Page 11 of Bound to the Orc Ranger

Rovann watches me closely, his gaze so intense I have to look away. God, can he tell I’m turned on?

I duck out of the tent to hide my embarrassment, and the cool air of morning feels good on my heated cheeks.

We’re in a small clearing surrounded by fir trees. The soft breeze carries the smell of pine, and birds sing out as their tiny shapes flit overhead. It’s so lovely here. So alive.

Rovann follows me from the tent, bringing the saddlebags with him. He digs in one, pulling out the last of the bread and cheese, making my stomach rumble.

Two days of double shifts followed by a sleepless night on top of the stone and all these days of endless riding are catching up with me. I scrub at my face, as my jaw cracks in a yawn.

“God, I wish I had coffee.”

A tiny flare of heat warms my chest. A paper cup pops into existence, hovering for a split second in front of my face, the symbol of a fancy coffee shop blazoned on the cardboard sleeve.

Before I can react, it plummets to the ground, milky brown liquid fountaining out of the top and splashing heat across my sneakers.

I yelp and jump backward.

Rovann dives forward, scooping me up, his big hands tracing over my jean-clad calves as he repeats a phrase, “Majek baev!”

“I’m okay!” I pat his good shoulder until he meets my gaze, and the concern in his eyes makes my heart skip. When has a guy ever looked at me like that? Never. I soften my tone and say, “Really, I’m okay.”

He sets me on my feet and gestures toward the cup, his voice full of command.

“Yeah, you don’t have to tell me twice.” Excitement races through me as I remember all of the potential I felt in those first moments on top of the standing stone. I pull my necklace from my shirt and grip it in one hand while I hold out the other, palm up. “I wish I had coffee.”

The quartz pendant flashes with light, a zip of electricity shoots through me, and a coffee cup appears on my outstretched hand.

“Holy shit! I can do magic!” I take a sip, moaning when the perfect taste of a double cappuccino with cinnamon rolls over my tongue. It’s the good stuff, too, from the place so expensive I only let myself have it as a treat on paydays.

Rovann stares at the coffee cup, so I hold it out to him. His face scrunches in disgust at the taste of the espresso, startling a laugh from me.

“Sorry, big guy. I like my coffee strong and bitter, but I’ll get you one with sugar next time.”

He points to the cup and asks a question. I don’t need to speak the language to understand. It’s got to be the same thing I’m wondering about. What can I do with my magic?

“I wish for a toothbrush.” Nothing. Thank god Rovann’s got these magic berries we chew that clean our teeth. But that doesn’t help with figuring out my magic. What makes coffee different from all the other things I’ve wished for? Ah!

“I wish for a chocolate croissant.” A pastry pops into existence on my hand, the buttery smell of it making my stomach growl. I take a big bite, and the flaky crust melts on my tongue, leaving behind a yummy chunk of dark chocolate.

I hand it to Rovann, and his hesitation after the coffee makes my lips twitch. He lifts the croissant to his mouth like a child forced to eat Brussels sprouts, all screwed-up lips and reluctance. But as soon as he tastes it, his eyes widen. He finishes it in two big bites, his tusks flashing as he offers me a grin.

He picks me up, spinning us around, his deep voice booming with delight.

I’m no longer poor Olivia, working a dead-end job I never meant to get stuck in. I’m someone new, this power inside feeling like everything I’ve always been meant to be. I laugh and throw my hands out, enjoying the whirly, giddy feeling.

“I’ve got magic!”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Rovann

My bride, my amazing bride, has magic! I am truly blessed that the Moon Goddess bound me to my sweet Olivia.

She calls out gleefully, laughing as I slow our spin. And I can’t help myself. I kiss her, her pink lips soft and small and even more delicious than the magical treat she conjured into being.

Her mouth opens under mine, and a new kind of hunger takes me. My arms crush her to me, the twinge of my injured shoulder a distant thing. Our tongues touch, and I growl, eating at her mouth like a man starved.

Olivia’s hands slide through my hair, let free of its warrior braid, and she clutches me as strongly as I hold her.

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