Page 1 of Bewitching the Orc Chief (Silvermist Mates #1)

CHAPTER ONE

MIRANDA

F rost crept along my glass, delicate tendrils of ice spiraling outward from where my fingers gripped too tight. Shit. I forced my hand to relax, willing the magic to recede before anyone noticed.

“Another honey ale?” Vanin’s eyes lingered on my hands as he collected the empty glass. “Or something stronger?”

“Just the ale.” My voice came out steadier than I felt.

The orc bartender’s tusks glinted in a knowing smile. “Expecting someone?”

I plastered on a smile and hoped it didn’t look as brittle as it felt. “That obvious?”

“You’ve checked your phone six times in two minutes.”

“Five times.” I smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from my burgundy dress. “Maybe I’m just eager to gush about my new favorite drink.”

“Sure.” He slid a fresh glass across the polished cedar bar. “And maybe I’m secretly a fairy princess.”

The ale’s sweet notes hit my tongue, followed by an earthy finish that spoke of deep forest honey and late summer herbs. I’d chosen One Hop Stop for this meet-up partly because Vanin’s brews never failed to calm my nerves. But mostly because it felt safe—public enough to ease my paranoia, private enough to talk.

I took another sip, letting the honey ale’s sweetness linger. Around me, the usual Thursday crowd filled the tavern with comfortable white noise—humans and supernaturals mingling over craft beers and pub food. The kind of easy coexistence that had drawn me to Silvermist Falls.

The kind of acceptance I hoped to find here. But one wrong move. One slip of magic…

What the hell was I doing? Over a year of careful anonymity, of building my new life brick by painstaking brick, and I was about to lay it all on the line for what? A pair of broad shoulders and some witty text messages?

But goddess, the loneliness. It gnawed at me, a constant ache even Gus’s sweet purrs couldn’t soothe. I was tired of watching couples stroll hand-in-hand, of overhearing snippets of inside jokes and shared histories. Of being on the outside, always.

So much that I’d fired up the MythMatch app one night after a questionable amount of wine, set my location to Silvermist, and voila.

My fingers tightened on the glass. Frost crackled up the sides.

The tavern door swung open, and the usual din of conversation died in an instant.

I steeled myself and swiveled on my barstool. Unholy hell.

The orc in the doorway made my MythMatch match’s photos look like badly lit selfies. Osen Axebreaker filled the frame, ducking slightly to clear the top beam. His dark hair was pulled back in a messy topknot, loose strands framing a strong jaw and the slight jut of tusks.

Those tusks definitely shouldn’t have been sexy. But combined with how his rolled shirt sleeves strained to contain powerful forearms, and the tease of tattoos disappearing under the fabric…

Osen’s dark gaze scanned the room with quiet authority before landing on me. Recognition flickered in their depths, followed by something that looked suspiciously like relief.

My stomach swooped as he strode toward me. That must be what deer felt like standing frozen in the headlights of an oncoming truck. A massive, muscular truck that made me forget all the reasons this was a bad idea.

“Miranda?” His voice was deep, with a hint of gravel.

“Hi.” I stared up—way up—at him, mentally cycling through more eloquent greetings and coming up blank.

“May I?” He gestured to the empty stool beside me.

Goddess help me, I was going to melt. “Please.”

Osen settled onto the seat with surprising grace for someone his size. His knee brushed mine, sending a jolt of electricity up my thigh. I took a hasty sip of ale to cover my reaction.

“Sorry if I’m late.” Osen’s gaze darted from me to the other patrons, still staring unabashedly. “The clan elders insisted on a last-minute meeting.”

“No, not at all.” I waved away his concern, trying to ignore how my skin tingled where we’d touched. “I was early. Nerves, I guess.”

Osen’s lips quirked. “Ah. So, it wasn’t just me, then.”

The idea of this mountain of an orc being nervous about our date was oddly endearing. I felt some of the tension ease from my shoulders. “Well,” I said with a small smile. “Here’s to first date jitters.”

His lips quirked around his tusks. “May they be as short-lived as a gnome’s temper.”

An undignified snort of laughter escaped before I could stop myself. Mortified, I clapped a hand over my mouth—only to see Osen’s eyes light up with genuine delight.

“Ale to the chief.” Vanin drawled, setting a pint glass brimming with amber liquid in front of Osen. “On the house.”

“That’s not necessary—” Osen started, but Vanin waved him off.

“Consider it a welcome back. Been too long since you lot graced us with your presence.” Vanin’s tone held an edge of reproach.

Chief? The title echoed in my head. The guy’s profile had mentioned leadership experience, but I’d assumed some corporate team. Not the fucking chief of the entire local orc clan. So much for flying under the radar.

Vanin departed with a meaningful raise of his eyebrows, and the silence stretched thin.

