Page 31 of Bound to the Orc Renegade

Husband. Why doesn’t it seem as scary as it should when I think of it in terms of Krivoth? The word echoes in my mind as his hand splays across my stomach, holding me in place. I use the excuse of the ride to lean fully back into him.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Krivoth

Holding Taylor today becomes another form of torture. Every fiber of my being longs to clutch her to me, to feel that she’s mine, even as my heart hurts to know she doesn’t wish to be married to me.

The rational part of me says it’s the shock of the marriage itself instead of a rejection of me. Rovann and Dravarr both said their brides hadn’t understood right away that humans do things differently.

But in my heart, I know that’s a lie. It’s me. I’m not enough.

I’m never enough. Not for my father. Not to be warlord of my clan.

Why should I have expected any different?

Still, I bless the ongoing rivalry between the cat sith and unicorn. As they goad each other to greater speed, Taylor’s pressed back into me, giving me the excuse to hold her close.

I take it, greedy man that I am. I pull her tight, my hand gripping my moon bound as if I’ll never let go. Goddess knows I never want to.

My bride relaxes against me, her body molding to mine until I can almost convince myself she wants me, too.

We dip and sway as Storm gallops through the forest, cutting through thickets of pine, his hoof beats softened by the heavy blanket of needles. Mist appears ahead, darting through a patch of ferns, shaking the fronds and making the curled fiddleheads dance.

Taylor lets out a soft laugh, and the sound of her easy joy pierces my heart. I want to be a cause of joy for her—I want her to be happy to be bound to me.

Determination fills me. It’s more important than ever that I complete my quest, prove to her and everyone that I’m a man worth admiring.

A man worthy of a moon bound bride.

We eat a prolonged lunch in the saddle, the monotony of hardtack supplemented by handfuls of berries plucked fresh from bush and vine, sweet fat blueberries, tart red currants, and crunchy dark-purple blackberries as long as Taylor’s thumbs.

When we reach the muddy bank of a wide river, the feline fae takes one look at it and sniffs. “I don’tdowater.” She disappears from view, leaving one last flash of a toothy grin that hangs in the air for a few seconds.

“Mist?” Taylor reaches out as if trying to snatch the cat sith from the now empty air.

“She will meet us on the other side,” I say.

Storm grumbles, “Wish I could as well.”

“You don’t like water either?” my bride asks.

“It’s not the water. It’s what’sinit.” He stomps, his hoof striking stone with a loud clack.

Water surges past, leaping as it flows from the mountains toward the sea in an ever persistent rush. Sun sparkles off the surface in tiny blinding flashes, and the occasional wet brown rock breaks through the water like a mountain piercing clouds, everything above the waterline sharp, everything below worn smoother.

The rush and roar of the river changes, adding a chorus of burbling voices. The white crests of water foaming around the rocks lift to become hands.

Taylor sways forward in the saddle, and my hand tightens across her stomach. Fascination colors her tone. “What are they?”

“Water nymphs,” Storm answers, spitting the words as if they’re the bitterest of tastes on his tongue.

His haunches bunch as he settles back, coiling them tightly, only to spring forward.

Taylor whoops at the speedy rush, a laugh in her voice as her body’s thrown back into mine. My knees dig into Storm’s sides, and I lean forward, tucking her even more firmly to me as the unicorn races into the river.

Yet it’s a race he’ll never win. For all his strength and speed, the nymphs are in their element. Bright watery voices lift in gladdened cries as the water nymphs rise from the surface. Long flowing-water hair shrouds their translucent forms as their sea-foam hands brush along Storm’s stomach in tickling touches. Hesnorts, his legs churning harder as his feet lose touch with the river bed and he swims across the deepest part.

I lift my knees higher, pushing Taylor’s feet up above the waterline. The specially treated leather of my boots and pants might be waterproof, but I doubt the same applies to her human clothing.

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