Page 6 of Bound in Flames (The Savage Hearts #1)
Chapter 6
Dex
T he Wild Lands stretched out before us in hues of green and gold, the thick canopy filtering the sun into fractured patterns on the forest floor. The air was alive with the sounds of unseen creatures, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, and the distant call of birds. The land was unfamiliar, yet it felt like home. The kind of place where life and death mingled freely, the kind of place my clan thrived.
I adjusted my pace, glancing back to Cleo as she trudged behind me. Her torn and frayed dress clung to her soft hips and shifted with her every move. Despite the bruises from the guards' rough handling, there was a quiet strength in the way she carried herself, a resilience that drew my attention even when I tried to look away. She moved with determination, but I could see the tremor in her steps, the lingering adrenaline that hadn’t yet burned out of her system. I slowed my pace. As much as I hated the delay, her smaller legs couldn’t match my stride.
The sky above deepened to a dusky orange, and the temperature began to drop. The Wild Lands didn’t forgive weakness, and the night would be colder than she could likely tolerate. Even with a fire, the chill would bite at her. My eyes lingered on her dress again, the way it offered her little protection against the elements, before I forced myself to look away. She needed more than we had.
"Are you always this slow, or is it for my benefit?" I called back to her, needing to keep her talking, to make sure she wasn’t going into shock.
She glared at me, eyes flashing with irritation. "I’m human, remember? Big, strong orc, conquering the mighty forest! Do you want me to take notes?"
A grin tugged at my mouth. "Might do you some good. Not everyone's built for this kind of terrain."
Her snort was barely audible, but the smile that followed told me she wasn’t as worn down as she seemed. That resilience was going to serve her well, if it didn’t get her killed first. "Please, I've handled worse than a few rocks. But if you're offering to carry me and all of our belongings, don't let me stop you. You can put those muscles that you keep on flexing to good use!”
"I could if you wanted me to."
I gazed back at her to catch her blushing hard in response. "I’ll keep that in mind, Chieftain," she said, her tone laced with mock formality. "But I wouldn’t want you thinking I couldn’t handle a little rough terrain."
A slow grin spread across my face. “Of course not. Offer still stands. You’re tiny, and I likely wouldn’t even notice the difference."
Her steps faltered, and she glared up at me, green eyes sparking. "Tiny?! I am a grown woman, not a child!"
I stopped walking, turning to look her over with deliberate slowness. "I am very aware of you being a grown woman. Compared to an orc, humans are tiny. Carrying you would not be an inconvenience."
Her blush deepened, but she rolled her eyes and strode past me, muttering under her breath. The corner of my mouth twitched as I followed, unable to resist the way her cheeks flushed so easily. It stirred something within me, a strange curiosity about whether that blush extended all the way down her neck, perhaps even lower. The thought surprised me, a sharp pull of desire for a human—a race so different from my own—but I couldn’t deny the way it gnawed at me.
We pressed on, my ears attuned to every sound. The forest was alive, but its pulse was different from what I was used to. This was not my land, yet the soil beneath my boots felt the same. The smell of damp earth mixed with the crispness of the approaching night. Somewhere nearby, an animal darted through the underbrush, its presence marked only by the crackle of dry twigs. I could sense Cleo’s discomfort in the silence, her unease at the way I moved through the Wild Lands with an ease she couldn’t match.
"This place doesn’t bother you, does it?" she asked, her voice cutting through the stillness.
"No, it feels alive. Humans build walls to keep themselves separate from the world. Orcs? We live in it."
“So, you’re saying you prefer…this?" She gestured around at the trees, fallen branches in our path, and the chaos of the forest.
"The Wild Lands don’t lie. There’s no pretense here. You survive, or you don’t."
Her steps faltered, but she caught herself quickly. “What about your clan? Do they all live in places like this?”
"The Blackfoot Clan is isolated in the Black Mountains, but we thrive in the forest. All orc-kind do.”
"Before the war centuries ago, the Blackfoot Clan lived in these forests. The Wild Lands were ours; the forest was our strength. The humans' greed drove us out, forcing us to retreat to our old strongholds in the Black Mountains. There, we survived, but it was never the same. The Wild Lands have always felt like home, even when the world tried to take them from us.”
