Page 9 of Bound to the Orc Ranger

This is nature,truenature, untouched and lovely.

Now that there’s a little more space, the unicorn picks up the pace.

My body sways back into Rovann’s, held firmly by his strength. His thighs squeeze mine as his knees grip the unicorn more firmly. The tips of his fingers dig into my abdomen, five hot points of contact that make my stomach flutter with renewed awareness of him.

CHAPTER SIX

Rovann

The wind of our canter lifts Olivia’s dark-honey hair until the strands tickle my neck. It makes my skin prickle with sensation, yet I wouldn’t stop it for the world.

My moon bound is not an elf, after all. She has no magic.

The rounded tops of her ears bring back tales of Avalon and how my ancient homeland once connected to another world. Faerie lost such contact centuries ago, but we remember the people we toyed with in ballads and songs. Humans. My moon bound is human.

It does not matter. She is mine.

We come to a river, and Hurtle, in opposition to his name, stops instead of dashing forward. “Are you sure we have to go to the speaking stone?”

“I would speak with my bride and have her understand me,” I say. “Besides, you won’t be able to talk to her until we reach the stone either.”

“Why did it have to be a river, though?”

I laugh and pat his side. “Water is the Moon Goddess’s way of saying you need a bath, old friend.”

“I’m not the one who reeks.” He snorts, shaking his head until his glossy mane falls perfectly down one side.

“True.” We’ve ridden for hours. Olivia’s sweet fragrance covers the darker smell of ogre blood that lingers, mixed with the metallic scent of my own. I do not trust that the ogre let go of this sky gift so easily, but with Hurtle’s fast pace, we’re far enough ahead to take a needed break.

I swing a leg over and slide to the ground, lifting her down.

As her legs straighten, she makes a face and rubs her bottom. It seems my moon bound isn’t used to riding.

With my scabbard secured to the saddle, I reach back with my good arm and pull my shirt off over my head. Pain flares where dried blood has glued the fabric to my injured shoulder, but I shrug it off.

Olivia’s sucks in a sharp inhale, her eyes going wide. They eat up my chest, combing over every inch with a thoroughness that makes my erection stir.

“If you keep looking at me like that, my sweet bride, I will have you before we reach the speaking stone.”

My voice jerks her from her daze, and she spins to look at the river. Cool, clear water rushes past, fed by the Dular Mountains. Their peaks rise above the tree line, cutting purple triangles out of the blue sky.

I pull a cleaning cloth from my saddlebag and crouch to wet it, activating its spell. As much as I may reek, I’m also a gentleman. I hold it out to Olivia.

She stares at the damp linen, which sparkles in the sunlight, its magic ready to work. When she doesn’t immediately take it, I mime using it to wash her face.

With a look of comprehension, she does so, gliding the cloth over her tan skin before wiping it down her bare arms and over her hands. A small frown pulls at her lips as she hands it back to me, the fabric stained a light brown by dust. “Sar ree.”

“It is no matter.” I dip it into the water, reactivating the spell, and the cloth glistens white and clean again. I scrub at my face, hands, and arms, removing all signs of battle, rewetting the cloth every time it grows dirty. This trip will probably see the end of the spell’s usefulness, and I’ll have to get a new one charged by the cleaning stone.

But that, at least, is a standing stone that always works. Unlike the one we just left behind. Frustration eats at me. I finally find a new stone, and it’s all for nothing. Why would the Moon Goddess be so cruel?

A huff of dark amusement escapes me. I’m a fool to think the goddess will always be kind when our history makes clear her capriciousness.

In my distraction, I press too hard on my injury and fail to hide my wince.

Olivia says something commanding and plucks the cloth from my hand. Before I know it, I’m kneeling in front of her, and she’s cleaning my wounded shoulder.

With all of her attention focused on my injury, I study her face, memorizing every line. The color of her eyes is more complex this close up. Flecks of gold and thin dark lines of black decorate the hazel. Blunt teeth worry at her dark-pink bottom lip. It’s a fascinating color, and I wonder where else on her body I will find it.

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