Page 26 of Bound to the Orc Renegade

“Yes!” they chorus, taking to the air and flying around me in a dance of delight that makes me laugh. At least their mercurial nature makes them quick to please.

Krivoth stalks from the trees, holding several long sticks and…

“Are those mushrooms?” I blurt. Mushrooms on steroids, that is. The things are huge, with wide caps the size of dinner plates, but far thicker. They’re bright red and dotted with white spots, and the thick stem is pure white.

“Toadstools,” he says. “You don’t want to eat these. They’re poisonous.”

“But if you give the cap the tiniest of licks, it’ll give you wonderfully wild dreams,” the sprite says.

“Oh, hallucinogenic mushrooms.” I nod. “Got it.”

“No, you don’t.” Krivoth scowls at the sprite and shakes a red toadstool at it. “Poison.”

“Fun!” the sprite counters, seemingly undeterred by his large size.

He stomps off across the field, his broadsword clearly strapped to his hip.

“Aren’t you afraid of him? “ I ask. “He’s an awfully good fighter.”

“Orcs also come from Avalon. And orcs don’t hurt sprites,” she says, as if it’s a well-known truth.

I stare after Krivoth, her words confirming what I already felt. No matter how “monstrous” most humans would find his appearance, he’s a good guy.

Using brute strength, Krivoth grasps a stick in both hands and drives it into the ground with a powerful flex of his wide shoulders. It stands upright, the end whittled into a point, which he impales a toadstool on, sliding the entire length of the stem onto the wood. The red cap of the mushroom ends up being a good five feet off the ground—about the same height as an ogre’s torso.

“That’s perfect!” I call out.

While he strides over, I make sure everyone else is out of the way. Storm still eats on the far side of the field, but he’s turned to face us so he can watch. On my left, the sprites sit on the meadowsweet like the clumps of tiny white flowers are little cushy chairs. Mist stands behind me, off to the right.

Krivoth stops directly behind me, only a couple of feet away, his arms ready to catch me. It’s sweet, though I also hope likehell I don’t need it. As much as I like rolling around on top of him, I’d love to get this power thing sorted.

I shake out my arms and get ready to take up what I like to think of as my “ready stance.” It’s the one you see in all the video games and movies—legs shoulder-width apart, hands raised. Only, I’m not making fists. My palms are open and forward, ready to channel power.

It swirls inside me, like a caged animal eager to be let free.

I grin. I got this!

Focusing, I strain with all my might, throwing my hands forward. Nothing. My crystal doesn’t warm or glow.

I try again. Again, nothing! My magic surges inside me, battering at the walls. I can feel it—I just can’t harness it.

“This isn’t magic like elves!” a sprite says, and answering squeals of agreement ring out.

“Patience. Big magic takes time,” Mist calls out, then she sidles up to me and whispers. “Youcando it, right?”

“I hope so,” I mutter.

“Can I help?” Krivoth’s deep voice rumbles from behind me.

“Yes!” I spin to face him, excited all over again. “Can you carry me and let me feel your magic? It helped so much yesterday.”

“Of course.” His handsome face looks so serious as he steps closer and sweeps me off my feet. Unlike today’s bridal carry, he instead lifts me so I face his chest. My legs wrap around his waist, my hands slide around his neck, and I press forward until I can feel the thump of his heart echoing through me. He hasn’t even started using his magic actively, but I can feel it. As a Wild Fae, Krivoth’s a magical being. Magic sings in him even when he’s not using his power. It’s simply part of who he is.

He starts walking, calling upon his stealth magic until each footfall becomes perfectly silent.

My power settles, as if it senses his flowing with easy purpose. I reach for the feeling of his connection and control. As an orc, his magic’s so innate he probably doesn’t even realize how he’s doing it, and no amount of words will make up for this—feeling him do it.

In a flash, I realize I’ve been sent a mentor to help train me, only one who’s young and gorgeous and muscled.

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