Page 5 of Bewitching the Orc Chief (Silvermist Mates #1)

CHAPTER FIVE

MIRANDA

L eaving, it seemed, was easier said than done.

First, Osen insisted I couldn’t wander the woods alone. Then he’d proposed taking me back to Silvermist himself. When I flat-out refused while uttering the fateful “anyone but you”, he’d grinned and claimed responsibility for finding someone suitable.

But his recruitment efforts weren’t exactly... robust. Everyone had duties, he’d argued. Prior obligations. Trades to maintain. Family obligations.

And on it went until the sun started to fall, and suddenly the hours were too short for travel and the remote mountain road too difficult to navigate at night. Or so Osen claimed.

I glared at the stone ceiling of Osen’s guest bedroom the next morning as my thoughts circled one another like vultures. Of course, he stalled. It gave him more time to persuade me to stay. More time for guilt to worm its way in, infecting my resolve with whispers of mate bonds and fates intertwined. More time for the inevitable heartbreak that lay at the end of that path.

There was no avoiding it. Not with his clan ready to boil me alive at the slightest hint of danger. Hell, I’d almost been locked in shackles just for admitting to practicing dark magic! Which... may not have been the wisest decision. But Alris and his asshat cronies had backed me into a corner, and I wasn’t going to lie. Not about this.

A loud purr rumbled against my chest as needle-sharp claws kneaded my collarbone. Gus bumped his head against my cheek, his whiskers tickling my skin.

“Traitor,” I mumbled, scratching him behind the ears.

I should have known better. Should have trusted my instincts and stayed the hell away from dating apps, away from Silvermist Falls, away from anywhere I might be tempted to put down roots. Roots were dangerous.

Roots could be ripped out.

“Time to go, furball.” I scooped Gus off my chest, ignoring his disgruntled meow. “No use wishing things were different.”

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, wincing as my bare feet hit the cold stone. The borrowed clothes from yesterday were neatly folded on a nearby chair, and I grimaced as I pulled them on. They smelled faintly of fresh mountain air and cut wood—Osen’s scent. The realization sent an unwelcome pang through my chest.

“Don’t even start,” I muttered to myself. “This is what you get for thinking you deserved nice things.”

Gus wound around my ankles as I dressed, meowing insistently.

“Okay, game plan.” I crouched down, meeting Gus’s unimpressed stare. “We slip out, hike back to Silvermist Falls, pack up the workshop, and disappear. Again.” My voice cracked on the last word, and I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. “It’s for the best. You know that, right? We can’t... I can’t...”

Gus head-butted my knee as his purr kicked into overdrive. I scratched behind his ears, grateful for the familiar comfort. “Yeah, I know. But hey, maybe the next town will have better mice, huh?”

Taking a deep breath, I eased the door open and peeked out into the hallway. Darkness filled the main room, broken only by faint embers in the hearth. Perfect—fewer eyes to dodge on my way out of this cursed mountain. I beckoned to Gus, and we crept toward the exit.

“Going somewhere?”

I jumped, cursing as my hip caught the edge of a table. Osen’s low voice came from the shadows near the dying fire, where he sat in a high-backed chair. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, his usual grace rumpled by exhausted tension.

“Unholy hell.” I pressed a hand to my racing heart. “Were you sitting there in the dark all night, or is this a special morning surprise?”

“You didn’t answer my question.” His voice was rough, edged with... something. Anger? Hurt?

I pasted on my best fake smile. “Just thought I’d take in the sights. You know, enjoy the local scenery before the mob ruins it with their pitchforks.”

“Miranda.” The way he said my name sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. “You’re not going anywhere. Not until we talk about what you are.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “What I am? Funny, I thought your shaman made that pretty clear. Dark witch. Corruption incarnate. Soul-stealing demon worshipper.” I sketched a mocking bow. “Take your pick.”

Gus settled at my feet, tail twitching in agitation. The tension crackled through the room like lightning before a storm.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The raw hurt in Osen’s voice hit harder than anger would have. “About being a witch?”

