Page 21 of Bound to the Orc Ranger

The civilized part of me whispers that I should be horrified, but I’m not.

I’m mesmerized.

The wildness of Rovann and this world calls to me with its beauty and with its pure wild danger.

This islife, stripped bare.

I want all of it. I wanthim.

Then the ogre from the standing stone steps between us, his leering face laughing down at me. He clamps a huge hand over my shoulder and yanks me free of the last of the orange cloud, his fingers carving lines of bruising pain in my flesh.

Rovann’s yell of denial echoes through the air as my heart races, beating in my ears.

“Now you’re mine,” the ogre says.

“Like hell I am!” I pat at my pockets, wishing I’d asked Rovann for a knife. Nothing, nothing, ah! My fingers dig out the small box and fumble the lid open. Plucking up the glowing bluebell, I give it a shake, and a sweet chime rings out right at the upper edge of my hearing range.

The ogre laughs, his sour breath gusting over me. “What’s that supposed to do, little human?”

I open my mouth, wanting to give a quippy retort, but I’ve got nothing. I have no idea what the flower’s for, but Rovann gave me this box to protect it, so it has to be important somehow.

The monster’s fingers dig into my shoulder, and I wince in pain. I strain sideways but can’t see past him, can only hear the sounds of Rovann and Hurtle still fighting the others.

The ogre starts to drag me away into the trees. I dig in my heels, but it’s like a gnat pestering a giant. He simply grunts and yanks me forward, and I take several fumbling steps to keep my feet.

A horse-shaped creature waits, even bigger than Hurtle. Instead of hair, it’s covered in yellow-green scales, and fronds of darker kelp make up its mane and tail.

“What is that?” I ask.

“I’m a kelpie.” It bares a mouthful of shark teeth, and a dangerous gleam fills its golden eyes at it looks at the ogre. “When do I get what I’m owed?”

“When we get to the mountains and not a second before,” the ogre says.

“One arm.” The kelpie sniffs at my shoulder. “And not a morsel less.”

Panic drives icicles into my stomach, and I jerk futilely against the ogre’s grip. Rovann will come for me. I know it. I just need to buy him time enough to defeat those other ogres.

But how the hell am I going to do it?

“Pizza!” a tiny voice shrieks.

A chorus answers, “Pizza!”

A flock of glowing blue zips from the trees, tiny swords flashing silver in the last of the daylight. The pixies surround the ogre’s head, darting in to slash at him until numerous black lines weep blood.

He swipes at them with meaty paws, but they’re fast, so fast! Most dart out of the way, but one gets smacked through the air to hit the ground, their little wings stirring sluggishly on their back.

A high whistle grabs the rest of the pixies’ attention. The leader flies overhead, her glowing moth wings a blur. She calls out and points to the kelpie, and the flock descends, harassing the creature, who snaps at the air with clacks of its pointed teeth.

She continues to harass the ogre, taking the most dangerous job for herself, her high voice giving another cry of, “Pizza!”

Oh! Pizza!

I conjure, and a pizza pops into existence on my hand, hot through the cardboard of the open box. Up until now, all of the pizzas I’ve made have been the delicious ones from my childhood in Nonna’s kitchen.

This one is a Pizza Shack double-cheese special. The worst kind, all that extra cheese comes out of the oven bubbling hot and ready to burn. My arms have the marks to prove it.

“Get out of the way!”

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