Page 33 of Bound to the Orc Warlord

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Ashley

Drake flies into the meadow as we’re finishing breakfast and lands at the edge nearest us. He gives a croaking cough, and a small cloud of yellow feathers floats from his mouth. Walking into our campsite under the trees, he cocks his head, spearing my bowl with one amber eye, the vertical slit of the pupil opening wide. “What’s that?”

“Orc oatmeal,” I say.

“Travel rations,” Dravarr corrects, scowling into his bowl. He’s upset that the dried granola type stuff is all we have this morning, having finished the last of the bread and cheese the day before.

“I like it.” It’s not sweet like the oatmeal I grew up with. Instead, it’s a mixture of grains, chunks of jerky, nuts, and somekind of black fruit, dried to little wrinkled balls. He said they’re currants, not raisins. They’re both sweet and sour, offering a nice contrast to the salty meat. He added boiling water to soften everything up, and the hot meal is nice now that I’m back in the short sleeves of my summery dress. “The thing I miss is coffee.”

“The bitter black brew?” Dravarr makes a sour face.

“Not when you put chocolate, sugar, and a bunch of milk in it.” I grin and give a little shrug. “What can I say? I like it sweet.”

“Olivia will make it however you want,” he says. “Her gift is very useful.”

Unlike mine. My mood deflates. He doesn’t say it, but he also doesn’t need to. I feel it enough for the both of us.

His spoon scrapes along the wooden inside of his bowl, and I hurry to shove a final bite into my mouth. Determination fills me. Today, I won’t stop practicing until I’ve got some control over my flying.

Wouldn’t you know it? Now that I want to practice flying, we spend all morning traveling through thick forest without a single freaking meadow.

Not that riding with Dravarr is a hardship, mind.

Midnight leaps a fallen log, and my body rocks back into the solid wall of Dravarr’s chest. His knees grip harder to keep us both seated, his thighs squeezing along the outsides of mine in a way that makes me tingle. His huge hand palms my stomach, pulling me to him until I can feel every finger pressing into me like a brand. I swear, if I come out of this trip with “this is Dravarr’s” burned onto my tummy, it will not be a lie.

Especially if there’s an arrow pointing down.

The unicorn’s gate evens out, and we ease a little farther apart again. My body immediately misses the closer touch of his, but it’s for the best. No matter how much I tell myself it’s a bad idea, I can’t seem to stop wanting him, and I need to be smart.

We cross through hillier terrain banded with creeks and streams and just enough breaks in the tree cover to let some sunshine reach the ground. Bushes thrive, covered in berries Dravarr names for me.

Lunch becomes a wild buffet of fruit plucked as we move. Prickly green gooseberries which sting the tongue before bursting with bright acidic sweetness, red currants, even sourer than their dried cousins, and elderberries, sweet and tart, their tiny purple balls crunching between the teeth in little explosions of flavor.

Midnight especially likes the elderberries, her mouth ripping clusters of berries from the bush to chew. Drake ignores the fruit and uses the open airspace above a stream to catch a bird for his meal.

By the time another couple of hours pass, I’m antsy. “I can’t wait any longer. There aren’t any meadows around here, and I need to practice flying.”

“You can’t fly down here,” Dravarr says. “There’s not enough clearance.”

“So I’ll fly above the treetops.” I point to the sliver of bright-blue sky visible between the trees.

“No,” Dravarr grunts, and his hand digs into my stomach.

“Yes.” I grab one of his big fingers and peel it away, but it’s no good. He’s too strong, and his hand doesn’t budge.

“No. You won’t be able to be tethered that far up, and even if we had a long-enough rope, it would tangle in the trees.”

“I don’t need to be tethered. I’ve got Drake. He’ll bring me back.”

“Yes! I can do that.” The dragon zips past us and makes a sharp turn, showing off. “Let’s go fly!”

“If you can’t keep up, you’ll slow us down,” Dravarr growls.

“I could use a break,” Midnight says, slowing to a trot. “I wouldn’t mind walking for a bit.”

I think she’s lying, but I’m not going to call her on it. I give her withers a thank you pat.

---