us out of here, but I’ll need your help. Turns out, my wit isn’t quite strong enough to bust these chains. Who knew?”

She let out an amused snort. It caught me off guard, a flicker of warmth breaking through her guarded demeanor, and I thought I saw her lips twitch as if fighting a reluctant smile.

“You’re a distraction,” I said simply, “Give me a window, and I’ll do the rest. Just think of it as giving my ego a little backup. Think you can manage that, little shaman?”

Her expression hardened, but she didn’t refuse. The silence hung there, weighted with unspoken questions and the fragile threads of reluctant trust. “You don’t have to decide now,” I said, my tone softer, though my eyes stayed on her. “But if we’re going to survive this, we need to work together. Whatever you think of me, I’m not your enemy.”

She hesitated, her gaze flicking to mine, lingering as if searching for truth in my words. Finally, she whispered, “What happens after?”

I tilted my head, studying her expression, trying to gauge where her mind had wandered. “After?”

Her throat bobbed in a barely perceptible swallow. “If we get out of this...what then?”

I let out a quiet breath, keeping my tone steady, calm—the kind of voice someone desperate to feel safe might cling to. “You come with me. My clan will offer you refuge, a place where you can truly understand what it means to be a shaman. To learn to wield the kind of power you have.” I paused, watching her closely, gauging the flicker of doubt and defiance in her eyes. “With us, you’d be safe. No one would dare touch you.”

Safe. It wasn’t a lie, exactly—at least not in the way she’d hear it. But safety came with a cost, one I was willing to risk for the future of my people. She didn’t need to know about the prophecy, not yet. That truth would come later, when she was ready to understand the burden of what she was meant to become. And the warnings? I pushed them aside, locking them in the part of my mind I couldn’t afford to dwell on. If she was strong enough, she’d survive.

Her gaze didn’t waver, her chin lifting just a fraction, enough to remind me of the spark that had caught my attention in the first place. Her sharp tongue might have irritated others, but it only made me want to push harder, to see how far that fire could burn. A dangerous thought, one I couldn’t indulge.

I leaned back, keeping my expression neutral. “Think about it, little shaman. You’re stronger than you know. With the right guidance, you could change everything.”

Her expression flashed with a mix of skepticism and something else. Hope, maybe. “And if I don’t want to?”

“I’ll take you wherever you want to go you think will be safe.”

Her gaze lingered on me before she looked away. I let out a quiet breath, my mind already racing with plans. But to my surprise, I felt a strange warmth creeping in as I replayed the soft snort she’d let out. It was such a small thing, but it had been enough to make my chest tighten. Was I really preening under her attention? I almost laughed at myself. She’d probably roll her eyes if she knew. The humans thought they had us trapped, but they’d underestimated me. They always did. And they had no idea what Cleo was capable of, but they would.

The sound of heavy boots crunching against dirt drew my attention. Two guards approached the wagon, their laughter low and crude. My eyes narrowed as one of them leaned closer to Cleo, his words vulgar. “Bet the shaman’s got tricks that don’t need magic, eh?” His companion snickered like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

“Got some curves on her, though,” the first added, his eyes roaming over Cleo in a way that made my blood boil. “Shame she’s not my type. I don’t go for the plump ones.” The other guard burst out laughing, the sound rough and grating, like boots scraping over stone.

Cleo stiffened, her eyes fixed on the horizon, her knuckles whitening in her grip on the bars. She didn’t say a word, but the tension radiating from her was palpable. It took every ounce of restraint I had not to lunge at them. The chains rattled as my hands flexed, the metal biting into my wrists. They were lucky the cuffs held. If they hadn’t, their blood would already be soaking the dirt beneath their feet.

They lingered, laughter growing louder as they jeered. “What’s the matter? Too good to talk to us? Come on, shaman, give us a smile.”

When Cleo kept her gaze fixed forward, her chin lifted in silent defiance, the first guard’s face twisted with irritation. His scowl deepened, a vein ticking at his temple. “Thinks she’s better than us!”

I couldn’t help the amusement that tugged at the corner of my mouth, nor the heat that stirred somewhere deeper. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t cower. Even now, bruised and bound, she carried herself like she was untouchable. That quiet rebellion wasn’t just admirable—it was maddeningly enticing.