“Gee, I wonder why?” I started to pace, but there was no outrunning this conversation. “Could it be the warm welcome your people showed when they found out? The absolute hospitality of being threatened with chains?”

“You practiced dark magic.” He spat the words like poison. “Did you think that wouldn’t matter?”

“Of course it matters!” I threw my hands up in exasperation. “It always matters! That’s why I left, why I keep leaving, why I’ll probably spend the rest of my life leaving places the moment anyone gets close enough to see what I really am.”

The words echoed off the stone walls, leaving silence in their wake. Even Gus stopped moving, yellow eyes fixed on my face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Osen’s voice dropped lower, almost a growl, and his tusks flashed dangerously in the low light. “What are you running from?”

“It means this is my penance.” The fight drained out of me. I crossed my arms over my stomach, shoulders hunching around my ears. “For what I helped do. What I let happen.”

Osen leaned forward, forearms braced against his knees. The weight of his scrutiny made my skin prickle uncomfortably. I waited for him to speak, to demand answers I wasn’t prepared to give, but he remained silent. Watching. Waiting.

After a long pause, I took a shaky breath and kept going. “I used to practice white magic. Herbs. Potions and charms. Safe stuff. No demons, no sacrifices.”

One dark eyebrow lifted. “Until?”

“Until the Sisters found me.” The confession lodged in my throat like broken glass, but I forced it out, anyway. “I was young and hungry for knowledge. The Sisters of the Serpent promised to teach me everything—no limits, no restrictions.” I tried for a sarcastic laugh and failed miserably. “Turns out there’s always a price.”

Osen shifted forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. Still watching. Still listening.

“They noticed my talent right away. Pushed me harder, gave me more responsibility.” I sank into the armchair across from him, shoulders slumping. “I learned everything they threw at me—spells, rituals, the darker arts they usually kept hidden from initiates.”

My fingers traced the outline of the demon’s mark near my heart, hidden beneath my borrowed clothes. “The dark baptism was my reward. A chance to become a full Sister and grow my magic exponentially.”

Osen frowned. “Dark baptism?”

“A bargain with a demon.” My lips twisted. “You purify yourself for thirteen days, consuming only milk, raw herbs, and honey mixed with ash. Then, at midnight during the new moon, you make your sacrifice and summon your potential patron.”

Osen grunted and sat back in his seat. The dying embers cast strange shadows across his face, making his expression unreadable.

“The demon they—we—summoned…” I licked my lips, trying to find words that wouldn’t send him screaming for chains as soon as they left my mouth. “The Sisters of the Serpent sought knowledge, and so knowledge is what we offered to our patron in exchange for more.”

Gus leapt onto my lap, pushing his face against my hand until I stroked his ears. It settled something inside me—grounded me. Made it possible to confess the rest.

“We drained them.” Bile rose in my throat. “People with real gifts. Artists who could never create again. Musicians who forgot how to play. Scholars who lost decades of research in an instant. Each dark baptism powered by someone else’s stolen talent.”

The fire had died to barely glowing embers, leaving shadows to dance across the walls. Fitting, really.

“I didn’t know.” My voice cracked under the weight of my shame. “Not until we prepped for the next dark baptism months later. Not that it excuses anything.”

The silence stretched between us. I forced myself to meet his gaze, waiting for the disgust. The condemnation. The order for those chains, after all.

“You left.” It wasn’t a question.

“I ran.” The cowardly correction burned like acid. “I burned everything in their archives and destroyed the altar, but the damage was already done. Someone lost their gift because of me. Because I was too fucking curious, too hungry for power, to question any damn thing.”

Tears pricked my eyes. I blinked them away angrily. Self-pity accomplished nothing. Least of all atonement.

“That’s what dark magic really is. Not some mystical corruption or demon taint. Just... people. Hurting other people because they can. Because they want more power, more knowledge, more everything .”

“And now?” His expression stayed carefully neutral. “What do you want now?”

“To be better.” The words came out barely above a whisper. “To use what little talent I actually have to help people instead of hurting them. To...” I gestured helplessly at the space between us. “To belong somewhere. But we both know that’s not possible anymore.”

