Page 15 of Bound to the Orc Hunter

“I know.” I gather what arrows are easily visible and scoop up my bow, slinging it onto my back. I ask Grace. “Have you ridden before?”

She shakes her head. “I’m pretty sure the wooden horses on carousels don’t count.”

I have no idea what those are, but I trust her judgment on the matter. “It’s not a problem. I’ve ridden for years. I’ll handle everything.”

Including her.

My eager hands span her waist as I lift her into the saddle. Then I’m up behind her. Even though orc saddles are large, the two of us make for a tight fit, and she’s pushed back into me.

Her body goes rigid, her muscles straining to hold her upright. Aurora springs forward, and only the strong grip of my knees on her sides keeps the two of us seated. My thighs cradleGrace’s as her body falls back against mine, and I wrap one arm around her, palming her stomach to steady her. She tenses again.

“Relax into the motion, or you’ll be even sorer from riding,” I say. It’s true, but it’s not the full truth. I also love the way it makes her body melt against mine.

Her golden hair tickles my cheek, the scent of woman and some exotic fragrance filling my nose as I breathe deep. I fight down a possessive growl as my cock stirs, my magical stud also tingling with magic, knowing Grace is mine.

I pull her even closer to me. Mine. My bride.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Grace

Branikk’s huge body overwhelms me. He’severywhere, his thighs pressing the outsides of mine, his big hand on my stomach, his chest wrapped around my back. I’ve never felt smaller than a guy—not like this. And it’s been way too long since I dated anyone. Not that I get many offers, but Calvin’s flirting kept me from even thinking about anyone else all summer.

So my body’s on hyper alert, tingling everywhere we touch, and we’re touching in a lot of places. I feel sensitized, more aware of Branikk than I’ve ever been of anyone before.

God, could he really be my husband?

It’s too much to take in. I’d been able to handle all of this when I thought it was a hoax. I still don’t know what to believe.There’s no way a bunch of birds can become a person, so that part’s totally fake. Even if it was creepy AF. But the bouncy castle moved when the gnomes used it like a trampoline. Yet the way it disappeared into the ground… that had to be some kind of special effect, right?

If it’s not, if all of this is real…

Then a goddess married me to a complete stranger without asking what I wanted. That’s hella uncool.

But youdowant him, a little voice whispers in the back of my mind.

Shut up, I tell her.

My inner voice laughs as Branikk’s fingers dig into my stomach, making it flutter all over again.

Trying to distract myself, I focus on the scenery. We ride through the forest I saw from the top of the stone. The pine trees look fairly normal but not completely so, since they’re a much more vibrant blue-green than any I’ve seen before. Clumps of ferns cover the ground, pale-green curlicues hovering over them like little patches of question marks. It’s like the plant equivalent of “WTF?” asked over and over, and it fits perfectly with how I’m feeling.

We break through a couple of close set pines into a stand of the blue-leaved trees, and they’re even more stunning up close. The oval leaves turn the sunlight a hazy blue as it filters through them. Silver curls cover the trunks instead of bark, like a PTA mom went overboard decorating a present with curly ribbon.

“What are those called?” I point.

“Blue birch,” Branikk says, his hot breath brushing my ear and making me shiver.

Since when is talking about trees sexy?

“Do you not have them in your world?” he asks, his voice a deep rumble.

“No.” I might not get the chance to see much nature when travelling with the carnival, but I’m pretty sure I’d know if blue trees existed. I wish we could stop so I could get a really good look to see if they’re real or something a props department made. Though, this seems like alotof effort for a props department. How could they prepare acres and acres of forest? Maybe we’re actually riding in circles in a contained area, and they know I don’t know enough about nature to tell.

God, I hate not knowing things! I’m a practical gal. Give me a machine, and I’ll figure it out. Machines make sense. Machine designs follow set patterns and protocols. Ilovethat about them. No matter how much bright paint and carnival lights covered the machines I worked on, they were solid and understandable at their core.

All this uncertainty makes my head hurt.

The unicorn gallops forward, leaping a small stream, rocking my body even more firmly into Branikk’s.

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