CHAPTER TWENTY

My bride remains subdued as we ride out of the clearing after breakfast, leaving behind a snoring flock of sprites sprawled across the berry bushes. She casts one last look back at them before Storm slips into the trees.

"Why'd they do it? I thought they were my friends," she says, her voice laced with sadness. "Why'd they put the magical whammy on me?"

My arm tightens around her, as if I can shield her from this hurt. It makes me want to go back and shake the berry bushes, forcing the sprites awake so I can yell at them for their actions. But that won't help her.

"For all their mischief, I don't think they meant any malice," I force myself to say. "All the old stories of Avalon speak of how much the elves prized the use of Faerie Fruit for their parties. The little imps may have thought they were doing a similar service for you."

"The Almost Elf," she says.

"They probably didn't know the effect it has on humans. That it's… stronger." The sight of her flushed face fills my mind, her mouth open on a cry of ecstasy. I should hate what happened if it upset her, and yet I cannot.

I got to touch her, to mingle our scents.

I will go to my grave knowing how she smells with my seed rubbed into her skin, knowing how she sounds as I bring her to orgasm.

By the goddess, I want more. I want everything.

But if this is all I ever have of my bride, I will thank the sprites for it.

We ride hard that day and the next, Mist loping at Storm's side for short bursts of time before disappearing into the trees. We're still off the map of known territory, cutting across a wide blank space, angling toward the Skular Woods at the base of the Dular Mountains. That area was hastily sketched onto the map the king gave me using information from the dragons. I'll be the first orc to travel there, even though it's closer to Moon Blade Village than the standing stone where I found my moon bound bride.

Each evening, I try to fill in as many empty parts of the map as I can, remembering my childhood dreams of being a ranger.

The terrain rises gently, crossed by several rushing rivers that send the unicorn dancing across them, futilely trying to avoid the water nymphs. The ubiquitous pines remain the same, but the other trees change, stands of blue birch becoming ever less frequent, eventually replaced by the rich purple of mountain rowan. A shorter tree than the birch, they have long, narrow leaves that decorate the smallest branches in a pattern almost like fern fronds. Among the purple leaves nestle clusters of white flowers, which will turn into bright red berries come fall.

"Oh, my god!" Taylor laughs and kicks one foot up so I can see her human shoe. "The leaves are the same color as my shirt and Chucks."

I grin, only just stopping myself from saying the lacy undergarment hidden beneath her pants is also purple.

A pair of magpies let out sharp cries and launch in to the sky in flashes of black and white. My bride sways back into me, her head tipped backward, a look of rapt attention on her face. "What are those?"

"Magpies," I say.

"Still only a mouthful," Mist says. "And smart for a regular bird. Doubly not worth hunting."

"Is that how you think of everything?" Taylor asks. "Whether it's worth hunting?"

"Of course not!" Mist sniffs and flicks her tail. "I'll have you know I sort everyone into three categories—friend, foe, and prey."

"I'm glad to be the first," my bride says.

Storm grumbles, "Speak for yourself."

Taylor laughs and pats his withers.

I'm glad to hear it. After an awkward first day, she's finally relaxed around me again, her inhibitions about our activities crumbling in the face of her ongoing enthusiasm for discovering this new world.

It might have helped that the sprites haven't caught up to us yet.

Her delight sparks mine. I've never really traveled before, and even though there are things I miss about my village, I find it peaceful to know I won't turn a corner and fall under my father's critical eye.

When we reach a mountain meadow dotted with bluebells, I pull Storm to a stop, even though there are a few more hours of daylight left.

"Let's camp here." I dismount and lift Taylor down. "It's time for you to practice again." We'd ridden until dark the evening before, making up lost time.

"Yes!" She swings her arms back and forth and bounces on her toes a little.

"I'll set up the practice range," I say.

"I take it this means I'm in charge of dinner… again," Mist says, adding a dramatic sigh.

"Humph," Storm snorts, tossing his head. "If only you ate reasonable things like grass, you'd be fine." He dips his head and rips up a soft clump of green to punctuate his words.

"I don't eat grass, unicorn," the feline fae calls over her shoulder as she saunters toward the trees. "I eat the things that eat it instead."

"Ha!" the unicorn grumps and stomps a hoof. "As if you could take on me."

"Friend or foe or prey." She disappears from view, leaving the afterimage of her fang-filled smile hanging in the air for long seconds.

"She didn't mean you're prey," Taylor says, turning her back to Storm and shooting me a questioning glance, asking if her words are true.

I nod. "The cat sith tend to hunt regular animals, not their fellow Wild Fae." Or at least they don't do so in Alarria. Stories of Faerie from the old realms tend to be fairly bloody.

"Clearly, I'm not prey." Storm moves his head, his sharp horn slicing through the air, leaving the rest of his thought unspoken—he's still undecided on friend or foe. It's going to take more than traveling together to cement their relationship.

I move silently through the forest, gathering toadstools, their wide red caps shining bright even in the shade. Once I set the first one on top of a stake, I step away and call to Taylor, "Ready."

She stands about ten yards away, and her face screws up in concentration as she throws her hands forward. But her crystal necklace remains dark. She tries a few more times, then drops her hands. "Hell, I still need help feeling my magic."

"Do you want me to carry you again?" I step forward. Even though I've ridden pressed close to my bride for the past two days, having her clinging to my front, her legs wrapped around my waist is its own form of temptation.

"Not this time. I want to try something new, something I really need to work on." She throws her arms wide. "Let's face it. If we get attacked, what are we gonna do? Ask the bad guys to wait for five minutes while you carry me around so I can find my magic? Not gonna happen. I need to figure out how to tap into it both faster and more easily, hopefully by myself." She offers me a wry smile, one corner of her mouth turned up in a way that makes me want to kiss her again. "So having said all of that, wanna help a girl out?"

"Always."

And I mean it, in every way possible.

I am hers. Forever and always.