Page 12 of Bound to the Orc Warlord

He drops his crest and butts his head into her hand, eyes slitting closed in pleasure as she scratches at his scales. Then he breaks away, his wings beating the air in a series of echoing whomps that propel him up into the bright sky.

She tips her head back to watch as he fades quickly into a small dot, a look of resigned sadness marring her sweet face.

I do not like it or the tightness it brings to my chest. I growl and pull her to me.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ashley

Down at ground level, the true beauty of the forest shows. I let my torso float away from Dravarr enough to crane my neck and take it all in. Lush moss and ferns mix among the pines. The blue trees look even more magical up close. Wisps of papery bark curl from the trunks like someone covered them in pieces of decorative ribbon. The oval leaves are a brilliant azure that colors the sunlight until it dapples the needle-covered ground in splashes of blue intermixed with regular gold.

The air is sweet and clean in a way I’ve never known from growing up in the city. But even if I’d come from the deepest backwoods, everything here would all still be new and strange, because this clearly isn’t Earth. A dragon just let me pet his scale-slick forehead, the “horse” is a unicorn, and…

I’m clinging to an orc.

My body’s still floaty, and each undulating gallop makes me feel like I’d fly off into the sky if not for him. My hands knead at the muscles of his shoulders with each movement, the weave of the homemade cloth of his shirt softer than it looks.

Dravarr’s strong arm circles my waist, holding me in place, his thighs solid under mine. He’s so big that, even sitting on top of his thighs, I can tuck my head easily under his chin. He smells of leather and pine and exertion. But it’s not a sour sweat—it’s clean and salty and makes me want to lick him.

The unicorn leaps, and the soft bristles of Dravarr’s beard brush my temple, sending shivers of awareness through me, amplified by the press of my breasts against him. His huge hand splays across my back, making me feel small and dainty. My nipples tighten, my thighs squeezing his waist. God, I’m not usually so turned on by someone I just met.

But Dravarr’s not just anyone. He’s the guy who saved me twice—first from the tree, then from that… thatthing. The memory of its blood-red teeth makes me shiver.

The sound of rushing water comes from ahead, and the unicorn slows to a halt, its hooves crunching on sandy ground. We stand on the bank of a river. Dravarr frowns, glancing all around, his muscles tensing against me. I realize he wants to get down but doesn’t know how to do it without me flying up and away.

“I’ve got it.” I slide backward and reach behind me to grip the edge of the saddle. My calves lay on top of his thighs, my legs no longer gripping him, but his hand still holds me in place.

His narrow-eyed scowl says he doesn’t believe me, and I can’t blame him.

“I know I don’t look like it, but I work out. I’ve got some muscles under all this.” My finger pokes the curve of mystomach. “I’ll use them this time.” I’d better. The last thing I want is to flash him again.

His dark eyes study me for a few more seconds, and then he gives me a sharp nod. When his hand lifts from my back, he doesn’t retract his arm, holding it ready to catch me.

I start to float up and clench my stomach muscles to keep my butt pointed down. It feels like doing the world’s weirdest plank exercise, and for all my talk, I usually only hold those for about thirty seconds.

As soon as he sees I’m steady, he throws a leg backward and over, sliding to the ground with athletic grace. Then those big hands encompass my waist, lifting me down—or pulling me down, I should say. I so gotta get used to this flying thing.

He walks over to the closest tree and turns me to face it, pushing me forward until I can wrap my arms and legs around it. I feel like one of those little koala clamp barrettes being moved from clasping one thing to another.

Oh, god, am I going to be stuck like this forever?

“I need to figure out something better than holding onto trees.” For one thing, I’m not sure how much more of the rough bark my thighs can take. I shift, and the scrape makes me wince.

Dravarr notices and ducks down to inspect the reddened skin. A muttered curse comes from him, and he spins away to get something from a saddlebag. I don’t know what I expect, ointment or something? Instead, he holds a piece of brown leather. His knife flashes in the sun as he cuts off long strips. Once he has several, he ties the ends together and braids them into a rope, feeding in new pieces as he goes until it’s several feet long. At the far end, he creates a wide cuff of soft leather, which he wraps around one of my ankles.

He secures the other end to his pants and tugs on the rope. I take a hint and let go of the tree to fly upward to the end of my new tether. When he walks back over to the saddlebags,I float along behind him like a balloon. It should probably feel undignified, but it’s fun and freeing to enjoy being weightless without worrying I’ll float away.

When he rummages through the saddlebags this time, he gathers little pots and a cloth so blindingly white it sparkles like something out of a bleach commercial. How the hell do they do that with no technology?

He walks us over to the river’s edge and sits on a wide piece of blue slate, tucking the excess rope under his thigh to pull me close. After dipping the cloth into the water to wet it, he picks up my injured hand, his touch gentle for such a giant of a man.

I jolt when the cloth touches the first of the beak pecks, surprised by the flash of pain.

Dravarr mutters a curse, and his scowl returns. He plucks up one of the pots. The rich scent of herbs fills the air as he scoops out light-green salve. The furrow in his brow deepens as he dabs the thick paste onto the wound. The salve glows, and a tingle of magic shivers through me, immediately dousing the pain. I let out a happy sigh.

He rewets the cloth, squeezes out the excess water, and unfurls it to show a pristine white surface unmarred by even the faintest touches of pink. Of course, he doesn’t need technology—he’s got magic!

Over and over, he cleans and tends all the wounds on my arms, never hurrying, his touch as gentle as possible. I fight down the repeated shocks of pain, knowing relief will come soon. And also not wanting him to think less of me. He’s so big and strong and capable, and all I’ve done so far is get stuck in a tree and attacked by that creepy bird thing.

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