Page 82 of Bound to the Orc Warlord

Soon, only one active flock remains, hanging in the air above my head, just out of reach.

“No!” I reach out as Ashley zooms toward it, but she keeps going, a look of determination making the lines of her pretty face harder yet no less lovely.

Why did I not see her protective nature before? Why did I not recognize it as a crucial facet of being a warrior? She isglorious, the sun come down from the heavens to protect the world she shines upon.

The sluagh scatters before her, all of the individual black birds wheeling out of the way.

My bride tries a few more times, but to no avail. This last sluagh is clearly the wiliest of the vile bunch.

“Come,” I call out. “That one’s too slippery of an eel to net.”

I hold my arms out to her, my chest aching, barely daring to breathe. Will she forgive me? My deception about our marriage hurt her far more greatly than I ever would have imagined, and I hate that I caused her such pain.

My arms hang empty in the air. This is far worse than facing any enemy.

Will she come to me, my bride?

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Ashley

I’m able to fly now with full control. No need for a broomstick. No need to grab something to stop.

But I fly right into Dravarr’s arms, anyway. I can’t help myself.

They close around me, as strong as ever, his chest a mountain anchoring me to the ground. The heat of him, the smell of his sweat, the strands of his hair that tickle my fingers where they’ve escaped his braid. He’s just so damned real. So solid.

“My bride,” he rumbles into my hair, his lips and tusks brushing my temple. “My amazing bride.”

A curl of hope makes my heart skip. Maybe I do mean something more to him than duty?

My love for him calls to my power, telling it how much I want to be here. It subsides, letting me sink into his embrace with my full weight. His arms tighten around me for a moment, then let me slide down his body to the ground.

When I look up, he glares at a spot over my shoulder, so I spin.

The final flock of birds flows down to the ground, flying ever closer together until all of their fluttering wings combine into the shape of a person cloaked in shadowy robes.

“You will release the sluagh,” it says, its voice a chorus of many.

A shiver of recognition goes through me. It’s the sluagh who attacked me in the tree!

Rovann, Leyna, and the other orc warriors still standing step close, flanking us to either side. Even Midnight and Hurtle are here, along with Drake, who stays beside me. We’re a united front, stronger than any individual part.

“No.” Dravarr’s voice is the sharp slap of a judge’s gavel, final and brooking no argument.

The air above us is full of birds, hanging together in clumps above whichever nets and bags hold their trapped member.

“We will give you all the deathsleep you want,” it says.

Dravarr’s lips curl away from his tusks in disgust. “I want nothing to do with that coward’s weapon.”

“We will ally with you. Help you to finally defeat the ogres.” Its voice carries a seductive hiss. “You know you wish to.”

“I do,” Dravarr says. “But never by working with the likes of you.”

“You start a war, orc,” it hisses. “One you cannot hope to win.”

“I think we’ve proven exactly how likely we are to win,” Dravarr says.

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