Page 23 of Bound to the Orc Warlord

Tears of frustration and horror blur my sight. He’s done nothing but protect me from the moment we met, and now he’s hurt.

Silently this time, Drake dives again, his talons scoring grooves across the top of the ogre’s gray head.

The beast bellows and flails his spiked club. Trails of black blood run down to blind his eyes, and he shakes his head like a dog coming in from out of the rain, sending dark droplets flying. He swings at Dravarr, wild and furious, grunting with the force of it.

Dravarr sidesteps and turns his sword blade up. It catches the bat below the spiked head and severs the weapon in two. With a complex twist of his wrist, he lunges, burying the point of his sword in the ogre’s chest.

The creature’s eyes go wide, and one meaty fist pounds into Dravarr’s injured shoulder.

Dravarr’s gasp of pain hisses from between clenched teeth, his face locked in a grimace of determination as he presses the sword forward.

Horrible seconds crawl past like years as they strain against one another.

The triumphant neigh of “Yes!” comes from Midnight, and the sound of fighting behind me falls silent, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Dravarr.

The ogre’s fingers dig into Dravarr’s wounds, trying to force him to back away.

“You will not defeat me, ogre scum. You dared to touch her.” He snarls, baring his tusks. “You dared to touch that which ismine!”

As if that final word gives him strength, he shoves forward, the thick muscles of his back flexing as he buries the sword up to the hilt.

The gray giant’s knees give out, the light fading from his eyes. Features slackening like a mud doll caught in the rain, he topples, yanking Dravarr’s sword from his hand.

Whoa. Was that aboutme? Did Dravarr just call me his? My heart gives a fluttery little skip of excitement, which feels wrong. Aren’t I supposed to be horrified by killing?

Dravarr strides toward me, lifting his good arm. But I’ve floated too high, and my tether hangs out of reach. He glares at the rope like his disapproval will make it grow longer. He’s down there injured and in pain, and instead of doing anything about it, he’s trying to take care of me.

God, I need to help. I flap my hands, sending myself into a lazy spin. There. “Drake! Can you come help me down?”

There’s no controlling my magic in the state I’m in now. Dueling feelings of relief and horror battle in my chest as a dead ogre comes into view. People justdied.

And I’m glad.

I push a knuckle into my mouth, holding in a whimper. My lips tremble. I’ve always been sweet Ashley, smiling Ashley, the nice one, the friendly one. What does it say about me that I’m glad the ogres are dead?

Glad Dravarr killed to protect me?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Dravarr

Midnight trots over. Black blood slicks her horn, hiding the gold that usually gleams in the whorls. She prances with high steps, her golden eyes wild, the victory still thrumming in her blood. A few slashes of red mar her neck and shoulders.

“Are you well?” I ask.

She laughs. “Better than you!”

The dragon clasps Ashley’s tether in his rear talons and pulls my bride to me. He says, “I’m not hurt.”

“You also didn’t kill an ogre, did you?” Midnight tosses her head, flipping her mane in dismissal.

“I helped!” Wounded pride fills his tone as he looks up at Ashley.

“You really did!” she agrees. Then her eyes turn to me, full of worry.

I hold the rope, unable to pull her to me with only one good hand.

Midnight’s horn taps my good shoulder. “I’ll help.” She takes the rope between her teeth, allowing me to reach up and grip higher. We repeat the motions until finally I clasp my bride’s ankle, my fingers curving gratefully around the warm solidity of her as if my body needed this reassurance to know she’s truly alive.

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