I wanted to tell her about my hope that she might be the shaman we’d been waiting for. The clans had been pushed to the edges of Ostelan for too long, forced into shadows while the humans claimed everything that once sustained us. If she truly was the shaman from the prophecy, she could be the key to reclaiming the forests and rebuilding what was taken. But I couldn’t tell her that. She wasn’t invested enough to help us, not with the weight of what it would mean. I needed to earn her trust, to guide her to see our cause as her own. It would take time, and I couldn’t risk overwhelming her too soon. Besides, if a new shaman had been born, the darkness would already be stirring, hunting for her. That alone would be enough to keep her cautious and moving forward. The rest… the truth… I would hold back until I was certain she could handle it. Until she was ready to become the weapon we needed against the Crown and the darkness that took over our forests.
The forest had grown steadily colder as we moved, the light fading quickly. I scanned the area, deeming this a suitable place to rest for the night. "We’ll camp here. The night is coming fast, and you’re not built for traveling in the dark."
She bristled but said nothing, dropping her bag onto the ground with a tired sigh. I set to work gathering firewood, my ears straining for any sound that might signal danger. Every snap of branches and rustle of leaves put me on edge, my senses sharpened by the knowledge that the Wild Lands, though beautiful, were merciless to the unprepared.
Once the fire was lit, Cleo sat close to the flames, rubbing her hands together for warmth. The light painted her face in flickering golds and shadows, picking out the dirt smudged on her cheek and the lines of exhaustion etched into her features. Yet despite the weariness in her posture, she didn’t look weak. Just human enough to remind me how fragile she was in a place like this. My gaze lingered on her too long, noting the way her hair caught the firelight, before I turned my focus back to the forest, scanning the darkness for any lurking threats.
The flames crackled louder as the icy wind picked up, sending a violent shiver through her shoulders. I sighed, moving closer to her as it whipped through the clearing. "You’re shivering.” My voice was more of a rumble as I settled behind her, pulling her back into the circle of my arms. With my warmth shielding her, it could no longer strike her with its bite.
She stiffened under my touch, the unexpected closeness drawing a sharp tension into her frame. Her breath hitched, barely audible, but I felt it like a spark against the night. Every inch of her felt wound tight, caught in the indecision of whether to lean into the warmth between us or push it away.
The scent of her invaded my senses, a blend of sweat and something softer, floral and inviting. It mingled with the smoke of the fire and the crisp bite of the forest night, weaving together into something that made my pulse quicken. The space between us felt charged, alive, as though the night itself held its breath.
The contrast between us was impossible to ignore as I looked down at her. Her skin, soft and fair, caught the flickering firelight, while mine, a deep earthen green, bore the scars and weathering of years on the battlefield. The curve of her bare shoulder brushed against my chest, and I couldn’t help but marvel at how delicate she seemed in comparison, like something impossibly fragile.
The wind tugged at her hair, and without thinking, I reached up to brush it behind her ear. My fingers grazed the smooth line of her neck, warm and soft beneath my touch. She didn’t flinch. Instead, her shoulders eased, and the blush I’d grown to enjoy painted her cheeks once more.
She was stunning, in a way that caught me off guard. A beauty both soft and fierce, like steel wrapped in silk. I found myself wondering how someone like her had been so thoroughly let down by the world, a world that had shaped her into this perfect paradox of fragility and strength.
"Humans. Always cold," I said, aiming to break some of the tension growing between us.
I could easily imagine the flash of anger sparking in her eyes, the look I had grown so accustomed to. Disappointment tugged at me, knowing my seat behind her kept me from seeing her expressions. I shifted to the side and leaned over her shoulder just enough to catch a glimpse of her face. Her frustration was delicious, a wildfire I couldn’t resist feeding. The urge to wind her up, to draw out that fire, was almost impossible to ignore.
"And orcs? Always bossy?"
I tried to smother the smirk from my voice as I responded, gleeful at how easy it was for me to get under her skin. “Always.”
The banter fell away, leaving us in the silence of the forest. The firelight danced between us, and though her breathing slowed, her body remained alert. She wasn’t yet used to the quiet. To the way it magnified every thought and fear. I could see it in her posture, the way she rubbed at her wrists absentmindedly, likely still feeling the ghost of the cuffs that had bound her.
"You need to learn control," I said, breaking the silence.
Her head tilted, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Control?"