Osen slumped in his chair, dragging a hand down his face. The exhaustion lining his features felt mirrored in my soul. “I told you my father died six months ago, yes?”

He waited for my nod to continue, not quite understanding what one had to do with the other.

“He was killed in what everyone calls an honor duel.” The words came slowly, weighted with grief. “A young warrior murdered a human hiker near our borders. Father chose to honor Silvermist’s jurisdiction rather than shield him from justice.”

“That must have pissed off your shaman.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

“Alris and Father butted heads often.” Osen’s jaw clenched. “The shaman believed a return to isolation would keep us pure. Father saw the old ways as incompatible with our changed world. And the warrior’s father…”

“You inherited their fight.”

“Along with a fractured clan and impossible expectations. I think…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I understand choosing between what’s right and what others demand. I understand duty and decisions that feel like betrayal.”

His eyes met mine across the darkness. I knew I shouldn’t hope, shouldn’t wish to lead anything like a normal life. But the temptation to be seen beyond my sins curled treacherously around my heart.

Shouts erupted outside, followed by the thunder of running feet.

“Help! We need help!”

Osen was on his feet in an instant, practically ripping the door off its hinges as he charged outside. I raced after him into the early morning light.

The scene that greeted us was chaos. A cluster of orcs gathered near the village center, their voices tight with panic. Through gaps in the crowd, I caught glimpses of blood-stained ground and still bodies.

Including Torain.

“What happened?” Osen demanded, his voice cutting through the chatter.

“Felling accident,” one of the less injured orcs gasped out. “We were working on a lodged tree in the eastern woodlot when?—”

But I’d stopped listening, my attention locked on Torain. His skin had gone ashen, breaths coming in ragged gasps. The wound on his side pulsed with each labored heartbeat, dark blood seeping between the fingers of whoever tried to staunch the flow.

He was dying.

Alris pushed through the onlookers, staff raised. “Stand back. I will heal him.”

But as the shaman began his chant, wrongness crawled across my skin. His magic reached for Torain like grasping claws, ready to drain rather than heal. Whether through incompetence or intent, the spell would steal what little life remained in Torain’s body.

I didn’t think. I shoved past Alris to kneel at Torain’s side. Dark magic surged beneath my skin, power I’d sworn never to use again clamoring to be unleashed.

“What are you doing?” Alris snarled. “Get away from him, witch!”

I ignored him, placing my hands on Torain’s chest. The magic roared through me, hungry and wild and mine .

“By flesh and blood, by bone and breath,” I chanted, the old words rising unbidden to my lips. “What was taken, now restore. What was broken, make whole once more.”

Angry red scratches appeared on my skin, mirroring Torain’s smaller cuts. His flesh knit together as mine split apart, blood seeping through my borrowed clothes.

I grit my teeth against the pain as the magic built and deeper gashes opened on my body. “Life for life, pain for pain,” I panted. “Take from me what death would claim.”

Then came the killing blow—the wound in his side. White-hot agony bloomed beneath my ribs as the injury manifested. I wavered, darkness creeping at the edges of my vision.

But there was something else, something lodged deep that needed removing.

I plunged my fingers into my own wound, screaming as my fingers closed around rough bark. It must have impaled him during the accident. With a final wrench, I yanked a thick branch from my flesh.

Torain gasped, his eyes flying open as he dragged in a raspy lungful of air. The ugly wound on his side sealed, leaving behind unblemished skin.

The branch slipped from my fingers. I slumped forward and barely caught myself on trembling hands. Blood—my blood—joined with Torain’s on the ground. Nowhere near the life-threatening amount drained from him, but magic required payment.

My head pounded. Using that much power was like lighting a beacon. The Sisters would have felt it. And if they came looking…

I forced my head up, searching the crowd until I found Osen’s face. His expression was unreadable as he stared at me—at the blood, at the branch, at the demon-fueled magic still crackling around my hands.

I’d worry about the consequences later. Assuming I lived that long.