Page 8 of Bound to the Orc Renegade

“Faster.” I lean forward over Storm’s withers, my hands fisting in his silky mane to keep my seat. I have a mount! The lead unicorn agreed to partner with me once he saw the Moon Goddess summon me. I’m clearly an important fae now.

That summons tugs on me, urging me ever closer to my sky gift. We’ve traveled for days. Then the goddess lit the night sky several hours ago, brightly enough to be seen for a long distance. That was her leaving a sky gift! And this sky gift’smine.

The bright moon of the goddess confirmed our direction. Not that I needed it—a deep knowing sits in my heart, pointing theway to my bride. It’s primal, beyond words. I’m a salmon leaping upstream to return to my spawning ground. I’m a bird flying halfway across the world to land unerringly on the spot of my first nest.

Yet this is not a journey to anywhere I’ve ever been. This is a leap into the new and unknown. We traveled off the edge of the map several days ago.

“If you want me to go faster, you’ll have to remove your great weight from my back,” Storm grumbles.

“Are you too weak to carry an orc?” I say.

He tosses his head, flashing his horn. “Clearly not. Look at how fast I run.” His next leap over a downed log has a little extra kick to it, and my butt lifts from the saddle. Thank the goddess, the small hut the orcs keep at the edge of the Umbriall Plains had one that fit him. Storm isn’t the easiest of mounts—none of the grumpy unicorns ever are—I’d never keep my seat riding bareback.

But he’s right. He’s fast, strong, and tireless. His innate healing ability has allowed him to run almost continuously since we partnered a week ago. Pride fills me anew. I’ve been chosen by the king, by the goddess, and by a fierce unicorn. Only a handful of days into my new life, and I’m already more important than I’ve ever been!

“We’ll find a good meadow once I have my bride,” I say, feeling magnanimous. “One filled with the sweetest grass.”

“And flowers.”

“All the flowers you can eat.”

He snorts, but he also speeds up.

Brighter light shows through the trees ahead, indicating a clearing. The summons fills my chest. This is it.

“We’re close,” I say. “Stop inside the tree line.”

“Why?”

“Because others will have seen the Moon Goddess last night. They’ll want the sky gift, too.”

“I’m a strong fighter.” His voice sounds as grouchy as ever. “I should go in.”

“This isn’t about being a good fighter. This is about knowing what we’re facing before barging in.” And wouldn’t my sister, Gerna, be surprised to hear me say that? Only a few days ago, I would have run straight into that clearing without another thought. I long to get to my prize, but my bride is too important—I’mimportant now—I need to make good decisions instead of letting anger guide me. “When I dismount, circle the clearing to check for enemies.”

Storm comes to such an abrupt halt it flings me forward, and I have to brace my arms to keep from face planting on his withers.

A silent snarl curls my lips, but I suppress it and slip from his back. Storm rolls an eye at me but heads left to scout as I asked.

I pad forward, sliding between the needle-covered branches of a pine. As one of the Wild Fae, orcs have magic connected to nature, and this is mine. Stepping where no leaves crunch or twigs snap, sliding through dense foliage without setting a single branch trembling, I can move silently in the forest. As a child, I wanted to be a ranger, off using my magic to explore new places. It was my father who insisted I try to become warlord, fat lot of good it did me.

A small glen opens before me, dominated by the tall gray column of a standing stone. I squint, but no matter how hard I stare, the top remains bare. Where is my bride?

A grunt jerks my eyes downward.

A hulking ogre pushes off the ground to stand at full height, all eight feet of him covered in a thick gray skin hard to pierce with regular weapons. His black eyes track across the clearing to…

My bride!

She’s short and slim, with tan skin stretched over pretty features and dark-brown, shoulder-length hair that swirls messily around her head. She looks like an elf, even though there haven’t been any in Alarria for centuries. But her clothes are human, blue canvas pants and a short-sleeved shirt a purple far brighter than any natural dye.

Her arms fly up, her palms pointed toward the ogre in a dramatic flourish. Confusion purses her bow-shaped mouth. What magic did the standing stone grant her? Whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to work yet. That’s all right. The other human witches needed to learn their powers, too.

The ogre takes a step toward her.

Rage, old and familiar, boils in my chest, burning away every last thought of being careful. I barrel into the clearing and crash into the ogre before he even realizes I’m there.

We hit the ground with a meaty thump, and I keep going, rolling away from the larger fae before he can grapple me.

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