Page 20 of The Orc's Bonded Bride (The Five Kingdoms #3)
CHAPTER 20
L yric moved cautiously through the underbrush, her heart hammering against her ribs as she clutched a sturdy branch in one hand. She’d fled through the tunnel as she’d promised, but she wasn’t about to leave Egon on his own to face five warriors. She’d been following the sound of fighting, but her breath suddenly caught in her throat when she realized that the fighting had stopped.
“Egon?” she whispered.
There was no answer and she stopped worrying about concealment, pushing through the underbrush as fast as she could, ignoring the branches that clawed at her skin.
When she reached the clearing, Egon was alone, one knee sunk into the dirt, his big body hunched forward.
“Egon?” Her voice caught as she raced over to him.
He turned, amber eyes finding hers through the pain. Dark blood soaked through his tunic, spreading across his side where Khorrek’s blade had found purchase. The earth beneath him had grown dark with it.
“It’s nothing,” he grunted, trying to stand but faltering, and she quickly slipped her shoulder under his arm for support.
“Don’t you dare lie to me.” Her fingers pressed against the wound, coming away slick with blood. “This isn’t nothing.”
He leaned heavily against her, but she managed to brace herself, helping him a short way down the trail to a clearing by a small stream. Each labored breath he took sent a spike of fear through her.
“What happened?” she demanded, trying to distract herself from her fears.
“Khorrek recognized me.” He winced as they moved. “From before. When I fought in the pits.”
Her stomach twisted. The pits. The brutal fighting rings where people were forced to battle for sport and coin. She’d heard whispers of such places, but never imagined Egon there.
“He hesitated,” he continued. “Just for a moment. That’s when I knew.”
“Knew what?” She guided him into the clearing and easing him down to a seat on a fallen log.
“That even Lasseran’s most loyal can doubt.” His hand covered hers, blood seeping between their fingers. “There’s hope, Lyric.”
At the moment all she was concerned about was the spreading crimson stain that demanded her immediate attention.
“Hope can wait,” she said, tearing strips from her underskirt. “First, we need to stop this bleeding.”
Her hands trembled as she pressed the torn fabric against his wound. Blood soaked through almost immediately, the sight of it making her stomach lurch. She’d dealt with injuries before—cuts from farm tools, burns from the kitchen—but nothing like this, nothing so potentially fatal.
“Hold still,” she whispered, her voice steadier than she felt.
He grunted in response, his jaw clenched tight against the pain. Sweat beaded across his forehead, glistening in the fading light. His normally vibrant amber eyes had dulled, and that frightened her more than the blood.
“Just… need a moment,” he managed, his breathing labored.
As the bleeding began to slow, she carefully peeled back the makeshift bandage to examine the wound. The gash ran along his ribs, deep but clean. She exhaled with relief—no signs of poison, at least. She tore more strips from her underskirt, using one to wipe it clean before layering the others over the wound and binding it tightly with a longer piece of cloth.
“You’re good at this,” he murmured, watching her work.
“Serena—the woman who taught me about the bees—was also a healer,” she said softly. “I picked up a few things.”
She worked methodically, doing her best to remember what Serena had done. After she secured the bandage, she rested her palm against his chest, feeling the strong, steady rhythm of his heart beneath her touch. For a moment, she allowed herself to be comforted by that beat, by the warmth of his skin, by the simple fact that he was still alive.
“There,” she said, her voice barely audible. “That should hold until we reach help.”
He covered her hand with his own, the gesture so tender it made her throat tighten.
“Thank you,” he said, his eyes clearer now, focused entirely on her. “But you don’t need to worry—I heal very quickly.”
She managed a shaky smile. “Good, because there isn’t much left of my skirt.”
He returned her smile, but then his gaze drifted back up the trail to the clearing where he’d fought with Khorrek. His expression had transformed, the pain of his wound seemingly forgotten as something deeper took hold. The fading sunlight cast shadows across his features, making the scars on his face appear deeper, more pronounced.
“What did he say to you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
He didn’t answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the forest’s edge, as if he could see Khorrek’s retreating form through the thick trees and encroaching night.
“That Lasseran has been experimenting.”
A chill ran through her that had nothing to do with the night air. “Experimenting how?”
“Creating an army of Beast warriors, but not ones like us, or even ones like Khorrek. Ones that are completely under his control and unable to think for themselves. Khorrek thinks he’s going to try and establish control over everyone subject to the Beast Curse.”
She took his hand, squeezing it tightly. There were no words that could ease the pain of this kind of revelation. She simply held on, offering what comfort she could through her touch.
Lyric couldn’t bear the hollow look in Egon’s eyes. The revelation about his past had opened wounds she hadn’t known existed, leaving him adrift in painful memories. She reached for him, her palm against his cheek, turning his face toward hers.
“Egon,” she whispered. “Come back to me.”
His eyes refocused slowly, finding her in the darkness. The firelight caught the moisture gathering there, unshed tears that spoke of a lifetime of suffering.
She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his. “You’re not there anymore. You’re here. With me.”
She kissed him then, softly at first, a gentle reminder of their connection. His response was hesitant, almost fragile, as if he feared breaking something precious. Lyric wouldn’t let him retreat. She deepened the kiss, her fingers threading through his hair, anchoring him to the present.
“I choose you,” she murmured against his mouth. “Not your past. Not what was done to you. You.”
Something broke in Egon then—the wall he’d built around his heart crumbling as he pulled her against him. His big hands trembled as they cradled her face, his touch reverent despite their strength.
“Lyric,” he breathed, her name a prayer on his lips.
She spread out the bedroll and guided him on to it, mindful of his wound but determined to remind him of what they’d found together. Their bodies met in the flickering shadows, skin against skin, her hands mapping the terrain of scars that told his story.
Lyric moved above him, taking control, showing him with every touch that she wanted him—all of him. His Beast, his past, his scars. She accepted everything he was, everything he had been forced to become.
“Look at me,” she commanded softly when his eyes drifted closed.
When he did, the raw vulnerability there nearly undid her. She leaned down, kissing him deeply as their bodies joined, finding their rhythm together. Each movement was a promise, each shared breath a covenant between them.
In that moment, there was no curse, no Lasseran, no dark past or uncertain future. There was only the two of them, choosing each other despite everything that stood against them.
Lyric nestled against Egon’s uninjured side, her head resting on his chest where she could hear the steady drumming of his heart. The night wrapped around them like a protective cloak, the stars visible through the canopy above. Despite everything—the danger, the revelations, the uncertain path ahead—she felt strangely at peace.
“What are you thinking?” Egon’s voice rumbled beneath her ear, his fingers tracing idle patterns along her bare shoulder.
“That I never expected this,” she admitted, pressing her palm against his chest. “When I saw you at the edge of my garden, I thought you were a ghost from my past. I never imagined…”
She didn’t finish the thought, but she didn’t need to. The warmth of his body against hers spoke volumes about what had changed between them.
Careful not to disturb his bandaged wound, she propped herself up to look at him. In the dying light, his features were softer, the harsh lines of his scars melting into shadow. His amber eyes reflected the embers’ glow, watching her with a tenderness that made her heart ache.
“We should sleep,” she said, though she made no move to pull away. “Tomorrow will come too soon.”
His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing across her lower lip. “I’ve spent too many nights alone to waste this one sleeping.”
She smiled, turning her face to press a kiss against his palm. “Then we won’t waste it.”
Drawing the blanket over them both, she settled back against him as the night deepened around their small haven.