Page 40 of Bound in Flames

I felt my curiosity peak at the mention of his grandfather, and I gave him my full attention as we continued to wander the winding paths. Grath gestured for us to sit on the roots of an ancient tree, and I sat gratefully.

“He used to sit right here. He’d close his eyes and sing to the plants, feeling the earth beneath him. He never sought to dominate it, but to keep the balance,” Grath turned his gaze to me, eyes sharp but not unkind. “You’re different. There’s a wildness in you, something stronger than we have seen in generations. I see it in the way the earth reacts to you, how it pulls toward you like you are part of it.”

He hesitated as if carefully weighing his next words. “I believe you are the one from the prophecy. The shaman who will lead us back to the valleys, to reclaim what we lost. I don’t know how it will happen, or when, but I know it in my bones.”

I could feel the sincerity in his voice, and kindness in his gestures. His love for his people and way of life. Amongst all, there was something else—purpose.

“I’m excited to see it, to see how you come into your own. The mountain has been waiting a long time, Shaman.” His voice held an edge, a reminder of their collective hope and expectation.

Taking a final look around the garden, my thoughts raced with all the overwhelming changes in my understanding of the world over the last few days. Grath’s words, the garden’s peaceful hum and the connection I had felt—it was overwhelming, but not in a way that pushed me away. Instead, it felt as though the earth itself was pulling me closer, inviting me to step into the role the clan thought I was destined to play.

Pausing as he stood, he shot me a kind smile over his shoulder, his deep voice carrying a note of finality. “Come back when you need to. The earth speaks to those who listen,” hemurmured, a hint of reverence in his voice. “But don’t ever forget to have respect for the ancient power. Your path is a difficult one to walk. Please know that I am here if you need anything.”

Chapter 22

Cleo

When we returned to the central hall, the orcs had gathered around the long tables for the midday meal. Grath led me to a seat by Dex, where a bowl of stew was placed in front of me almost instantly. Dex nudged me playfully with his shoulder, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched me pick up my bowl and eat.

Conversation wove around us, and I noticed more orcs glancing in my direction, their expressions a mix of curiosity and acceptance. Some of the children had gathered at the far end of the hall, watching me with wide eyes, whispering among themselves.

Dex followed my gaze. “They’re curious about you. They’ve heard the stories of our history, but they’ve never seen someone like you before.”

I set my bowl down, sighing. “It’s a lot to take in. I’m still trying to figure out what all of this means.”

Dex was serious as he leaned closer. “You don’t have to figure it all out right now. The prophecy is just one part of this. You have time to learn, to grow into this role as shaman.”

His words were reassuring, but the uncertainty still lingered. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to fulfill this prophecy, how I was supposed to lead these people. As the meal came to an end, he motioned for me to follow. “I have something else to show you.”

Following him through the winding tunnels of the stronghold, the sound of the clan’s voices fading into the distance. After a few minutes of walking in companionable silence, Dex stopped in front of a set of heavy wooden doors. He pushed them open with ease, the aged wood groaning in protest, revealing a vast chamber bathed in soft, warm light. Glowing crystals pulsed gently within sconces, their light refracting through stained glass skylights that painted the stone floors in a kaleidoscope of colors. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and ink, a quiet hum of ancient knowledge pressing against my skin like a whispered secret.

Rows of towering shelves stretched into the chamber's depths, cradling crumbling scrolls and weathered tomes. Artifacts lay scattered across stone tables—blades dulled with age, carved wooden idols, and maps so fragile they threatened to disintegrate at the slightest touch. Every inch of this place spoke of a world long forgotten, and I could feel its weight settling in my chest. The groan of the heavy doors closing bought my focus back to Dex.

Dex stepped inside, his movements careful but confident, as if the room itself demanded respect. “This is our library. It’s where we keep records of our history, our traditions, and everything we know about the world.”

I trailed my fingers over the spines of the books, tracing the faded lettering with the tips of my nails. Each touch sent a shiverup my arm, the knowledge within them a tangible pulse beneath my fingertips. "It’s incredible," I whispered, my voice hushed in awe.

Dex watched me, his golden gaze heavy with something I couldn’t quite place. "I thought you might want to see this. You’ve been learning about our people, but there’s still so much more to understand, and I thought this might be a good place to start.”

"Thank you for showing me this.”

His lips twitched into a small, almost hesitant smile. "To us, you are more than just a shaman, Cleo. You are the bridge to what we have lost.”

Dex stepped closer, his hand finding mine, his grip possessive and warm, the heat of his touch seeped into my skin. The raw hunger in his golden eyes sent a slow, burning ache curling through me, as his thumb brushed over my bottom lip, his touch featherlight but electrifying. Before I knew what I was doing, I rose up onto my toes, my fingers curling into the leather harness on his chest. His hand slid to the nape of my neck, pulling me closer, his lips capturing mine with a hunger that stole the air from my lungs. Tusks grazed my cheeks, adding a delicious bite to the heat between us.

The kiss started slow, a tentative exploration, but the tension that had been simmering between us ignited into something desperate. I could feel his grip tighten as his other hand found my waist, pulling me flush against him. A gasp escaped me at the feel of his hard, solid body pressing against my softer one, his massive thigh slotting between mine possessively.

My hands roamed over his broad chest, feeling the way his muscles flexed beneath my touch. Dex growled low in his throat, and without breaking the kiss, he lifted me effortlessly, his large hands gripping my ass as he pressed me back against the stone wall.

A whimper tore from my lips as he broke the kiss, trailing his mouth down my throat in hot, open-mouthed kisses, his tusks scraping against my pulse point. The contrast between his warmth and the cold stone against my back sent goosebumps down my arms.

“Dex,” I gasped, my voice trembling with need as his fingers explored beneath the fabric of my dress, tracing the soft curves of my hips and the dip of my lower back.

His breathing was ragged, his lips finding my ear. "Go on, little shaman,” he rasped, his voice thick with barely restrained desire. "Beg for it."

"Please.” my body arched into him instinctively, desperate for more.

A wicked grin tugged at his lips before they crashed back to mine, his passion searing. His hands roamed greedily over me, exploring and claiming my flesh. The way he held me, as though he was afraid I might vanish, only made me more ravenous.

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