Page 8 of Bound to the Orc Guardian

“Hurry,” I say, leaning forward. The Moon Goddess brightened the night sky several hours ago. The human witch is near—andunprotected.

Dash whinnies a laugh, tossing his head so that the golden grooves in his black spiraled horn catch the morning light. “Patience, orc. I’m running faster than any unicorn you’ve ever been on.”

I grunt but can’t disagree. The pooka in his blood gives him special travel magic. Once he reaches a gallop, the landscape slips by us far faster than it should, trees smearing into a blur.

“Don’t make me regret aiding you,” he says, his hooves barely seeming to touch the needle-covered ground.

“I’m still not sure why you are.”

Dash appeared not long after I set out on foot, surprising me as I hiked through unfamiliar woods. His deep-black pooka coloring hid him from easy view in the dark of night. The fact that he chose to be alone in deep forest instead of with a herd on the plains is another sign he’s more pooka than his horn would suggest.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t your sparkling personality.” He turns his head to roll a golden eye at me. “I saw the goddess visit you and was intrigued. This is by far the most interesting thing to occur around here recently.”

“Thank you,” I grit out. I hate being beholden to him, but I cannot deny Dash has run well, using his travel magic for my cause.

The summons keeps pulling me ever farther away from orc lands. That must be why the goddess chose me for this task. I’m the closest orc available. Without the aid of dragon flight, any other orc would need to travel for well over a week to reach where I am now.

The goddess can’t have summoned me because this woman will be my bride. It’s simply impossible. I can’t be matched and mated—I lost my love already.

Yet when I try to summon Bruna’s face, all I get is a hazy impression of a smile bracketed by small tusks. Somehow, this hurts more than anything else. It feels like the ultimate betrayal to admit I’ve forgotten what she looks like.

The summons twangs along my nerves, setting them vibrating like a plucked string. “We’re close.”

“Indeed, we are.” Dash slows his gait, and the blurred trees around us snap into clarity as he stops using his travel magic. He leaps a fallen log.

I barely duck a tree limb I could swear he aimed for, my hands tightening in his dark mane. I used my magic to form one of my extra sheets of leather into a makeshift stirrups and saddle, but it’s far from as supportive as the real thing, and no Wild Fae will let themselves be bridled.

The way lightens ahead, indicating a clearing.

A deep growl of a voice grates across my ears. Ogres, my oldest and greatest foes. My lips pull away from my tusks in a snarl as I pull my sword free.

Dash darts through the last of the trees and into a glade containing a standing stone.

A kelpie stands to the side, his yellow-green scales glimmering as if slick. The equine fae are no friends to orcs, but I have eyes only for one foe.

A gray ogre towers over a human woman, blocking her almost completely from my view. Naked but for a crude animal pelt girding his loins, he wears a double-headedbattleaxe on his back. An axe exactly like the one from all those years ago.

Rage, old and familiar, boils within me, washing the world red. I willnotlet him hurt her. I bellow, “Face me, ogre scum!”

He spins, one gray hand pulling the battleaxe free. His crude face seems half formed, the features roughly hewn. This isn’t the ogre who killed Bruna—I ended that one years ago—but it doesn’t matter.

I despise them all.

When I leap from Dash’s back, he lunges toward the scaled equine. “A kelpie to fight! See, I told you that you were interesting.”

Their clash becomes background noise as I barrel toward the ogre, my sword rising to meet the much heavier battleaxe in a peal of metal on metal. The strength of my moon steel blade holds true.

As do I. Like all of his kind, the ogre has a foot and a good hundred pounds on me. But it matters little. A righteous rage fills me, fueling my muscles, which are well honed by years of warrior training.

I use a glancing block to deflect his strike, leaving my sword in line to slice into his bare side, the sharp moon steel able to cut through his thick hide. Black blood oozes in the slow line. It’s a start, but it’s not nearly enough.

“Orc dog,” the ogre growls. “You’ll pay for that.”

“Oh, I doubt it.” I block his next attack easily. Ogres rely on their strength, having little patience for learning good technique. It shows.

“I will feast on your bones,” an unfamiliar voice says—the kelpie.

“Hah! You have nothing on a pookaora unicorn, let alone the best of both!” Dash yells behind me, soon followed by the deep thumps of hooves striking flesh.

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