Page 7 of Bound in Flames

“Try it and we’ll see.” My tone carried the faintest edge of amusement, even as I fought to keep a straight face.

“Ah, there it is,” he said with exaggerated delight, his golden eyes gleaming. “I knew there was a personality hiding under all that doom and gloom. Keep going, little shaman. I’m starting to enjoy this trip.”

“Not all of us find our current situation quite so entertaining.” My lips twitched, betraying the tiniest hint of a smile. He noticed, of course, and preened as if I’d paid him the highest compliment.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” he said smugly, his tone dropping just enough to make the words linger. “Moments like these are rare, you know.”

What was I even doing?Trading barbs with an orc—of all races—while chained and carted toward my own execution? The absurdity of the situation struck me hard, and I wondered if the cuffs were cutting off more than my magic.Perhaps the blood flow to my brain.Then there was the way Dex looked at me, his sharp gaze, like he was trying to piece together some puzzle. It made me acutely aware of the torn, dirt-streaked state of my dress, the grime clinging to my arms, and the wild tangles of my hair. The strands stuck to my scalp, tacky and matted with dried blood from the wound I’d earned in the cells. I was a mess, no doubt about it. A flush crept up my neck, heat prickling at my skin, and I clenched my jaw, irritated at myself for caring. He seemed utterly unbothered, but it only made me feel more exposed.

As if sensing my inner turmoil, Dex leaned in, the creak of leather and scrape of metal accompanying the shift of his weight. His expression hovering between amusement and sharp, probing curiosity. It unsettled me, the way his gaze seemed to strip away my defenses, as though he saw far more than I wanted him to. The air between us grew taut, charged with unspoken questions and an unnameable tension. I should have looked away, but instead, I found myself leaning forward, drawn into his orbit despite the warning bells screaming in my mind.

“The humans kill what they can't control, and your kind tips the scales too far for their comfort. That’s why they put you in chains. But trust me, there’s power in their fear. If you learn to wield it, you’ll never be chained by them again.”

The weight of his words pressed against the fragile remnants of my resolve. Despite his casual tone, there was an intensity in his voice that hinted at something deeper. “Why tell me this?What do you want from me?” I snapped, my voice pitching higher as frustration seeped into my tone.

I watched as his grin softened, a flicker of something genuine breaking through his bravado. “To survive, and to make sure you do too.”

The wagon jolted again, its wooden frame groaning in protest, the sound echoing through the dense trees. The cuffs around my wrists shifted, their cold weight a cruel reminder of my captivity. My thoughts, however, remained fixed on the orc chained behind us. The stillness of the forest seemed to amplify every clink of his chains, every movement of his powerful frame. He was an enigma. Wounded, bound, yet wholly undeterred by the circumstances that would break most others. I didn’t trust him, but his words stirred something within me, a spark of curiosity and the faintest glimmer of hope. The way he spoke, with such ease and confidence, was entirely at odds with the bruises on his skin and the chains that bound him. He seemed unaffected by our shared predicament, as though the wagon and the guards meant nothing. That attitude was infectious.

I found myself wondering what it would be like to believe in my own strength the way he seemed to believe in his. His words lingered in my mind, prodding at something buried deep within me. A quiet, unformed question about whether my magic could truly be more than a curse. For all his smugness and sharp humor, Dex spoke with a conviction that was hard to ignore.

Since my arrest, I felt as though I wasn’t alone. And for the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt the faint stirrings of something close to peace.

Chapter 4

Dex

The 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 airof 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 itimpossible 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 youcoulddo,” 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.

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