Page 48 of Bound to the Orc Warlord

Battle frenzy takes me, my heart pounding the drum of war in my ears. I cut another foul bird from the air, then another. But nothing I do is enough. Each strike of their beaks is a tiny sip of my soul stolen from me.

The other day was the first time I’ve been attacked by a sluagh. The sips of my life force stolen did little to affect me. Now that I’ve been attacked several times, I’m more susceptible, and each beak peck drains a little more of my energy.

I grit my teeth and fight on. It matters little. As long as there’s even the faintest wisp of life left in my body, I’ll fight on. I will not fail.

I’ll protect my Ashley.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Ashley

Fluttering my hand at the birds doesn’t do shit, so I yank out the knife Dravarr insists I wear, sending the sheath flying outward to arc toward the ground. Maybe a blade will keep these damned things off me.

I wave it around as one dives to peck my other arm in a needle stab of pain. “Fuck!”

My swings become wilder, less predictable, but I get hit again and again. The wind of my flight blows the welling blood across my skin in jagged little lines, like someone’s playing a macabre version of connect the dots with my freckles.

Drake keeps pace beside me, his talons tearing at any bird he can catch.

“Use your fire!” I yell.

“I might hit you!” he shrieks.

Shit. He’s right. His flame is only a foot long, which means he’d need to be really close for it to do anything, close enough to burn me, too.

Finally, I sink the blade into a black wing. The bird’s red beak opens wide in an ear-piercing screech. Then it buries the sharp tip into my hand, right where my index finger meets my thumb.

Burning agony blares.

My fingers release, the bird and blade falling away, leaving me defenseless once again.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The ground rises to meet me, the trees sharpening from a wash of green and blue into forms with distinct limbs, pine needles, and leaves. The rock formation cuts into the sky ahead, promising Dravarr and safety.

Drake flies even closer, battling to keep them off me with teeth and talons, but the sluagh continues to attack in a dizzying swarm. The only thing I’m able to do is to keep the black birds from my face. The vicious red beaks riddle my arms with pain.

A wave of dizziness washes over me, leaving me feeling weak and drained. The world goes a little grayer.

Fuck! An existential dread ties my stomach into painful knots. This thing’s eating my soul!

The first spits of rain strike my face as a gust threatens to send me spinning. Weakened, with only one hand on the broomstick, I’m flying on pure instinct now. “Please,” I whisper. “Help me, Mom.”

My magic blooms inside me, singing through my blood. The broom evens out. The crystal of my necklace glows brighter and brighter.

The horrid red eyes of the birds squint. One flaps right in front of me, temporarily stunned.

On instinct, I snatch it from the air, my fingers digging into the squirming body.

Instantly, I feel better, as if I just power slammed a double shot of espresso. My body comes alive, and the world snaps into full focus around me. Whatever soul-sucking thing it tried to do has stopped.

The bird twists its head this way and that, but its evil red beak can’t reach me. The wild beating of its wings hit my arm, but the pain’s so much less than the beak strikes that I barely notice.

I wave it around, using it to hold off the others.

Only… there are no others.

The entire flock now flies several feet away, eerily silent and no longer attacking.

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