I wrapped my fingers around my glass. The frost threatened to return, feeding off my rising anxiety. “So. Clan chief?”

I shifted slightly to dangle one foot off the rest. Did I have any cash in my wallet to throw down as I fled? Not that it really mattered. Vanin could track me down by poking his head out the door and shouting for the address of the new broad in town.

“Recent promotion.” He winced and ran a hand along the back of his neck. “My father passed away six months ago.”

The grief in his voice struck a chord. I knew that ache, that struggle to rebuild after your world imploded. My fingers itched to reach for his hand and offer some small piece of comfort. I curled them tighter around my glass instead.

“I’m sorry.” The words felt inadequate, but I meant them. “Losing family… It leaves a hole nothing can fill.”

His dark eyes met mine, a flicker of surprise softening his features. “You speak from experience.”

It wasn’t quite a question, but I nodded. That lonely, aching hole in my chest threatened to open up and swallow the entire tavern.

“I left my c—family behind when I moved here.” The word ‘coven’ hovered on my tongue, but I swallowed it back and settled into my seat. “Sometimes starting over is the only way forward.”

I traced a bead of condensation down my glass. Family. The Sisters of the Serpent had called themselves family. I remembered Lisabet’s proud smile at my dark baptism, the way she’d stroked my hair as the unholy power coursed through my veins.

Mother, mentor, monster.

Osen took a long pull of his ale, studying me over the rim. I tensed, waiting for the inevitable questions. What happened? Who did you lose?

The low rumble of his voice washed over me. “What about you? What do you do when you’re not luring unsuspecting orc chiefs to bars?”

I snorted into my drink, earning another of those surprised, delighted looks from Osen.

Relief swept through me, and the last instincts to run quieted to a whisper. What harm was a drink or three? I’d already decided on this date. My wards were active at home. I couldn’t even be sure the Sisters were searching for me. Nothing had changed from the time I primped and preened and sang obnoxious getting ready songs to a very annoyed cat.

I still wanted to banish my loneliness. I still wanted that distraction.

“I run my own business. Small, but growing.” Pride crept into my voice. Every legitimate sale through Brewed Awakening felt like a step further from my past. “Natural beauty products, wellness items. Things that help people.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “A healer, then?”

I thought of the potions I’d mixed under Maura’s direction. Potions to lure. Potions to trap. Potions to kill.

“Something like that.” I sipped my ale, keeping my expression neutral. These days, I walked the line between mundane and magical—just enough power to work, not enough to raise suspicions. Never enough to bring trouble home.

“I’m surprised we haven’t crossed paths at Mist & Market.” Osen tipped back his ale, Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. My eyes traced the flex of his throat, the powerful lines of his jaw. “You’d fit right in.”

“The farmer’s market?” I scrunched my nose and shook my head. “Oh, I’m not—Everyone is established there. I’m just small potatoes.”

My stomach clenched. I’d purposely avoided the weekly market, wary of drawing attention. Besides, an online business was easier to relocate than a physical storefront. No rental agreements to break, no explanations needed. Just pack up my supplies and vanish into the night. Again.

His brow furrowed. “Potatoes?”

“Everyone knows everyone here.” I shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. “I don’t want to step on any toes or break unspoken rules.”

“Ah.” Osen nodded, but his eyes held a hint of skepticism. “I hope you’ll give it a chance. Nothing builds community like haggling over root vegetables.”

My snort-laugh echoed across the bar. I grabbed my drink and tried to hide behind it, wishing the floor would swallow me whole.

“That’s three times now.” Osen’s grin lit up his face, making his tusks flash in the tavern’s dim lighting. “I like that sound.”

My cheeks burned. Goddess above, he was handsome. “It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s honest.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “You know how rare that is? Honest things?”

My breath caught on the sudden lump in my throat. His dark eyes held mine, pupils blown wide. That stare should have made me excited. Butterflies and first date jitters and the nerves of a woman having a laugh with an interested man.

Shame flooded my system instead. I’d told so many lies over the years—some half-truths, some complete fabrications. Lies by omission, lies of convenience, lies of survival. I’d scrubbed myself clean of the Sisters of the Serpent, but that didn’t undo all the damage.

And here sat this stranger, finding authenticity in my most embarrassing trait.

If Osen noticed my discomfort, he didn’t let on. Instead, he flicked his eyes across the bar to where Vanin prowled closer in his ceaseless patrol for empty pint glasses. “Have you tried the Moonberry Stout?” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I hear the recipe came from someone who actually knows which end of a brewing barrel is up.”

Vanin sniffed loudly and strode to the other end of the bar.

A surprised laugh bubbled up. “Can’t say I have.”

“Criminal oversight.” Osen’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “We’ll have to remedy that next time.”

