Page 39 of Bound to the Orc Renegade

Or had it all been me?

I scrub my hands through my hair, making it stand out, messier than ever. Everything’s so confusing! I tell him—and myself—I don’t want marriage, and yet I just started a physical relationship with him far more quickly than I ever do. And I can’t blame it all on the Faerie Fruit.

I wanted him.

“Here.”

I open my eyes.

Krivoth’s replaced Mist at the front of the tent.

All of my earlier embarrassment floods back. Oh, god! All of the things we did! All the things I wanted him to do.

He shoves a pewter mug toward me, wisps of steam rising from the surface, and I focus on it, unable to meet his eyes yet. The warmth steadies my hands as I take it, the minty smell cutting through some of the lingering fog. I take a sip of peppermint tea sweetened with a touch of honey.

Shock ripples through me. “Why did you bring me this?” My mother used to bring me this exact thing whenever I had a hard time going to sleep. Even once I lived on my own, I used to make it anytime I got upset.

“My sister, Gerna, says mint’s good for clearing the mind.” There’s no judgment in his tone or gaze—and no crowing pride of a sexual conquest either. There’s simply gruff concern.

I take another sip. Maybe it’s the peppermint or maybe it’s just him, but one thing cuts through all of my other confusion.

I still don’t know what we are to each other or what any of this marriage business will mean in the future. But if I had to get magically whammied by sprites, I’m glad it happened with Krivoth.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Krivoth

My bride remains subdued as we ride out of the clearing after breakfast, leaving behind a snoring flock of sprites sprawled across the berry bushes. She casts one last look back at them before Storm slips into the trees.

“Why’d they do it? I thought they were my friends,” she says, her voice laced with sadness. “Why’d they put the magical whammy on me?”

My arm tightens around her, as if I can shield her from this hurt. It makes me want to go back and shake the berry bushes, forcing the sprites awake so I can yell at them for their actions. But that won’t help her.

“For all their mischief, I don’t think they meant any malice,” I force myself to say. “All the old stories of Avalon speak of howmuch the elves prized the use of Faerie Fruit for their parties. The little imps may have thought they were doing a similar service for you.”

“The Almost Elf,” she says.

“They probably didn’t know the effect it has on humans. That it’s… stronger.” The sight of her flushed face fills my mind, her mouth open on a cry of ecstasy. I should hate what happened if it upset her, and yet I cannot.

I got to touch her, to mingle our scents.

I will go to my grave knowing how she smells with my seed rubbed into her skin, knowing how she sounds as I bring her to orgasm.

By the goddess, I want more. I wanteverything.

But if this is all I ever have of my bride, I will thank the sprites for it.

We ride hard that day and the next, Mist loping at Storm’s side for short bursts of time before disappearing into the trees. We’re still off the map of known territory, cutting across a wide blank space, angling toward the Skular Woods at the base of the Dular Mountains. That area was hastily sketched onto the map the king gave me using information from the dragons. I’ll be the first orc to travel there, even though it’s closer to Moon Blade Village than the standing stone where I found my moon bound bride.

Each evening, I try to fill in as many empty parts of the map as I can, remembering my childhood dreams of being a ranger.

The terrain rises gently, crossed by several rushing rivers that send the unicorn dancing across them, futilely trying to avoid the water nymphs. The ubiquitous pines remain the same,but the other trees change, stands of blue birch becoming ever less frequent, eventually replaced by the rich purple of mountain rowan. A shorter tree than the birch, they have long, narrow leaves that decorate the smallest branches in a pattern almost like fern fronds. Among the purple leaves nestle clusters of white flowers, which will turn into bright red berries come fall.

“Oh, my god!” Taylor laughs and kicks one foot up so I can see her human shoe. “The leaves are the same color as my shirt and Chucks.”

I grin, only just stopping myself from saying the lacy undergarment hidden beneath her pants is also purple.

A pair of magpies let out sharp cries and launch in to the sky in flashes of black and white. My bride sways back into me, her head tipped backward, a look of rapt attention on her face. “What are those?”

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