Page 102 of Monster's Pretty Bride

She shudders into me, her breaths uneven, her fingers curling around my wrist.

We stand there, wrapped in each other, as the ruins smolder behind us.

A movement.

A sound.

A rustling in the distance.

My instincts flare, and I snap my head up, fangs bared. Eryss stiffens against me, her magic already crackling at her fingertips.

The trees shift in the distance, the undergrowth disturbed. We are not alone.

I snarl, already preparing for another fight. Another attack. Another loss.

Suddenly, there’s a voice.

Tentative. Hopeful.

“Warlord?”

I freeze.

More voices rise, hushed whispers rippling through the shadows. Then, slowly, figures step forward from the treeline.

Humans.

At least a dozen of them, some clutching crude weapons, others holding nothing but each other.

Eryss grips my arm. "Who...?"

The oldest among them, a grizzled man with silver threading through his dark beard, steps forward. His eyes sweep over the ruins, over me, over us, before he falls to his knees.

"The gods have heard our prayers," he breathes, pressing his forehead to the dirt. “The Warlord lives.”

The others follow, dropping into low bows, murmuring their gratitude.

Eryss inhales sharply, her grip on me tightening. "They... they prayed for you?"

My own voice falters, something inside me twisting.

"We... stayed away during the war," the older man explains, lifting his gaze to mine. "We saw the fires. Heard the battle. But we are simple people, Warlord. We had no warriors to send. So we prayed. And we waited."

I exhale, my claws flexing. I never expected this.

Another villager, a woman this time, steps forward, clutching the hand of a young boy. “Come back with us,” she says softly. “To the village. You are injured. You need rest.”

Her eyes flick to Eryss, kind, knowing.

"You both do."

Eryss and I stare at each other, the weight of everything crashing down.

We are alone.

Yet—maybe, we aren’t.

She bites her lip, nodding once.

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