"Your magic," I clarified, my tone softening. "If you can control it, you could call on the warmth of the fire and draw it into you."
"How?"
"I can teach you," I said, shifting impossibly closer. "It starts with learning to feel for it, to pull on it with purpose. Meditation helps, but it will take time to master it."
Her hands trembled as she looked down at her lap, hesitation heavy in her voice. "The last time it came, it wasn’t on purpose. It was… chaotic. I couldn’t control it."
"What happened? What were you feeling when it reared up?”
Her voice softened as she stared into the fire. "It was… the market. My father…" Her muscles bunched beneath my arms, vibrating with tension. I wanted to see her eyes, to read the emotions flickering there, but all I could feel was the rigidity of her body as she forced the words out. "He humiliated me in front of everyone, blamed me for the farm’s ruin, slapped me… and I-I felt this anger. This unbearable rage."
Her shoulders shook, her breaths shallow. "It wasn’t just the slap. It was years of his drinking, his fists, his words. My mother had passed, and he took it out on me. I hated him for what he had become.”
My hold on her tightened instinctively, as if I could shield her from the memory. "Then these vines came out of the ground, and I couldn’t stop them.”
The words hung heavy between us, her body trembling against me. How could her father, the man who gave her life, dare lay a hand on his daughter in anger? The thought burned in my mind, fueling a quiet fury I had to work to suppress. Humans confused and infuriated me in equal measure. That she had endured years of abuse and mistreatment, yet emerged as this defiant and kind woman, was nothing short of extraordinary. I was impressed that her spirit hadn’t been crushed, that she was as stubborn and resilient as she was, despite everything she’d faced.
Taking a steadying breath, I focused on giving her a small measure of comfort. “You were protecting yourself. That rage, it’s what your magic answered to. But you can’t let it control you. Harnessing it is what separates a real shaman from chaos."
Cleo shuffled against me, crossing her legs and straightening up again. Before she could fully settle, I pulled her back against my chest, my arms resting loosely around her. For warmth . I towered over her, leaning forward just enough to surround her with my body heat. Though I couldn’t see the profile of her face clearly in the dark, the way her muscles flexed beneath my arms told me she was flustered. It amused me more than it should. There was something undeniably satisfying about the way she reacted, her independence clashing with her inability to mask her emotions.
"You need to be comfortable," I said, my voice low. "For now, use my body heat so you can focus. Close your eyes."
She snapped her eyes shut with almost comical force. For several minutes she was still, shifting restlessly every so often. My lips twitched, the beginnings of a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. I could almost taste her nervous energy, and it was delicious.
"Stop thinking so hard. Meditation isn't about forcing your mind to stop. It's about letting it quiet on its own."
"Right, because quieting my mind is so easy," she said, her tone laced with sarcasm. "Especially when you're sitting directly behind me. I can feel you staring at me. Are you worried I'm going to burst into flames or something?"
“You don’t need my help for that. You’re capable of doing that all on your own. Now, close your eyes and allow your mind to quiet."
She sighed but complied, her lashes fluttering shut as she shifted again, trying to find a more comfortable position against me. "Breathe. In through your nose. Feel it fill your chest. Let it out slowly. Again."
I could feel her trying to follow my instructions, her breaths coming slower and deeper, but her shoulders remained tight, the tension radiating through her entire body like a coiled spring. Her chest rose and fell unevenly. Each breath betrayed her struggle to find calm amidst the chaos within her. She fidgeted again, her hands tugging restlessly at her dress. The frustration was palpable, and I could feel it as clearly as the heat of the fire beside us, her inner turmoil vibrating through her frame as though it might escape at any moment. Her lips parted as if to speak but closed again.
"Stop fidgeting,” I said, my tone laced with amused patience.
"I don’t know what I’m doing." Frustration crept into her voice. "This whole magic thing didn’t come with a guidebook!"
"Good thing you’ve got me then. You’re not going to figure this out in one night. Start with this moment and forget everything else."
She huffed out a breath. "I can feel you staring at me like that. Can you stop?"
"Like what?" I asked innocently.
"Like I’m some shiny new shaman plaything." There was a hint of embarrassment in her voice. Interesting .
"Well, you are.”
"That’s not distracting and inappropriate at all,” she muttered, her sarcasm returning full force.
