Chapter 25 Lyria
LYRIA
The noise never fully leaves.
Even when I step away from the front line, even when the clash of steel dulls into something distant and uneven, it still lingers—carried through the ground, through the air, through my bones like something I can’t quite shake loose.
The village smells like smoke and damp wood and sweat, the sharp edge of fear sitting just under everything else, and I can feel it pressing against me from every direction.
I need space.
Not distance.
Just—
Space.
I move past the outer cluster of structures, slipping between shadow and half-broken fencing until the noise dulls just enough to let me think.
The river is close here, its slow movement catching what little light is left, and the air shifts cooler, carrying the scent of water and mud instead of ash.
I brace my hands against the rough wood of a post, leaning into it, letting my head drop for a second as I try to steady my breathing.
“Running from your own plan?”
His voice isn’t loud.
It doesn’t need to be.
I don’t turn right away.
“I’m not running,” I say, pushing off the post and straightening. “I’m thinking.”
“Those look similar from a distance.”
I glance back at him.
Verr stands a few steps away, not crowding the space, but not giving it either. There’s dirt along the edge of his jaw, a dark streak of something I don’t want to identify along his sleeve, and his posture is tighter than it was before—controlled, but not untouched.
“You followed me,” I say.
“You left command without saying anything.”
I tilt my head slightly. “You noticed.”
“I notice everything.”
“Not everything,” I reply.
That gets a flicker of something in his expression.
Not quite a reaction.
But close.
The sound of shouting carries faintly from the village, sharp and distant, followed by the dull crack of wood giving way under pressure.
“They’re pushing harder,” I say.
“Yes.”
“And you’re standing here.”
“So are you.”
I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my hair, pushing it back from my face where it’s stuck from sweat and smoke.
“I needed a second,” I say.
“For what?”
I hesitate.
Just for a beat.
Then—
“To feel it,” I say quietly.
His gaze sharpens slightly.
“Feel what?”
I meet his eyes.
“How bad this could go.”
Silence stretches between us, but it isn’t empty. It’s tight, pulled thin by everything we’re not saying.
“You already know that,” he says.
“Knowing it isn’t the same as—” I stop, shaking my head slightly. “It’s different when it’s here.”
His attention doesn’t shift away from me.
“No,” he says. “It isn’t.”
I look back toward the village, the flicker of firelight catching along the edges of the barricades, shadows moving in sharp bursts as people reposition, adjust, react.
“That’s my home,” I say, my voice lower now. “Not just…a place. Not just something on a map.”
“I’m aware.”
“And if this fails—”
“It won’t.”
The certainty in his voice cuts through the rest of the sentence before I can finish it.
I turn back to him.
“You don’t know that.”
“I don’t need to.”
“That’s not how this works,” I say, stepping closer without realizing it.
“It is for me,” he replies.
There’s something in the way he says it—flat, controlled, like certainty is the only thing he allows himself—that makes something in my chest tighten.
“That’s not enough,” I say.
“It has to be.”
“No,” I shake my head, my voice tightening. “It doesn’t.”
The words land between us, sharper than I expect, and for a second I think he’s going to push back the way he usually does—clean, controlled, untouchable.
He doesn’t.
He just watches me.
“What are you asking for?” he says finally.
The question catches me off guard.
“I’m not—”
“You are,” he cuts in, stepping closer now, closing the space I didn’t realize I’d created. “You don’t leave a battlefield in the middle of a push unless you’re asking for something.”
“I’m not asking,” I say, but it comes out thinner than I want it to.
He tilts his head slightly.
“Then say it properly.”
The air feels different now.
Closer.
The space between us narrows in a way that has nothing to do with the fight still happening just beyond it.
I swallow, forcing myself to hold his gaze.
“I’m not leaving,” I say.
“I know.”
“No,” I shake my head. “I’m not leaving, even if it gets worse. Even if—” My voice catches for half a second before I steady it. “Even if it turns.”
His jaw tightens slightly.
“That’s not your decision.”
“It is,” I say, sharper now. “This is my home. Those are my people.”
“And if staying gets you killed?”
“Then I stay anyway.”
The words hang there, heavier than anything else we’ve said.
He exhales slowly, his gaze shifting briefly past me toward the village, then back again.
“You’re not expendable,” he says.
“Neither are they.”
“That’s not the same.”
“It is to me.”
A beat passes.
Then another.
He steps closer.
Not fast.
Not forceful.
Just enough that I feel the shift of air between us.
“I can lose the village,” he says quietly. “I can rebuild structures. Replace supplies. Recover ground.”
Something in my chest tightens.
