Page 68 of Bound to the Orc Warrior

A sky filled with two crescent moons!

I did it! We’re not in Alarria any more.

I reach out to touch his leg, the muscles hard, vibrating with tension.

“Wranth?”

Instead of answering, he snatches me off the ground, throws me over his shoulder, and starts to run.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Wranth

I brace, mentally preparing to face Naomi’s world and its lack of magic.

She disappears, and a giant hand picks me up and hurtles me across worlds.

I land in a clearing in the middle of a frozen forest caught in the depths of night. It’s not cold. No, it instead feels as if the trees and land are frozen in time—alive yet not fullyliving. Wherever we are, it can’t be the human world. There’s magic all around, but it’s not the lively, warm magic of Alarria. It’s muted and cold and wrong. The trees are a mix of oak and ash and rowan. The twin moons sailing far overhead mark this as Avalon, yet it’s far from the shining jewel of Faerie from the stories of old.

It should be teaming with fae of all kinds. Instead, this whole place feels wrong… and far too empty.

Except for my bride, my tracking magic can feel nothing living anywhere close. I stretch farther, every sense on highest alert. Naomi says my name right as I catch the faintest feeling of something at the very edges of my range. I strain toward it, reaching to get a lock on its location.

There!

I have no idea what I’ve found. I only know, even if we weren’t tethered, I cannot leave my moon bound behind in this twisted place. It’s my duty to protect her throughout all the realms. Scooping her off the ground, I throw her over my left shoulder to leave my sword hand free.

Then I run.

The two moons provide plenty of light for my Wild Fae eyes. I race past the ruins of a stone house and into the trees. Branches scrape and sigh in the wind in a poor parody of the life that should fill them.

Leaping a log, I grip my moon bound more tightly to keep her from jouncing on my shoulder.

“Wranth.” Her fingers dig into my back as she tries to steady herself. “What’s going on?”

“I’m tracking something,” I murmur. “We need to be quiet.”

“Got it,” she whispers and falls silent.

I run on, my feet barely kissing the ground for all my weight. There’s the faintest thrum of green magic skating under this land’s frozen shell, as if the very ground wants to help me.

Whatever my tracking magic latched onto is large enough to potentially be fae. It’s also still instead of running away.

As I get close, I slow to a walk, then pause and set Naomi on the ground. I gesture for her to stay, and the twin moons must provide enough light for her human eyes, because she nods.

I stalk forward, my feet whispering over the ground. An ancient oak spreads a wide canopy across the sky. The thick trunk splits only a few feet above the ground, making a doubled tree. My magic leads me to the hollow cradled between them.

A snarl tugs at my lips. I’m unable to see anything within but a soft bed of dried leaves. Yet this is Avalon, full of fae with powers unknown in Alarria. Elves are infamous for their glamours and illusions, but whoever this is isn’t large enough to be an elf. My right hand falls to my sword hilt, but it’s too long for close quarter fighting. I palm one of my knives instead.

Ignoring my eyes, I use the guidance of my magic to reach in, grab a handful of solid flesh, and pull it from the hollow.

A two-foot tall man comes into being, solidifying outward from the shoulder I hold on to. He’s about the size of a gnome, but his coloration’s different. Except for his pale skin, everything about him is brown—his leaf-spun clothes, his exploding mop of hair, and his huge, pleading eyes.

“What is he?” Naomi whispers, peering around me.

“I think he’s a brownie.”

“I am. I am. I am.” He bobs his head in nervous jerks and tries to pull free of my hold.

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