Page 63 of Wrangling the Orc Cowboy

When she plunged her beak toward me, I screamed.

Chapter 21

Tark

Ileft because of Gracie’s redness. If I’d stayed around, I would’ve added to it. Ground away at her until she was so covered in redness, it would never fade. So when Dungar stopped by and mentioned he was going to send one of my brothers on the newly cut trail to make sure the distance between rest stops wouldn’t be too far for our customers, plus start building covered awnings where we could set up cots and chairs for our guests to rest in relative slumber, I volunteered to go in his stead.

I was doing it for Gracie.

She’d thank me later.

Two days later and with tired, achy bones, I rode back to town with Sharga bobbing on my shoulder. I stopped at my ranch and got cleaned up, giving Podar lots of pats and a promise of more squishes later. Dungar had stopped by to feed him, but he never gave my pet as much love as me.

Dressed in my chaps over my jeans, a clean vest in a black and white cowhide pattern, and with my cowboy hat square on my head, I started toward town and my mate. I dreamed of what I could make for her for dinner. While I was away, I thought ofthe tricks cowboys did in streaming images to woo a mate, and Gracie would be impressed with what I had planned for her.

Surely her redness had faded. Surely she’d be happy to see me and might even let me give her some redness again.

I was only partway to town when I heard her scream.

Sharga flapped his wings and pecked my cheek as if he thought I hadn’t heard the call of distress.

The thought that my mate—myGracie—being harmed was enough to make lightning burst through the top of my head.

I kicked Castree in the sides, urging her to gallop in that direction. Sharga squawked and flapped his wings, and I was tempted to tell him to fly home or at least leave my shoulder.

Then I spied the chumble off to my left, shrieking with her wings flared.

A clutch of babies cooed in a tumble off to her side. Sorhoxes grazes beyond her, the herd’s bull watching the chumble with much-too intent eyes.

The chumble was attacking my Gracie.

With a hoarse bellow, I leaped off Castree and snarling, rushed toward my mate, determined to rip the chumble to pieces with my bare hands if need be.

As I got close, I lowered my head and drove forward like a… Well, a sorhox. Before I reached her, the creature let out a shrill whistle, stumbled backward, and went scrambling across the dirt, her wings flapping wildly. It was nearly impossible to hurt one; their scaly hide deflected even the blow of a sword, but I would’ve done all I could to drive her away.

She flared her feathers, her beady black eyes flickering with fear, but that was just show. She’d back down if I raced toward her again. My gaze darted to the tumble of chumble babies nearby, cooing and huddled tight. She was doing what any mother should, protecting her young. But I would not let her put a claw on Gracie.

The sorhox’s low rumble shook the ground, drawing my attention his way. His massive hooves clawed at the dirt, and his horns dangled close to the earth as he squared off, glaring in my direction.

Normally, I’d bluster right back at him, and he’d probably back down, but I didn’t dare risk Gracie.

Time wasn’t working in my favor. I scooped her up like she weighed no more than one of Podar’s squeaky toys. She clung to me, her nails digging into my chest, her breath hot and frantic against my neck.

A cluster of boulders up ahead caught my eye, the only thing resembling cover. With Sharga flapping and squawking in the air behind me, I sprinted, leaping onto the first rock like I had springs for legs. The chumble’s whistle rose. Damn, she was angry. I skidded onto the top of the boulders as she reached the base, beating her wings against the rocks while her claws scrabbled for purchase on the rough surface.

“Hold tight,” I muttered to Gracie, though I doubted she heard me. She was making her own squawking noises, muffled by how tightly she was pressing her face into my chest.

Sharga didn't make it any easier, landing on my shoulder and swatting me upside the head with his wings. Adding to the uproar, the sorhox bull barreled over, circling the rock pile with dust flying in his wake. Every snort and scrape of his hooves sounded like an explosion, overwhelming the ringing in my ears.

The chumble had made it partway up the pile now, her talons gaining ground with every frantic step. Her black eyes locked on me. The sorhox below clawed and shoved at the rocks, his bulk shaking the cluster.

Heat rushed through me. Not fear, but anger, the kind that twisted in my chest when anyone threatened what was mine.

I tipped my head back, and a roar so deep it made my own ears pop erupted up my throat.

Everything stopped.

The chumble froze, her claws extending toward us, her head cocking to the side. The sorhox halted mid-charge, his nostrils flaring, his horns carving the air. He glared like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to keep butting the boulders or turn and scramble in the opposite direction.

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