Page 7 of Bewitching the Orc Chief (Silvermist Mates #1)

CHAPTER SEVEN

OSEN

M ist drifted around our ankles as Miranda and I walked hand-in-hand through the market stalls. Her scent mingled with the morning fog—rosemary and citrus overlaid with something deeper, something that marked her as mine. The claiming bite I’d left on her neck peeked out from beneath her collar, still fresh enough to make my blood heat whenever I caught sight of it.

“You’re staring again,” Miranda said without looking up from the display of locally grown herbs she was examining. A smile played at the corners of her mouth.

“Can’t help it.” I squeezed her hand. “You’re distracting.”

She snorted—that adorable sound that first drew me in at the bar. “Smooth talker.”

The rest of Mist no denying that. But Miranda feared what that meant for Silvermist—and for me.

“Well then, we’ll have to fix that,” I told her without pushing, and brushed a lock of hair from her face. The painful words and admissions would come when she was ready, and no sooner.

I bought her three, watching in amusement as she practically bounced with excitement. Crumbs dusted her chin with the very first bite, and the simple joy on her face made my heart stutter. How quickly this woman had become my sun, my moon, my guiding star.

“Good?”

“Mmm.” She licked honey from her fingers and let off a small groan that shot straight to my cock. “Want to try?”

She held out a piece. The casual intimacy of being hand-fed by my mate sent possessive satisfaction thrumming through me. I bent down and caught it with my lips, letting my tusks graze her fingertips.

“Tease,” she griped, but her scent spiked with arousal.

“Says the witch licking honey from her fingers in public.”

A pretty blush stained her cheeks even as she smirked. “Maybe I just like watching you squirm.”

“Chief Axebreaker.” A familiar gravelly voice interrupted before I could pursue that promising direction. “Didn’t expect to see you slumming with us common folk.”

I turned to find Vanin grinning at us from behind his brewery stall. Despite the early hour, he’d already crossed through two selections scrawled on the chalkboard sign behind him.

Miranda waggled her fingers and extracted herself to browse a nearby candle shop. I watched her go, mesmerized by the sway of her hips in the burgundy dress and black leggings she’d conjured out of thin air that morning. ‘Glamoured’ was the technical term, she’d informed me with a laugh. One snap of her fingers revealed the clothing borrowed in my village, then another to her preferred color and style.

‘Unfair’ I named it, manually tugging and fastening my clothes into place.

“Heard some interesting rumors from up the mountain.” Vanin’s eyes tracked Miranda through the crowd. “I see they weren’t entirely exaggerated.”

A growl built in my chest before I could stop it. Vanin held up his hands, though his grin only widened.

“Easy there, boss. Just saying what everyone’s talking about.” He jerked his chin toward Miranda. “She’s good people. Comes into the bar sometimes, always tips well, doesn’t cause trouble. Unlike some chiefs I could name.”

“That was one time,” I muttered. “And you started it.”

“Details.” Vanin waved dismissively. “Point is, you could do worse than a witch capable of ripping death’s teeth from an orc. Though I hear not everyone shares that sentiment.”

I scrubbed a hand down my face. “Alris and my uncle can rot.”

“That bad?” Vanin winced. “Look, I know we rarely do the whole heart-to-heart thing, but I’ve got your back. You need anything down here, just say the word.”

“Could use that support up in Grimstone,” I said, only half-joking.

“Fuck that.” He barked a laugh. “I left that den of vipers for a reason. But...” He straightened, expression growing serious. “I mean it about the support.”

I nodded, grateful for the offer. The past few days felt like a dream and a nightmare rolled into one. Alris and his followers had made their displeasure known through cold shoulders and turned backs—at least when they thought I wouldn’t notice. Cowards. As if I couldn’t smell their fear-stink whenever Miranda passed.

At least Torain had thrown his support behind us completely. My brother had taken to following Miranda around like an eager pup. If it were anyone else, I might have felt a twinge of jealousy, but I knew my brother’s heart. His devotion stemmed purely from thankfulness.

Even Galan seemed torn, his usual disdain warring with a begrudging appreciation for Miranda’s power. It was almost comical to watch him struggle between condemning her magic in view of his father and swallowing his tongue the moment I rounded a corner.

As if sensing my thoughts, Miranda glanced over her shoulder at me and grinned. She tilted her head slightly, beckoning me forward. I made my excuses to Vanin and wound my way through the crowd toward my mate.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully as I approached, “I’ve been thinking about maybe setting up my own booth here.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

She nodded, words tumbling out faster and faster. “For Brewed Awakening. I could offer some of my remedies and potions. The seasonal allergies here are brutal, but I have this amazing nettle and elderberry tincture that works wonders. And my moisturizing serums practically sell themselves online. Plus, I’ve been experimenting with protection charms disguised as jewelry?—”

Her words cut off as she noticed my deliberately blank expression. “What? You don’t think it’s a good idea?”

“I’m not sure that’s wise, little witch.” I made a show of considering it, even as my heart soared at her wanting to put down roots. “After all, you’ll be too occupied in our bed for the foreseeable future to manage a stall.”

Miranda snort-laughed even as her elbow found my ribs. “Keep it up and I’ll hex you with impotence.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” I nipped at her ear, grinning at her squeak of outrage. “Besides, you’d only be punishing yourself.”

“Cocky orc.” But she melted further into my embrace, and I caught the spike of arousal in her scent.

