Page 18 of Bound to the Orc Hunter

“I—”

“Good, you’re done eating,” Aurora says, cutting across what I was about to say.

And what was I about to say? I don’t even know. How can I fix this?

“We should get moving.” The unicorn paws at the ground.

“I have to…” Grace flutters a hand toward the trees.

I scoop up the cleaning cloth and a waterskin and thrust them forward. “Take these.”

She does so carefully, making sure our hands don’t touch, and hurries into the pines.

A sharp tap on my shoulder makes me spin around. “What did you do this time?”

“I told her I love her.”

“After only a few hours?” Aurora snorts. “That’s not love. That’s your cock.”

“No, it’s more than that.” I’ve wanted women to warm my furs before, but not like this.

“Have you ever been in love?” Aurora spears me with a cynical blue eye.

I rub the back of my neck. “No.”

“Then how do you know this is love and not infatuation?”

“I just know.” I thump my chest. “And the Moon Goddess wouldn’t have bound us otherwise.”

“I don’t think the goddess is the person you need to worry about. Focus on your bride.”

Damn. She’s got a point, as does Grace. I spoke without thinking. My parents knew each other for years before handfasting. Mother always says how important their friendship is, and I ignored all of that to leap straight to love.

But I love Grace… or I know Iwilllove her, which is almost the same thing.

I’ll simply have to win her over, woo her like the moving pictures she showed me, though I can’t see how that was proper wooing—the small, human man only spoke to the woman for a minute before kissing her. Maybe that’s what Grace wants, more kissing?

After pulling a small pouch from a saddlebag, I fill it with fresh blueberries. My bride loves them, and I will surprise her with them at the end of dinner. I must make sure to get only thejuiciest of rabbits for our dinner. Everything will be perfect, and she will see the care I take of her.

I try to smooth over the awkwardness of the afternoon’s ride by asking Grace questions about her world, her life.

She shows me more of the moving pictures on her magical device. Horseless carriages roar along hard-topped roads faster than even a unicorn can gallop. Other contraptions fly through the air. My bride swears they’re not magic, but they must be.

Yet none of the things she shows me seem to have much to do with her. None of the people in the pictures are Grace.

“What about you?” I ask. “I want to know more about what you do in your world.”

“I’m not that interesting.”

Instead of arguing my point, I say, “Tell me.”

“I’m a mechanic. I work on carnival rides.”

Another new word I don’t know. It feels as if the speaking stone’s magic fails me.

“Show me on your phone?” This word I have learned.

She taps at the device, and a multi-colored metalthingspins on the screen, with many people trapped inside small boxes screaming with delight.

---