Next time. The casual implication sent a warm flutter through my chest. I tried to smother it, reminding myself of all the reasons this was a bad idea. But then I glanced at Osen, the heat of his thigh warming my own, and… fuck. My objections melted away like snow in spring.

“I’d like that,” I admitted.

Just like that, the awkwardness evaporated. Our conversation flowed as smooth as the ales, one story tumbling into the next. His misadventures in brewing had me snort-laughing again. And again. Each time, he looked more pleased with himself.

Despite my better judgment, I found myself sharing stories of my own. Of leaving an office job to build something real and meaningful. Carefully edited customer mishaps and bizarro special order instructions. Anything but witches and covens and betrayal.

Half-truths. Always half-truths.

But with each laugh, each casual brush of hands, I found myself wanting to tell him more. Osen listened with his whole body—leaning in, nodding, asking thoughtful questions. His dark eyes tracked my movements like I was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

When his hand found my knee under the bar, heat pulsed between my legs. His thumb drew circles on the hem of my dress, stroking just shy of bare skin. Magic flared in response, fizzing through my veins like the bubbles in my glass.

Osen’s eyes dropped to my lips, lingering before dragging up to meet my gaze. He opened his mouth and?—

Cold. Cold flooded my lap.

“Whoops!” The slurred voice barely registered through my shock as icy liquid soaked through my dress.

Osen was on his feet in a flash, his massive frame wedged between me and the drunk. The movement was smooth, almost casual, but he radiated the kind of energy that froze prey in their tracks.

My magic stirred in response, a slow curl of heat beneath my skin. Down, girl.

“S-sorry!” the shifter slurred, backing away from Osen’s quiet growl.

Heavy boots thudded behind the bar. Vanin loomed over us, taking in the aftermath with a scowl that could curdle milk. His dark eyes swept from the puddle of beer on the floor to my soaked dress, then to the shifter who was still backing away from Osen’s imposing form.

“Alright, that’s it. Settle your tabs. Get your asses out.” A few grumbles rose from the remaining patrons, but one look at Vanin’s expression had them gathering their things. “Need to clean this shit up before it ruins my floors.”

Osen released a slow breath and turned back to face me. Concern softened his expression. “Are you all right?”

“Just peachy.” I picked at my dress. The ale had soaked through to my skin and made the fabric cling uncomfortably. Standing sent another cold rivulet down my thigh. Great. This dress was dry clean only. “Though I think that’s my cue to head home.”

“Let me walk you.” Osen’s hand found the small of my back. Warmth radiated from his palm, a welcome counterpoint to the chill. “Can’t have Silvermist’s newest citizen getting doused again.”

“Such dedication to public service.” I raised an eyebrow. “And here I thought you just wanted an excuse to know where I live.”

“Caught me.” He grinned down at me, holding the door open. “But I do enjoy looking after what’s mine.”

Goddess help me. The possessive note in his voice should have set off warning bells, but that rumbling laugh short-circuited all my self-preservation. I cleared my throat, looking for something witty to say. Something to distract from the warmth pooling in my belly.

The wind kicked up, biting through my alcohol-soaked dress. Goosebumps erupted down my arms and thighs. Osen swore under his breath, then wrapped one massive arm around me, shielding me from the worst of the breeze.

I should have pulled away. Should have maintained distance. Instead, I relaxed into Osen’s warmth, my shoulder fitting perfectly against his chest. His thumb traced maddening circles along my side. My skin sparked wherever he touched, calling my magic to the surface.

We rounded the corner onto my street. The small cottage I rented sat dark except for the porch light. Gus would be curled up inside, probably annoyed I was out so late. I slowed my steps, not ready for the night to end.

Osen matched my stride, his thumb drawing lower. Each pass brought his grip a little closer to cupping my hip.

I fumbled for my keys, blood pounding in my ears. When the lock finally clicked, I turned to thank him for walking me home—but the words died in my throat as Osen stepped closer.

This close, I had to crane my neck to look up at him. Even then, I barely came up to his chest. We stood still, silent, breath fogging between us. I drank in the sight of him: the sweep of his nose, the jut of his tusks, the tattoos swooping over his skin.

Do not invite him in. Do not risk exposure. Do not ? —

Do it, whispered the reckless part of my brain. The part that was tired of being alone and second-guessing every connection. The part that wanted to trace those tattoos with my tongue.

Besides, hadn’t I moved to Silvermist Falls to start fresh? To stop hiding and reclaim my life? Why not put a check in that box tonight, with someone who looked at me with heat and wonder and something that felt dangerously like adoration?

“Do you want to come inside?” The words spilled out before I could overthink them. “For tea,” I added quickly. “Or whatever.”

His eyes darkened to midnight. “Whatever sounds wonderful.”