Page 11 of Bewitching the Orc Chief (Silvermist Mates #1)

The workshop door creaked open on well-oiled hinges. Soft light spilled across workbenches crowded with bubbling beakers and scattered herbs. My witch didn't look up from her careful measurements, too focused on whatever concoction demanded her attention at this late hour.

Miranda's hair escaped its messy bun in wisps that caught in the moonlight spilling through the workshop windows. Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth—that telltale sign of deep concentration. The familiar scent of rosemary and citrus wrapped around me, mingled now with stranger smells from her brewing.