I leaned forward, my breath ghosting across the back of her neck, watching as several curls danced across her neck. The movement was deliberate, meant to rattle her, and I wasn’t disappointed when I felt her shoulders stiffen in response. "Maybe distraction is exactly what you need," I murmured, my voice teasing. Promising.
She twisted sharply to glare at me over her shoulder. Her blush burned bright against her cheeks, spilling down the line of her neck. The sight stirred something primal in me, satisfaction blooming as her wide eyes locked onto mine. She froze when she realized how close my face was to hers. I held her gaze, letting the corner of my mouth lift into a slow, unrepentant smile. The way her indignation warred with embarrassment only deepened my amusement—and, admittedly, my interest. "I thought we were supposed to be teaching me how to meditate."
"I am. Lesson one, stop running from your thoughts. Lesson two, if you’re going to let something distract you"—my gaze briefly dropped to her lips—"make sure it’s a worthy distraction."
Her blush deepened, but before I could revel in it fully, she snapped her face forward to the flames. The subtle roll of her shoulders and the way her lips pressed together as she muttered only added to the captivating display. “This is inappropriate.”
I couldn’t tear my eyes away, utterly enraptured by the way every thought and emotion played out so vividly on her face, as though she didn’t know how to hide them, or didn’t care to. It was a rare honesty that left me wanting more.
Despite her protests, she didn’t pull away from my warmth. I let my smirk linger as I settled behind her again, not even trying to keep it out of my voice. “Try again. Unless, of course, you’d rather keep arguing, in which case…"
Part of me was disappointed when she stopped our playful banter, though I couldn’t quite understand why. My comfort with her, a human I had met only earlier that day, was unsettling in its own right. It wasn’t just her sharp wit or the way her blush deepened with every teasing remark—though I took a shameful amount of pleasure in flustering her. It was the stubborn fire in her, the way she pushed back against me with a strength that belied her vulnerable circumstances. For someone so seemingly fragile, she carried herself with surprising resilience, and it intrigued me. I found myself wanting to see more of that fire, to push just enough to watch her flare brightly in response.
The air around us seemed to shift as she focused, the faint hum of magic growing stronger. I felt a flicker of warmth, faint but unmistakable, beginning to emanate from her body. It was subtle, but enough to make me acutely aware of how she no longer needed my heat to keep the chill at bay. A part of me felt a pang of disappointment at the realization, though I brushed it aside quickly.
The scent of earth flared sharply as small patches of moss and clusters of mushrooms sprang up around us. The casual ease with which she wielded her incredible power was intoxicating, the earth responding to her in a way that felt raw yet undeniably powerful. The fresh scent mingled with the smoke from the fire, and the air itself seemed to pulse, alive and humming in tune with her presence.
"Good girl. Open your eyes, Cleo." Watching her was mesmerizing, but the sensation of her body relaxing against mine was addicting. I could feel the tension melting away from her frame as her breaths steadied, her soft curves pressing gently into me. She let out a quiet gasp of awe as her eyes fluttered open, and though I couldn’t see her face fully, the tilt of her head and the soft parting of her lips spoke volumes. The flicker of firelight highlighted her features, illuminating the wonder that radiated from her expression. I was enthralled, not just by what she’d done but by how she carried it. Like the smallest spark of hope had taken root in her, coaxing life into a place where she might have thought it impossible.
“I did that?” she asked in disbelief, her wide eyes roaming the moss and mushrooms sprouting at her feet.
I nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “You called the earth, and it answered.” My gaze lingered on her, taking in the mix of wonder and uncertainty on her face. “That’s what it means to be a shaman.”
I watched as a moment of peace settled over her, even if it was fleeting. It was a moment I let her have before speaking again, my voice turning practical. "Rest while you can. We have a lot of ground to cover to the Black Mountains. But if you keep this up, you might survive the journey."
Her brief smile faded, replaced by a glint of defiance I was beginning to appreciate more than I should. "Might?"
I laughed as I pulled her back into my chest. "The Wild Lands don’t forgive mistakes. But you, little shaman, might just be stubborn enough to make it."
I couldn’t remember the last time I had laughed so easily. Shaking the confusing thoughts from my head, I cradled Cleo in my arms as I settled in for a long night on watch. And if my fingers trailed soothing patterns on her arms as she drifted to sleep, I would never admit to it.