Defying Destiny by Olivia Downing Page A

of
    their mound of small bodies.
    “You’ve turned your hero into
    mincemeat,” Nash said, struggling to draw
    breath beneath the weight piled on him.
    “Ogres
    don’t
    like
    mincemeat,”
    Maralee complained, pressed flat between
    Nash and the children. “I give up. I won’t
    eat children anymore.”
    “And no mincemeat either?” Carsha
    asked, giggling as she tumbled down the
    mound of people she climbed.
    “No, never mincemeat,” Maralee
    gasped, her lungs protesting.
    “The ogre starved to death. The hero
    wins,” Nash said. “Now everybody off!”
    The children climbed off the pile one-
    by-one. Maralee could only concentrate
    on her awareness of Nash’s hard body
    pressed against hers.
    “An ogre could acquire a taste for
    mincemeat,” Maralee murmured close to
    Nash’s ear.
    He stiffened, and then chuckled.
    “Mincemeat could acquire a taste for
    ogres.” When the final child climbed from
    Maralee’s back, he gasped, “I think I
    broke a rib.”
    Maralee rolled off him. He struggled
    to rise, clutching his side and then helped
    her to her feet. The brush of his fingertips
    against the inside of her wrist left her
    breathless.
    “Let’s play again!” Carsha cried,
    jumping up and down in her excitement.
    Nash released Maralee’s hand and
    they exchanged weary glances. “You kids
    play. You’ve worn us adults out,” he said.
    The
    children
    groaned
    with
    disappointment and Maralee smiled at
    Nash before turning her attention to the
    children.
    “I’ll play,” Maralee said, “but only if I
    get to be the hero this time. Nash can be
    the big, ugly, smelly, foul, vile, disgusting,
    grotesque, old ogre.”
    “But you are so much better suited to
    the part,” he teased.
    Maralee’s mouth fell open with
    indignation. “You’ll pay for that, Ogre,”
    she said. “You don’t get a guard.”
    “Don’t need one. I can catch children
    for my supper and keep heroes at bay at
    the same time.”
    “We’ll see.”
    Nash chuckled. “Are you all ready to
    get eaten?” he asked the children. They
    screamed and scattered again.
    Nash somehow managed to catch three
    children at once. He was as sure-footed
    and swift as they were. He scooped them
    all up into his arms and set them on the
    porch. They all made Maralee feel clumsy
    and slow.
    “Help us, Hero! The ogre’s going to
    eat us,” they chimed.
    Maralee made a run for the porch, but
    just as she was about to rescue the first
    child from the dungeon, Nash caught her
    around the waist and lifted her into his
    arms.
    “I’ve captured your hero already,” he
    said, triumphantly. “What are you going to
    do now?”
    “Save the hero! Save the hero!”
    Carsha chanted, grabbing one of Nash’s
    legs and trying to trip him.
    He stumbled and nearly lost his grip
    on Maralee before he recovered his
    balance.
    “Don’t drop me,” Maralee squeaked,
    and wrapped both arms around his neck.
    He had several children pulling on
    each leg now, as he walked around the
    area, growling like a professional ogre,
    dragging the kids around as if they were
    no more than pesky flies. They were all
    laughing as they tried to bring the ogre
    down, but none harder than Maralee who
    was won over by the lot of them.
    “Children!” a voice echoed through
    the forest. “Time to come home now!”
    “Already?” several complained.
    They released their hold on Nash, and
    he set Maralee on her feet. The children
    began to disappear into their homes,
    waving farewells as they went inside.
    Carsha was the last to leave.
    “Can we play again tomorrow, Uncle
    Nash?” she asked, looking up at him with
    undisguised adulation.
    “Of course,” he said, tousling her dark
    gray hair.
    “And Maralee, too?” Carsha asked,
    glancing at the young woman standing
    beside her uncle.
    “You’ll have to ask her.”
    Carsha took Maralee’s hand in both of
    her small ones. “Will you come and play
    with us tomorrow?”
    “I don’t think I’ll be here tomorrow. I
    need