Page 56 of Bound to the Orc Hunter

Instead of the pleased smile I expect, my words dim the joy in her eyes, and her mouth presses into a flat line. She stands. “I’m tired.”

I leap to my feet. “I’ll ready the tent.”

Rune’s tail starts to wag, his eyes bright with excitement. “If we get an early start in the morning, we can reach the dens by noon.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Grace says. “Have an early night with an early start.”

Her words and body language are clear. This isn’t a night for loving.

My cock gives a jerk of protest, and I remind it that I am the patient hunter, the one who always gets his prey.

I refuse to fail in this, the most important hunt of my life.

After clearing a spot just inside the cover of the blue birch trees, I erect the tent, my body repeating the familiar motions without thought, leaving my mind to ponder other things. I must learn what troubles my bride so I can counter it.

We both washed with the cleaning cloth before dinner and need only chew tooth-cleaning berries to prepare for bed.

I kick dirt over the fire, letting the darkness of true night settle over us. The stories of my ancestors say Avalon has two moons, but unless the Moon Goddess gifts us with a visit, Alarria is always dark. Especially since no pixie lights appear.

I remember something I saw while hunting. “Grace, I’d like to show you something.”

She sits just inside the tent, her hands already tugging on her boots. “What is it?”

“A surprise.” I hold out my hand.

“I hate surprises.”

“How can you hate surprises?”

“Easy. They’re nothing good.”

“This one will be.” I stretch my hand closer. “I promise.”

Yet she remains where she is, squinting in my direction but not moving. Oh, right. Humans can’t see as well in the dark as orcs can.

I lean over and scoop her up, one arm under her back, the other under her knees.

My bride makes a startled gasp, and it’s so like her ones of pleasure from the night before that my cock springs back to life.

Ignoring it, I start to walk to the far side of the meadow.

Her hands slide around my neck, her touch firm as she steadies herself. But she doesn’t relax, doesn’t melt against me in the way I wish. “I don’t see anything.”

“Exactly. There are no pixies.”

“Okay.” She rolls the word over her tongue, stretching the sound out into a question.

I reach the far side of the meadow and turn. The arc of a dark line makes a thin half-circle over the forest. With her human eyes, she probably can’t see it against the deep-purple sky.

“Branikk?”

“There!” I point.

A tiny square of light blue rises over the treetops and makes a semi-circle in the air before falling out of sight on the other side. If they’re all in one basket, the pixies must have finalized joining into one large flock. Good for them.

“Oh!” Grace goes still.

“See that? Those are the pixies. They’re enjoying your Ferris wheel.” I hug her to me. “And the gnomes will have ridden it during the day while the water sprites leap from the cars to dive into the river.”

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