Page 34 of Bound to the Orc Warlord

“Fine.” Dravarr’s hand drops from me, only to return, holding a sheathed knife in front of my face. “Take this.”

“Sure.” I should probably tell him I have no idea how to use one, but if this is what it takes to get him to agree, I’m not going to rock the boat. I pull up the skirt of my dress to slide it into a pants pocket.

When I drop the fabric back into place, his fingers pluck at my skirt. “No, you need this out of the way.” Before I can move, his hands are on me, gathering the excess cloth and tucking it into the waistband of the pants.

I hold still, barely able to breathe as he works his way from the middle of my back, around my sides, to my stomach, his hands warm and firm, the backs of his knuckles brushing my skin. My clit springs to life, giving a needy throb.

Right when it feels like I can’t take anymore, like I’lldieif he doesn’t dip his hand lower, his touch falls away. “There. Now you can get the knife if you need it.”

“Yep!” My voice comes out like a high squeak, and I swallow and try to sound normal. “That’s so much better, thanks!”

“Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go!” Drake calls out, flying in circles around us.

I grab my crystal pendant and whisper, “I wish I could fly.”

Nothing happens.

A soft huff of amusement puffs from my lips. I sure seem able to fly when I don’t want to. So how do I do it on purpose? What happened each time before?

A desire to escape. Feelings. Intent.

Trying again, I ignore using words andfeel. I don’t want it to be fear this time—I want it to be a positive feeling. I remember the joy of that first flight, the delight in soaring up into the air…

The crystal warms, slivers of silvery blue light beaming from between my fingers. I slip upward, away from the grip of Dravarr’s muscular thighs. They tighten for a split second, then let go so I can float free.

“Yes!” Drake says, and Midnight gives a happy nicker. Dravarr’s the only one who looks unhappy, his expression pinched into a scowl. He probably expects this to be a disaster, but I’m going to prove him wrong.

The higher I go, the quieter the splash of the stream and the thud of Midnight’s hooves on the muddy bank. Instead, the sound of wind rushes through the trees, stirring the branches all around me and whipping orange streaks of hair into my face.

Right before I break through the last of the canopy into the open sky, I grab hold of a straight branch about as big around as a hot dog. Blue leaves shiver and dance as I pull out Dravarr’s knife and slice smaller branches from the main one until nothing but a little tail of leaves is left at the end.

“Are you in trouble?” he calls up. “Do I need to come get you?”

I snort. With his shoulder? But the offer’s sweet, and I know he’d do it, no matter how much it hurt him. This guy takes protective to a whole new level. “I’m good! I’ve got an idea I want to try.”

I saw into the branch, the bright silver blade of the knife cutting more easily than expected. Soon, I hold a four-foot long “broomstick.”

Drake flies back down to hover beside me, his head tilting as he studies my creation with first one eye, then the other. “What’s that?”

“An idea I had.” I put away the knife. “I was thinking about what you said about your wings. That they don’t make you fly but instead give you a way to control your flight. I thought maybe I needed something to do the same, and all the stories on Earth are of witches using broomsticks, so…”

I let go of the tree and let myself float upward again.

“I don’t know. That doesn’t look useful, like wings.” He keeps pace beside me. “But it’s worth trying. After all, dragons are superior beings, so our wings are superior, too. Perhaps an inferior method will indeed be fine for you.”

A laugh bubbles out of me. He’s trying to be helpful, but he’s got all the cocky certainty of youth combined with the knowledge that he’s going to grow up to be one of the most powerful beings in this world. Fortunately, I’ve dealt with enough teenagers to not take it too personally—he’s trying to establish his own feeling of self worth more than attempting to put me down. I might have majored in philanthropy, but I minored in child psychology to prepare me to work with orphans. Those classes were way more interesting than the boring financial stuff, and I’m glad I get to use some of what I learned here, in this new world.

Once I break through the canopy, the sky opens up all around me, a gorgeous deep blue decorated by cotton candy puffball clouds of purest white. Trees stretch over the hills below in a crumpled blue and green quilt, as if a giant threw off his covers and went about his day without making the bed.

“What do you do with it?” Drake asks, his long neck snaking his arrow-shaped head toward my broom.

“This,” I say with more certainty than I feel. I tuck the broomstick between my thighs until I “sit” on it and lean forward to grab the front of the stick with my other hand. The tail of fluttery leaves rustles behind me.

A glance down shows Midnight and Dravarr waiting below, both watching as I hang here. Drake makes a lazy lap around me, his fully spread wings cupping the wind.

God, I’m basing this whole broomstick idea on little more than movie depictions of witches. I’ve never felt the loss of my mother more strongly than now, not just her love, but her knowledge. All those names I read about when studying my family history should have come alive through stories I’ll never know because my mother’s early death broke the chain. I’ve lost the family tales passed down from one generation to the next, mother to daughter, about what we’d been. About the witches we might one day be again.

“Mom,” I whisper, “I could really use your help.”

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