Page 7 of Bound to the Orc Warlord

Oh, god. Flames burst across my cheeks. My skirt’s hiked up around my waist, my butt and thighs hanging out for the entire freaking world to see.

Thank god I wore my prettiest pink panties, because he’s sure getting an eyeful.

CHAPTER FOUR

Dravarr

Midnight trots into a clearing with an unknown standing stone. We’ve been traveling hard several days and are far past every map our rangers have made. Yet this is the place the Moon Goddess summoned me to—I can feel it.

So where is my moon bound bride?

The top of the stone stands empty. I slide from Midnight’s back, ready to scour the ground, searching for tracks, worried ogres got here first and took her from me. But the moss is undisturbed, meaning I can discount that possibility. A human’s small enough to walk across it without leaving tracks, but not a massive ogre.

My new bride must be very strong to have gotten down from the stone by herself. This is good. A warrior will be the perfect match for me.

Midnight lets out a chuckle. “You’re looking in the wrong place.”

“What?”

She tosses her dark head, her spiral horn pointing at the sky, the sun flashing off the gold accents of its whorls. Laughter gleams in her golden eyes.

“You have too much pooka in you,” I mutter.

“You love me and wouldn’t have me any other way.”

I don’t answer, unwilling to admit she’s right. Midnight’s been a faithful companion, no matter who her father is or how much mischief he passed on to her.

“Up here,” a voice says.

I look up. A dragon youngling hovers in the air, lazy beats of his green wings holding him in place. In the treetop beside him…

My bride. Creamy plump thighs wrap around the trunk, bare and showing a hint of bright pink fabric that hides her sex before widening to cover thick buttocks made for my large hands.

“What are you doing up there?” The words escape before I can stop them.

A pretty, round face peeks past her bottom, surrounded by hair the deep orange of the most lovely of sunsets.

“Come down now,” I say. “I’m here to take you home.”

She doesn’t answer, and I frown.

“How did you get up there?” Did she hope to see for miles around to determine a direction for travel? It’s a sound idea, and if she’s strong enough to climb, she’s a good match for me. “Answer me.”

A liquid string of syllables flows from her in a high, sweet voice. I can’t understand a single word. I groan. I’ll have to take her to the speaking stone.

“She flew,” the dragon says. “I saw her. She’s not very good at it.”

I press my palms to the stone, and mutter, “I wish for the power to fly.” Nothing happens. I try a few more similar phrases, with no better luck, and grunt in frustration. The magic of the standing stones varies from one to the next, not only in what it does but also in who can use it. Some, like the cleaning stone, work for everyone. Others work only for a selected person.

Orcs tend to have the smaller magics, the ones connected to nature. In our home realm of Avalon, we’d mate every so often with other types of fae, keeping the bloodlines fresh. It’s been hundreds of years since the goddess brought us elves as moon bound brides, weaving their stronger magic into ours.

But stronger magic’s only good if it’s useful.

Midnight steps to my side and taps the stone with her horn. “Anything?” Unicorns contain so much innate magic that the stones don’t tend to affect them.

“Nothing,” I bite out and drop my hands. “It appears this one works only for my bride.”

“So she’s gifted with the power of flight.” The unicorn’s tone sounds awed.

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