Page 71 of Bound to the Orc Hunter

I try. I really, really try, wanting him to be proud of me.

“That’s good. That’s better than before.” His hands close over mine, his arms changing the angle. “Just a little bit more, though. Can you feel that?”

I swallow and nod, not trusting myself to speak. I’m feeling alright, but it sure doesn’t have anything to do with guns. My skin tingles everywhere we touch, my pulse humming, sending blood rushing straight to my core.

“Now shoot.”

I pull the trigger, the gun kicking in my hands as the net goes sailing upward in an arc that comes down right on top of the toadstool, the white strands wrapping around its bright red cap.

Then he spins us around in a circle, bringing us back to facing the target before stepping away. “Now, I want you to repeat it for yourself.”

I miss the feel of him, so strong and sure at my back. But he’s right. I need to be able to do this. With a new cartridge in place, I lift and point, then make the adjustment he showed me. My net sails through the air to add another layer to the toadstool.

“You did it!” Branikk swoops me into his arms, spinning us until I’m laughing with him.

I’ve never had anyone believe in me like this and cheer me on. My parents always assumed I’d do things competently—homework, housework, my job. It’s how they moved through life. Nothing else was acceptable, so doing the same was nothingto be praised. Even at the carnival, I was “dependable Grace,” with a boss who’d grunt when I got the job done.

I don’t quite know what to do with Branikk’s joy at my achievements.

But maybe I don’t have todoanything. Maybe for once in my life I can just let myself enjoy.

We gather up all the nets and head back to the dens. After lunch, Branikk and I settle on our log seat in the shade of an apple tree. Aurora salutes us with her horn from the top of the hill and goes back to grazing. Rune comes out to watch.

As the only two people with hands, making bags is up to us. I cannibalize a few of the nets to get strings to weave around the edges of the other nets, pulling them tight enough to create a circle of an opening. I leave one end of the string dangling so that once a bird is inside, one quick pull will close the mouth of the bag.

“This is genius,” Branikk says. “It will be a lot faster than the way I did it.”

“You’re the better shot. So I should be the one on bag duty.” I turn to Rune. “If the cu sith get really good at catching birds from the air, they can bring them to me, and I’ll bag them.”

“There is no if,” Rune says, amber eyes serious. “We will master how to catch them without killing.”

“It would also be faster for me if someone picks up the birds I catch in nets so I can keep shooting,” Branikk says. “But I don’t know if that’s possible.”

“Let me try.” Rune hops up and gathers a few pinecones.

I lay a regular net over each.

It takes some doing to figure out a system, but he does, using paws and teeth. Then he calls more of the wolves over to practice trapping the downed “birds.”

Others practice catching things gently from the air, with Branikk throwing pinecones. All of the first ones break apart with loud crunches—these canine fae have seriously strong bites—but eventually some catch the pinecones softly enough not to damage them.

Rune breaks everyone up into two separate groups, depending on which thing they’re best at, either gathering downed birds or snatching active ones from the air. Then they all practice bringing me their trapped birds to bag. We decide not to take the time or the risk of unwrapping the sluagh caught in one of Branikk’s shot nets, instead having the wolves shove the bird, net and all, into the bag I hold open.

Soon, everything turns into a game. Branikk hurls pinecones into the air, and the wolves leap after them with all the vigor of dogs catching Frisbees. The puppies pour from the dens, demanding to play, too. The pinecones are too big and hard for their little mouths, so I grip my crystal and imagine the squishy balls used in one of the carnival games. Their high yips of excitement join with Branikk’s laughter as he throws balls for them to chase. They wear out quickly, and Riselda sends them back into the den for a nap while the adults continue to practice.

By early evening, they’ve all gotten so good that they’re lined up five deep, waiting for me to bag. My fingers begin to cramp, and I have to keep stopping to shake them out. “Sure could use more people with hands.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m back,” Mist says, her bright grin hanging in the air for several seconds before the rest of her appears. “I’ve brought you the aid you seek.”

Branikk’s eyes scan the woods behind her. “Who did you bring? Is it Krivoth and Taylor?”

“With the doors to Faerie closed, I can’t bring anyone with me on the shadow roads who’s not cat sith.” The end of her bushy tail flicks from side to side. “How many times must I say this?”

“So how?” Branikk asks. “Even a unicorn can’t run fast enough to get here in anything under several days.”

“Who said anything about a unicorn?” Mist smiles extra wide.

A loud yell comes from above, and I jolt, adrenaline making my heart race. The only things coming from the sky so far have been sluagh.

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