Page 9 of Bound to the Orc Renegade

“You dare to consider touching my moon bound bride?” My sword slides from the scabbard with the ring of pure moon steel. Ogre hide may be tough, but my moon blade can cut it.

He slides his hand back over his bald head to grab his mace, his harsh features twisted into a snarl.

I block his first swing and reverse the direction of my sword to slice his chest. The sharp edge of my sword cuts a diagonal line the length of his torso, black blood welling in the gash.

“Orc dog,” he grunts. “I’ll gut you for that.”

He swings his mace wildly yet full of power. As large and strong as orcs are, it would be foolish to take an unnecessary hit from an ogre. He’s a good foot taller and out masses me by a hundred pounds.

I sidestep, twirling my blade to protect my head.

But it’s a ruse. The ogre spins and darts for the trees, moving more quickly than I’ve ever seen one run.

“Coward!” I roar after him, worried he’s gone to get back up. My bride is a prize the ogres won’t easily give up. “Come back and face me!”

No response. I turn and walk toward her.

Her eyes go a little wide, and a torrent of liquid syllables flows from her lips. I need to give her the crystal imbued with the magic of the speaking stone so we can understand each other, but I can tell one thing. She sounds concerned.

Worry grabs my heart. Did he hurt her? I reach for her. “My moon bound bride…”

With a short sharp word, she throws her hand up.

Power punches me in the chest, knocking the breath out of me with both force and surprise. I fly backward, hitting the mossy ground and curling to roll back up to my feet in a move perfected over years of warrior training.

My bride did that! She threw me across the clearing with nothing more than a wave of her hand. Her magic is amazing!

Rovann and Dravarr can keep their women who conjure and fly.

Ijust got the best moon bound bride of all!

CHAPTER FIVE

Taylor

The green elf’s grinreallyshows off his tusks, which makes me think I should probably stop calling him an elf. Orc, then? Like in Tolkien, where orcs came from elves, but unlike Tolkien in that I don’t think this dude’s evil.

He cleans and sheaths his sword with quick, practiced movements. Then he advances on me, arms stretched forward to grab.

I know on some instinctive level that if he gets his hands on me, nothing will ever be the same again. Everything’s already really effing strange. How much change can one girl take?

I throw up my hands and give a mentalpush. Nothing. Shit, why are my new powers so glitchy? It’s as if I’m playing a beta version of a game and commands fail in certain situations.

Frustration eats at me as my arms drop, and I give another push, still disappointed my power doesn’t work. Only this time it does, and my palms are pointed kinda back and down, and I just tried to push against a whole planet, so…

I fly forward and plow straight into the orc. He falls backward, and we hit the ground in a confused tangle of limbs. I land on top, resting on muscles so hard it feels like they must have more muscles of their own—screw turtles, this guy is muscles all the way down. My hands slide over his chest so I can push upright, my fingers bumping over the rises and valleys of what feels like an anatomy lesson on the male form.

Worse, I’m straddling him, the width of his firm thighs spreading mine wide. It’s making me tingle with a sudden awareness of him as a man—a really, really attractive man. I should probably be put off by the tusks and the green skin and the size difference, but I’ve been playing, reading, and watching fantasy since I was a little kid. Even at five, I felt cheated when Beast turned back into the prince. And don’t get me started on smart Hulk—smart Hulk is myjam. Plus, it’s been too long since I last dated anyone.

That’s what I try to tell myself, anyway, when his strong arms wrap around me and his deep voice vibrates through my whole effing body, making me tingle even more.

Usually, I don’t like being touched by strangers when I feel unsafe, but I’m okay. Which means… he’s an okay kinda guy. Mom always says I should trust my gut, and mine gives him a double thumbs-up.

One of his hands moves from my back and slides between us, right below my hip.

I give a little yelp and try to roll away. Right when I think the guy’s okay, he tries to cop a feel!

His other arm holds me in place like a steel band, giving me time to figure out what he’s actually trying to do—he’s digging around in one of his pockets.

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