I shifted against the weight of my own chains, forcing myself to tear my eyes away from her. It wasn’t the time, and it sure as hell wasn’t the place. But that fire in her? It was dangerous for more reasons than the guards knew.

The angry guard hauled himself onto the wagon, the wood creaking under his weight. He seized Cleo by the upper arm, yanking her forward. Her face slammed against the iron bars, the metallic clang echoing through the empty roadway. The sickening crack of impact made my stomach twist as she let out a groan. Blood trickled down her face in a thin, dark line, pooling at the edge of a gash that split her brow. "Got a little color now, shaman." His grin widened. "But don’t worry, I’ll fix it."

Leaning in, his tongue snaked the thin line of blood trailing from her cheekbone. Cleo flinched, a small whimper escaping her. My vision went red as my claws instinctively curled into fists, the sharp tips piercing my palms. A low warning growl rumbled deep in my chest, loud enough to draw their attention.

"Beast’s growling like he’s gonna chew through those chains."

The guard’s grip on Cleo’s arm slackened, and he spat at my feet, his sneer barely masking the hesitation in his movements. “Not worth the trouble,” he muttered, trying to sound sure of himself, but the faint waver in his voice betrayed him. With one last glance, he climbed off the wagon, his bravado crumbling with each step. Their hollow laughter echoed behind them as they retreated, leaving the sour stench of sweat and cheap ale hanging in the air.

Cleo’s shoulders remained stiff. Her breaths were shallow but controlled despite the blood still trailing down her face. Blood trickled down her face in slow, uneven streams, but she made no move to wipe it away, as if the act of ignoring it gave her some small measure of control. The defiance in her green eyes burned brighter as she turned to look at me, her jaw set with a determination that made my chest tighten. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears of rage, each drop a reflection of the storm brewing within her. I realized then that if she were ever given the chance, that passion and fury would make her a devastatingly powerful shaman. Her magic, fueled by this raw, unyielding anger, could reach unimaginable heights. And I knew if I could harness it, I could use that to help my clan survive.

“What do I need to do?” she asked quietly, her voice steady despite the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

I should have looked away, should have forced my thoughts back to the task at hand, but I couldn’t. Something about her, raw and unyielding even in pain, pulled at me. It wasn’t just admiration; it was magnetic, dangerous in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

“Be ready to distract them. At the next stop, ask for a break to relieve yourself. That’s when we move.”

Her brow furrowed. “Distract them how?”

I hesitated, the words lodging in my throat before I forced them out. “They’re drawn to you. The way they look at you, the things they say… If you’re willing, we can use that to our advantage.”

Her face hardened, the fire in her eyes flaring. I thought she might snap at me, but then she exhaled slowly, her expression unreadable. “If it gets us out of here, I can do that.”

Her calm acceptance made my chest ache in a way I didn’t like. My fists clenched involuntarily as the images of what the guards had already done flashed in my mind. My voice dropped, rough with anger. “I swear to you, Cleo, they’ll pay for every insult and bruise. I’ll make sure they regret every second they dared to lay a hand on you.”

"Okay." Her glassy eyes met mine and I caught a glimpse of the vulnerability she had been trying to hide. Her voice trembled, as though the dehumanizing treatment she’d endured was cracking through her armor. I felt something primal stir within me. A protectiveness I hadn’t known I was capable of for a human. It was confusing, so I shoved it aside to reflect on it later.

"If there was another way, I’d never ask you to put yourself at their mercy like this, but I need you to push one of them from the cart, just enough for me to grab him. Once I have him, I’ll get the keys, and we’ll make our move. They won’t have a chance to stop us, and they will never lay a hand on you again."

""If I was to trust you, how do I know your clan will accept me?”

I let the weight of my words settle between us. "Because I am Dex Kenryr, Chieftain of the Blackfoot Clan. My word is law. You'll have a place among us, Cleo. A place where you can learn, grow, and wield the power that's rightfully yours."

Her lips parted in surprise evident. "You're the Chieftain?" she asked, skepticism creeping into her tone.

"I am. And I don't offer refuge lightly. You'd be one of us, not an outsider. If you choose to follow me, the clan will protect you and so will I."