Page 2 of Bound to the Orc Guardian

I take a forced step backward, and my foot lands in a hole. My ankle twists in a hot flash of pain. Carajo! It’s a bad one, definitely a sprain instead of a milder strain. I’ll need to elevate it, ice it, and wrap it well. God, how will I get to my exam tomorrow? Can I get crutches from Rosa before she leaves the clinic for the day?

Hands grab my shoulders and yank me upright, cutting across my thoughts. Fingers scrabble at my hip, finding the stethoscope and tossing it aside.

“Where’s your wallet?”

“I don’t have one.” My driver’s license, credit card, and cash fit into little slots on the back of my phone case, but I don’t tell him that.

He shoves me toward the dark alley.

I take a step, and agony flares up my leg, making my breath freeze in my lungs. They always say it’s good for doctors to know what their patients are feeling. It adds empathy.

If only these pendejos had some.

“Help!” I yell. “Please help!” All I want to do with my life is to help other people, heal them. Surely, someone will come to help me.

“Shut that puta up,” the second guy snaps.

A sweaty palm slaps over my mouth, and I bite down. The hand moves just enough that I pant out one more, “Help!”

Bright light flicks on overhead, and music begins to play, the same lullaby Mami used to sing to me. That’s got to be the weirdest addition to a security system ever, but I’m not going to complain.

The guy holding me jerks, his head snapping back. “Coño!”

Ignoring the strangeness of the song, I grab onto anything that will help. “You’ve tripped the sensors,” I blurt, the guy’s hand having slipped enough for me to get the words out. “The cameras are going to see everything you’re doing, which means the cops can find you.”

“I’m outta here!” The other guy takes off running.

Scraggly beard stares at the light, which drops lower, becoming a silvery ball of brightness shot through with little licks of blue lightning.

I squint upward. Okaaaaay. That’s no security light. So what is it?

He shoves me toward it and bolts.

My weight shifts onto my bad leg, and my ankle twists again, unable to support me. As I plummet, adrenaline floods my system, sending my heart racing. Mierda, this is going to hurt!

Instead of hitting hard pavement, I fall into light and music.

CHAPTER TWO

Sturrm

The last notes of my song thrum through the room, the entire pub having quieted while I played. Then chaos breaks loose as my clan mates clap and yell and stomp heavy feet on the sawdust-covered wooden floor. Smiling green faces surround me, broken only by the occasional oval in various shades of cream and tan—the human witches the goddess brought as moon bound brides.

The pub is the heart of any orc town, and it’s no different here in Moon Blade Village. The honey-colored wood of the heart tree that houses the pub glimmers in the golden light of the fire and the glow stones hung throughout the room.Orcs fill the long wooden tables, drinking and talking. A brawl breaks out on the other side of the room, cheering for the opponents punctuated by the meaty smacks of striking fists.

I slip my guitar back into its case to prevent any damage if the fight escalates.

“Retired, my right buttock.” Wranth plonks a tankard of ale onto the table in front of me, the yeasty smell of rich ale filling the air. He sits on the bench opposite me, whipping his long, black warrior braid back over his shoulder before it can dip into his drink. Dressed much the same as me in a linen tunic and brown leather pants and boots, only a small pin on his collar marks him as one of the king’s guard. “I knew there was no way you actually retired. You were one of the best guardsmen. By the goddess, you’re not even forty.”

I pause with my ale held in midair in order to scowl at him. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“I don’t know.” He shoots me a penetrating gaze. “Am I?”

Instead of answering him directly, I say, “I do my king’s bidding.”

He leans forward, seven feet of well-honed muscle, deadly with the sword at his hip. Wranth’s always been one of the guard’s fiercest fighters, giving over to the bloodlust that lies in the heart of every orc. We are cousins to the elves, with their sparkling castles and balls and layers of spell-cast glamour, but you’d never know it to look in Wranth’s eyes. Never has the appellation of Wild Fae seemed truer than in him.

Some would say we’re deemed wild by the camouflaging green of our skin, meant to blend into the forests of Faerie. Others by the magic that connects us to nature.

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