Page 23 of Bound to the Orc Renegade

The water rushes by in a happy burble, and the sun filters through the trees just enough to strike the surface with flashes of diamonds. It’s peaceful and lovely. A good game writer tries to put in little moments like these, the daily things that make a game seem more real. I love adding them as touches, but I’ve never been one of the players to linger, always eager for action. But this? This is nice.

Especially when Krivoth returns, rinses the “potatoes,” and slices open the thick rind to expose the soft, cooked inside. He sprinkles them with salt and hands me mine, and we eat, using our fingers to scoop out the soft starchy flesh. It’s not quite as tasty as a potato, or maybe it’s the lack of butter, but it’s not bad.

“What are we eating?”

“Cattails.” He points to a stand of tall plants growing right at the edge of the creek, like someone hit the “super grow” setting on grass. Long-bladed green leaves stand upright, with stalks topped with the little “corn on the cob” heads we ate last night.

“I thought cattails had brown hotdog thingies on them.” I mime the shape with my hands.

“That’s what the flower heads turn into after they’ve bloomed.”

“Ohhh.” God, he knows so much more than I do about everything it takes to survive here. I swallow the last bite of my breakfast, then turn to him. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t found me. Even if I’d gotten away from the ogre, I don’t know what to eat or who to trust or anything about this world.”

His eyes widen, looking both amazed and a little lost, as if no one’s ever thanked him before, and it makes me want to throw my arms around him and tell him just how wonderful he is.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Krivoth

The admiration shining from my bride’s eyes is almost more than I know how to deal with. No one’s ever looked at me like that. I want this moment to never end.

I also want to pick her up and crush her to me, to take her mouth in mine and lose myself in the joy of her kiss. All the hot promise of finding her body pressed to mine when we woke floods back into me, stiffening my erection so quickly I have to adjust before my piercings catch on the leather of my pants.

Storm snorts, clearly knowing why I moved, and I glare him to silence.

“Are we going to sit here all morning?” Mist asks. “Now that we have this grand quest, hadn’t we better be getting on with it?”

“We’ll walk in the correct direction until we find a meadow,” I say. The unicorn tries to protest, but I talk over him. “Where we’ll stop and allow Storm to eat and Taylor to practice her magic.”

“You’ll ride,” Storm says.

“No.” I stand.

“I’ll at least carry the saddle and saddlebags.”

I stare at him for a moment, recognizing his words for bruised pride—after all, I’ve lived with it for all of my adult life. It’s an uncomfortable feeling I don’t wish on anyone, so I say, “Very well. I’ll carry Taylor.”

She startles, looking up at me. “I can walk.”

Before I can say anything, Mist says, “You can, but as we saw getting to the creek, you’re slow and loud.”

“I am?”

“Don’t worry, human. You have many other endearing qualities.” Mist walks over and strokes her cheek across Taylor’s shoulder.

My moon bound smiles, immediately forgiving the cat and scratching at her chin while I saddle Storm.

As we get ready to head out, the feline fae sidles close. “You can thank me now, orc. I got you your pretty prize.” She tips her head toward Taylor.

I glare at Mist until she walks off, her tail curling lazily through the air as she laughs her cat laugh.

But my indignation is a lie, as becomes all too clear when I pick Taylor up and pull her to my chest. My heart races as I carry my bride away from the creek, the sweet smell of her perfuming the air, her hair tickling my chin, and the delicious weight of her in my arms.

Holding her close is indeed a prize.

Hours pass as we walk. Taylor dozes off, her body melting against mine. Her face nuzzles into my neck until she pushes aside the collar of my linen shirt. Each soft puff of breath over my bare skin sets my senses racing.

I could walk to the ends of Alarria like this and count myself a lucky man.

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