“But I don’t lose you,” he continues.
The words land harder than anything else.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just—
Final.
I stare at him.
“You don’t get to decide that,” I say, but my voice isn’t as steady as it was before.
“I do,” he replies.
“No,” I shake my head, but I don’t step back. “You don’t.”
His hand lifts slightly, not touching me yet, just hovering there like he’s deciding whether he’s allowed to.
“That’s the only thing here I won’t negotiate,” he says.
The space between us disappears before I fully register the movement.
His hand settles at my jaw, not rough, but firm enough that I can’t pretend it isn’t there, his thumb brushing lightly along the edge of my cheek where ash has settled into my skin.
“Then you’re going to have to fight me for it,” I say, my voice lower now, breath catching just slightly as I look up at him.
Something shifts in his expression.
Not control.
Something sharper.
“Careful,” he murmurs.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because I might.”
The heat of it catches me off guard, not just the words, but the way he says them—low, restrained, like there’s more behind them than he’s willing to let out.
“Then do it,” I say.
I don’t think.
I don’t plan.
I just—
Say it.
The silence that follows isn’t empty.
It’s charged.
His grip shifts slightly, his thumb pressing just enough to tilt my head back a fraction, his gaze dropping briefly to my mouth before snapping back to my eyes.
“Not here,” he says.
“Why not?”
“Because if I start,” he replies, his voice tightening just slightly, “I’m not stopping.”
That should make me step back.
It doesn’t.
“Then don’t stop,” I say.
That’s the line.
That’s the point where everything changes.
His hand tightens just enough to pull me closer, the distance between us collapsing in a way that feels less like movement and more like inevitability.
The heat of him is immediate, sharp against the cooler air by the river, and for a second everything else—the noise, the fight, the pressure—falls away under the weight of it.
His forehead presses briefly against mine, breath uneven now, not controlled the way it usually is.
“You don’t make this easy,” he mutters.
“I’m not supposed to.”
A quiet exhale leaves him, something close to a laugh but without humor.
“Good,” he says.
Then he closes the distance.
The contact is not soft.
Not hesitant.
It’s deliberate, controlled in the way everything he does is controlled, but there’s something under it now—something less measured, more immediate.
His hand shifts from my jaw to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, and I feel it all at once—the heat, the pressure, the sharp edge of something that’s been building without either of us naming it.
I grip the front of his armor without thinking, grounding myself against something solid as everything else tilts just slightly out of place.
This isn’t safe.
None of this is.
When he pulls back, it’s not far, just enough that I can see the shift in his expression, the control snapping piece by piece.
“I want you, now,” he growls, eyes blazing so hot they threaten to melt me where I stand.
“I am yours,” I say between heavy pants.
“Mine,” he says, pulling me into his embrace. His mouth is on my own, stealing my breath with a kiss both hard and sweet. His tongue claims my mouth, exploring like a conqueror. I kiss him back, my hands moving on their own to unbuckle his belt.
“They might attack soon,” he says in a sudden display of uncharacteristic caution.
“Then it’s good that your weapon is already fully unsheathed,” I tease. His response is to crush my mouth with another kiss. He grabs me under the thighs and lifts me up onto a waist high stone wall.
It’s a good thing I didn’t tie my trouser laces so tight this time. He tugs the laces until they slacken and wastes no time in pushing his fingers into my dripping wet, wide open pussy. I moan into his mouth as he explores this place, too, priming the way for his throbbing rod.
“Mine,” he whispers, pushing the head of his cock between my swollen lips. I grip onto him as best I can as he glides into me, as smoothly as sheathing a sword.
If I thought the second time would be less intense, I was mistaken. I’m swept away by a tempest of our interlocked bodies, his cock gliding in and out, driving my rapid breaths into gasps and moans. I grab him, burying my face in his sleek shoulder as he pushes me over the threshold of climax.
Waves of pleasure explode from my pussy to encompass my entire being, body and soul. I forget all about the impending attack, my parents, even my own identity. For a moment we are one soul with two bodies, linked in a way that feels perfect.
A sharp cry from over the defenses crashes into my post climactic bliss. Verr growls in annoyance.
“Someday, I will spend an entire day and night taking you,” he promises with his eyes as much as his voice. “You deserve my full, unflinching attention.”
“Yes, Verr,” I gasp, still feeling the glow of aftershocks. “I am yours.”
“Yes.” He kisses me, hard and deep, before pulling away. “And now it seems I must kill orcs. Such an inconvenience."
I giggle as we compose ourselves. It’s madness, engaging in an act that ultimately creates life…
While he prepares to engage in an act that ultimately causes death.