Page 25 of Bound to the Orc Warrior

“Those you can eat,” Wranth says. Then points to huge red toadstools covered in white spots. “Those you can’t.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Everything’s just a little different from the woods I’m used to, and I never had to forage for food.”

He grunts, but seems pleased, pointing out more plants as we go.

Zephyr carried us this distance in only a couple of minutes, but even hurrying, I can’t match a unicorn’s speed. I’m a little winded by the time the sound of the river filters through the trees.

Wranth strides straight to the stand of cattails, then pauses, studying the plants. His knife flicks out, cutting off several of the young flower buds which look like little heads of corn, complete with a wrapper of leaves. He squats down, his fingers sliding down those same plants to dig up their roots, which look like long, thin potatoes. He cuts off the long, grass-like leaves and leaves them to decompose and fertilize the remaining plants. Then he uses the river to wash the mud from the tubers. “Let’s get these to the fire and start them cooking.”

Back inside the trees, birds flit from branch to branch, singing sweet songs, and a chipmunk darts through a clump of ferns, making the fiddleheads wave like a little flock of question marks.

I whisper, “It’s so beautiful here.”

He grunts agreement, and when I glance over my shoulder, there’s that crooked little smile.

The one that makes my heart light.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Wranth

I bury the cattail roots in the hot coals of the fire and pile on larger pieces of wood. The flower heads won’t take long to cook, so I’ll wait until the meat arrives.

Ifthe meat arrives, that is. Damned feline fae.

Zephyr continues to graze as evening comes on, and I’m glad for it.

The setting sun streaks the sky overhead with bands of orange that make my bride’s eyes widen with awe.

I’m glad for that as well. She clearly sees the beauty of Alarria. Surely, she will fall in love with it and not want to leave?

I scowl and poke at the fire. Why do I lie to myself? It’s not Alarria I worry she’ll leave. It’s me.

If she opens the doors of Faerie for good, will we still be tethered together? Or will she be free to travel the realms, leaving me behind?

Our myths say there were no moon bound brides in Avalon, that orcs have only had them since we were brought to Alarria. So what does that mean for our bond?

“Orc,” Shadow says.

My head snaps up.

A smile hangs in the air between two trees, growing wider as the rest of the cat sith forms around it.

“You did not hunt?” I snap.

“How little faith you have in me, orc.” His eyes laugh at my expense. “Of course I hunted. I’ve already eaten my fill.”

A growl rumbles through me as I glare at him. How dare he speak of a full belly when my bride’s rumbles with emptiness?

Shadow reaches out a lazy paw and drags a bit of brown fur from underneath a rhododendron bush—a rabbit. He reaches out again to snag yet another. “I assume two will do?”

“Two will be fine,” I grit out.

I take the rabbits into the trees and prepare them, burying the remains as deeply as I can. I would prefer to clean them farther from our camp than this so as to not attract predators, but the tether makes me stop right before I’m twenty feet away from my bride.

Back at the fire, I rub salt and herbs onto the meat and hold the first spitted rabbit over the flames, turning it constantly as it cooks. Once it’s cooling on a plate, I place the cattail flowers at the edge of the coals, letting them steam inside the packet made of their own leaves. By the time the second rabbit’s done, they are, too. I also fish out the baked tubers.

I make my bride the first plate, stripping the leaves from the flower heads to expose the small, tender cobs, which I sprinkle with salt. For the tuber, I slice it open and add salt and rabbitgrease to the soft, starchy insides. Finally, I carve off a couple of rabbit thighs, flavored with herbs and salt.

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