Page 44 of Bound to the Orc Renegade

Funnily enough, it didn’t put me off video games. If anything, I played even more to escape the pain of the divorce. All of it created my lifelong love of gaming. It brought me my closest girlfriend and a career I loved. But an echo of that pain occurred every time a guy treated me like I’d never be a real gamer because I’m a girl. I kept being bubbly and happy and trying so damned hard to be liked, but always fell short.

Krivoth doesn’t look at me like that. He watches me wield my power with nothing but pride.

And now he says he’ll never leave me, no matter what, that divorce isn’t even part of his vocabulary.

I never realized how much I needed to hear that.

The thing is—I believe him. Which is both wonderful and terrifying, because if I believe him, that means I can believe in this marriage, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.

A lump of emotion blocks my throat, and I swallow several times, but before I can speak, Krivoth does.

“I wish my father had left us.” He snaps his teeth around a fiddlehead, destroying it in two chomps. “But instead it was my mother who died. Though perhaps if she hadn’t, he would have been a different person.”

My heart pinches. “What happened?”

“She was out on patrol when a war party of ogres attacked. She was a great warrior, but no orc can fight so many alone.”

I reach over and squeeze his knee. “I’m so sorry.”

“My father blamed our clan’s warlord, but this was the first attack of its kind. No one foresaw the ogres coming onto our lands to escalate hostilities.” He poked a stick into the fire, sending up a burst of sparks. “But he never let it go, determined that I would be the next warlord, so I would be guided by his ‘expert’ council.” The word drips with sarcasm.

“He expected you to be his puppet?”

“It was foolishness from the start.” Krivoth scowls. “If my father truly had what it takes to be warlord—or to council a warlord—he would already have been in such a position. But he’s not a strong enough fighter.”

“You must be,” I say. “I’ve seen you fight. You’re amazing.”

“I am.” He flashes me a proud smirk. “But I have no head for the rest of it, the strategy and politics of it all. It took this trip for me to see that I never wanted it.”

“So whatdoyou want?”

“To complete our quest, so I can join the king’s guard. To return with the violet trifolia that will protect my people from the deathsleep.” He spears me with his hot eyes. “To show everyone my powerful moon bound bride.”

His words and the obvious pride behind them send another jolt of pleasure through me, and I grin. “Let’s do that, then.”

Morning, as always, comes too soon. I try to block out the happy calls of birdsong by burrowing into Krivoth’s side and squeezing my eyes shut against the brightening light.

As always happens, we’ve rolled together at some point during the night, and the hazy fog of sleepiness gives me the perfect excuse to linger in his arms.

“Get up,” Storm calls out. “I heard you move.”

“No,” I moan. “Why is fae hearing so good?”

“So we can make you get up,” Mist says. “IfIhave to be awake at this horrendous hour, then you do, too. The unicorn is relentless.”

“The unicorn has to carry two other fae all day, and one of them weighs a ton.”

“Only an eighth of a ton,” Krivoth says, his deep voice raspy with sleep. He rolls up to sitting, and I follow him out of the tent and into the crisp, cool air of a mountain morning.

“Brrr.” I rub my bare arms, which break out in goose bumps.

Krivoth scowls at me, then dips into the tent to pull one of the sleeping furs around me like a shawl.

It’s still warm from our body heat, and I umm in contentment. “Thank you.”

I walk over to Storm and pat his neck. “I’m sorry I add to your burden.”

“Don’t fret, little human.” Storm lips at my hair. “You weigh nothing. It’s that great lummox of an orc who’s the problem.”

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