Page 12 of Bound to the Orc Ranger

“You have a tent, you know,” Hurtle says, his tone more sardonic than ever.

I ignore him, unwilling to lose the joy of my moon bound’s mouth. Let him watch.

A sharp pain jabs my side, and I instinctively jerk away from the threat, turning to shield Olivia, even though it leaves my back defenseless. It doesn’t matter—my body already knows protecting her is worth any risk to myself.

“We need to go,” Hurtle says. “Stop playing with your useless human.”

“My human has magic,” I say as I set Olivia down on the ground, my arms holding her for a second too long because I don’t want to let her go.

A haze of desire lays over her earlier joy, making her more alluring than ever. Heat warms her eyes, and our kiss left her lips swollen and darkened.

I groan with want.

“I don’t think the spell she’s cast on you is magic.” Hurtle snorts. “Looks like nothing more than lust.”

My bride’s eyes shoot past me to him, and she holds out her hand and says a word. A bag of oats appears, and she steps around me to hold it up to him.

He snuffles at the grains for a second, then buries his nose inside with such vigor that she has to use both hands to keep the bag in place. Sounds of chomping fill the clearing as he pulls his mouth free and works at the grain, his lower jaw moving from side to side.

“Still think she doesn’t have magic?” I ask.

Hurtle glares at me before dipping his head for more oats.

A smirk stretches my lips. His lack of response makes it clear I’ve won.

We travel quickly after that, only a day away from our destination. I selfishly sneak more kisses from her every chance I get, but I’m more determined than ever to get my bride to the speaking stone so that I can take her back to the safety of my village. If the ogres discover she has magic…

No. It doesn’t bear thinking about.

Not long after she deposited my ancestors in Alarria, the Moon Goddess brought a handful of elf brides to marry into the Moon Blade Clan. The fae races mated infrequently in Avalon but often enough to keep the blood of each fresh.

It became a time of war, the ogres wanting the elves for themselves. We won—of course we did—but the ogres have been our enemies ever since.

When they discover the goddess once again offers the orcs sky gifts of magical brides, the ogres will attack. And they will not want to lose this time.

Hurtle offers no arguments, galloping whenever the terrain allows without a single grumble, which only solidifies how serious our situation is.

Olivia, thankfully, remains too delighted by her magic to notice. I’ve tasted many delicacies from her far-off land, and except for the vile drink she favors, I’ve enjoyed them all.

Yet it’s the sheer delight on her face every time she calls a new foodstuff into being that’s truly a wonder. She is a flower bud held back from blooming for too long finally able to unfurl and feel the sun on its petals. It is lovely and heartbreaking at the same time, for it hints at pain in her past, when I would wish her days filled with nothing but joy.

My bride wears the expression now, as she conjures our dinner with a few simple words from her lips. The crystal pendent she wears flares with light each time, an embodiment of the power of the standing stone. Since I wished for sausages when I laid my hands upon it, it’s clear the food stone’s magic works only for Olivia. We haven’t had one blessed with such magical power in centuries. Orc magic works with nature, but it lacks the ability to create something from nothing. Olivia’s a treasure.

A string of sounds fall from her lips, ending with two she says with relish, “Peet zaa!”

A rich smell fills the air as a flat circle of bread pops into existence, covered with chopped up meat, mushrooms, and melted cheese.

“Juzt laek Nonna’s!” Olivia beams at me.

I get a surprise when I take the first bite—there’s a tangy red sauce flavored with herbs hiding under the toppings. It adds a wonderful accompaniment to the bread and cheese, making both those flavors even better.

Night falls as we eat, darkening the already shadowed woods. Pixies appear, their blue glow looking like stars all around us. This flock of the little imps has followed us for the last few nights, curious about my bride.

Now, one finally ventures close.

Olivia’s eyes go wide, filling with wonder.

The pixie is a tiny fae with bright blue skin and butterfly wings, who shines like a miniature moon in the night. A shock of glowing blue hair sticks up from her head. She hovers in the air in front of Olivia.

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