I captured her lips in a quick kiss, uncaring of the eyes on us. Let them look. Let them see the orc chief had chosen his mate, magic and all. I’d spent my youth dreaming of nothing more complicated than perfecting my brews, but fate had other plans.

And watching Miranda’s eyes dance with mischief as she threatened increasingly creative hexes, I knew I’d choose this—choose her—every second of every day for the rest of my life.

Now I just had to convince the clan of that fact.

“I mean it though.” She sobered slightly. “About the booth. I want to contribute something meaningful. To show your people I’m more than just...” She gestured vaguely. “The witch who seduced their chief.”

“You saved my brother’s life.” I caught her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Anyone who suggests otherwise will answer to me.”

Echoes of the words said during our mating and rephrased a dozen times over in the days since. I’d repeat them until she believed them.

“My fierce protector.” She rose on tiptoes to kiss my jaw. “But I still want my booth.”

“Then you’ll have one.” I threaded our fingers together. “Though perhaps we should focus on one venture at a time. The clan’s woodworking display hasn’t been seen since?—”

“Since your father, I know.” She squeezed my hand as the real reason for our trip to Silvermist barreled down on us. “Ready to make an appearance, Chief Axebreaker?”

I nodded. The Sombra clan was part of the greater Silvermist community. We’d mourned our loss, and now it was time for us to continue living our lives. My father would have wanted that for all of us.

We wound our way through Mist every cheerful recollection blew away like his final breath.

Then to see Torain with his blood spilling from his body?—

“It’s beautiful,” Miranda breathed. Her fingers hovered over the surface, not quite touching. “The detail work is incredible.”

“It’s for the memorial alcove,” Torain explained. His usual mischief faded into something more solemn. “Each chief has one, telling their story through symbols. See here?” He pointed to a particular set of markings. “These represent major decisions and turning points in his life.”

I traced the familiar patterns, remembering each moment they represented. The broken ax to represent his choice to end the blood feud with the Shadow Valley clan. The modernization of our family’s personal brewing techniques. The fateful choice to honor human justice over clan autonomy.

The choice that got him killed.

“Some decisions carry more weight than others,” Torain murmured, running his thumb over our father’s features. “But he was never one to back away from a fight.”

I narrowed my eyes at the implications dangling in the air. No, Father had been the sort to meet any challenge on his feet, with his shoulders thrown back. And of course, it made sense for the father of the murderer to act out his upset against the leader of the clan.

That he spoke frequently with Alris was also to be expected. The shaman offered guidance and wisdom from the gods when he wasn’t pushing for isolation over cooperation.

But to hear the doubt creep into my usually cheerful brother’s voice made my own feel less like grief and more real. More suspicious.

And dangerous.

Torain shook himself and plastered on a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “In any case, you both are here. That’s Henry huffing his way over to complain about an order of handles he claims breaks as soon as he enters the forge. And this is me shamelessly getting the manager. Or chief. Whatever you want to call yourself, brother.”

Miranda stifled a laugh as he grabbed his jacket and darted off, leaving me to take the brunt of the dwarf smith’s ire.

The sun had begun its descent by the time we closed up shop. News of the clan’s return to Mist & Market spread fast, and our regular customers had stopped by throughout the day to pay their respects and inquire about orders. Luna and Stella handed Torain a particularly ribald welcome home card featuring a well-endowed pixie that had the tips of his ears darkening. Even Vanin swung past to sneak Miranda a batch of honey ale.

It was the closest I’d felt to normalcy since Father’s death, and it all came crashing down upon our return to Grimstone.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I led Miranda through the gates. Shadows lingered where none had been before, creeping through the trees like reaching tendrils. The usual evening bustle was absent, replaced by an eerie quiet punctuated by hushed murmurs.

Something was wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong.

We found what seemed like the entire clan gathered outside our sacred cave. Heads turned as we approached, expressions ranging from curiosity to outright hostility. Whispers swelled—my name, Miranda’s name, ugly things I pretended not to hear.

“What’s going on?” Miranda whispered, her grip on my hand tightening.

I shook my head, equally confused. “I don’t?—”

A gray blur shot between our legs, fur standing on end. Gus planted himself in front of Miranda, tail lashing as he growled at the crowd. The sound shouldn’t have been threatening coming from such a small creature, but there was something distinctly unnatural about the way it reverberated through the air.

Miranda’s breath caught, her grip on my hand turning painful.

“I need to go,” she whispered urgently. “Now.”

“What’s wrong?” I caught her arm as she tried to pull away. The fear in her scent confused me—this was more than simple unease at facing a hostile crowd. “Miranda?”

“Please,” she whispered. “Just let me?—”

The crowd parted, revealing Alris in his ceremonial robes. Talismans clinked as he strode forward, staff thumping against the ground with each step. But it wasn’t his appearance that made my blood run cold.

It was the group of women following in his wake.

They moved with an eerie synchronicity and grace. Fitting, considering the serpentine symbols adorning their clothing and jewelry. Power radiated from them—dark and ancient and hungry.

Miranda went utterly still beside me, her face draining of all color. Gus’s growl deepened, the sound vibrating through the very ground beneath our feet.

Alris’s lips curled into a triumphant sneer as he raised a hand, silencing the murmurs of the crowd. “Sisters,” he intoned, his voice carrying across the clearing. “I believe I’ve found the traitor you seek.”