Page 20 of Bound in Flames

"You are scared," Dex said.

"How can I not be? With everything that’s happening. I don’t think I want this."

Dex’s eyes softened, though his expression remained guarded. "Magic doesn’t care what you want. It’s part of who you are. But that doesn’t mean it controls you.”

"And what if it does?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

Chapter 11

Dex

The 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 clungto 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 afternoonsun 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 feltboth 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.

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