Page 8 of Bewitching the Orc Chief (Silvermist Mates #1)

CHAPTER EIGHT

MIRANDA

M y blood turned to ice as I stared at the faces of my former sisters. Maura clasped her blackened fingertips at her waist, a cruel smile twisting her lips. Beside her, Lisabet’s silver-ringed eyes fixed on me with predatory focus. My old mentor’s lips curved into a knowing smile that promised retribution for my betrayal. Sylas toyed with the pouch at her waist—a pouch I knew contained all manner of tricks to immobilize the enforcer’s prey.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck .

I wanted to run. To disappear into the shadows and never look back. I should have left as soon as I healed Torain, but I’d been too stupid, too caught up in hope and Osen, that I’d ignored the danger always nipping at my heels.

Magic that powerful left traces, echoes that those who knew what to look for could track. And who knew my magical signature better than the women who’d guided me through my dark baptism?

My feet remained rooted to the spot, terror holding me in place as effectively as any binding spell.

Gus pressed hard against my leg, fur standing on end. His growl vibrated through my bones, a warning that made several orcs step back. Smart of them. My familiar might look like a house cat, but he was far more dangerous than his size suggested.

“Shaman Alris speaks true.” Maura’s voice carried across the crowd. She dismissed Gus with a patronizing look and stepped forward. “We’ve tracked the stench of dark magic across many miles. A trail of corruption led us here.”

My hands curled into fists. Of course, she’d play into their fears. The Sisters excelled at twisting truth into weapons.

“Indeed.” Alris gripped his staff tighter, knuckles white. “This… woman threatens everything we hold sacred.”

“The clan must be protected,” Lisabet added, her silver eyes never leaving mine. “We can help cleanse her. Save her from what she’s become.”

Cleanse. The word sent shivers down my spine. I knew exactly what that entailed—ripping the demon’s mark from my body. Only it was part of me now, had been since the ritual. Taking it now would strip all the knowledge I’d gained. All the memories. Everything that made me me ? Gone, leaving behind an empty husk.

“You will do no such thing.” Osen’s voice rang with authority—the chief’s voice, meant to be obeyed. He moved in front of me, shoulders squared and chin lifted in challenge.

The clan went still. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

I should have felt relief at his defense. Instead, dread pooled in my gut. This was exactly what I’d feared—Osen putting himself in danger for my sake. I couldn’t bear the thought of him suffering because of me.

Alris’s lip curled in a sneer. “And here we see the weakness of Torgan’s line laid bare. Your father at least had the sense to know we cannot suffer a witch to live in Grimstone.”

“Mind your tongue, shaman,” Osen growled.

“A father who would be ashamed to see his son so easily bewitched.” Alris’s gaze swept over the gathered clan. “Look at how she’s clouded his mind! How she endangers us all with her foul magic!”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. I caught flashes of fear, anger, and—worse—agreement in the eyes around us. This was a powder keg ready to explode, and Alris was holding the match.

“Enough!” A new voice rang out, and my heart sank as Coth pushed his way to the front. “It’s clear Osen is unfit to lead. The clan needs a chief who will put our safety first.”

The stomach dropped as the pieces clicked into place. This wasn’t just about me. This was a coup, carefully orchestrated to remove Osen from power. And I was the perfect excuse.

My eyes darted to Galan, expecting to see triumph. Instead, I caught a flicker of doubt cross his face. He looked between his father and Osen, brow furrowed in confusion.

“I, Coth Rockflaw, challenge Osen Axebreaker for leadership of the Sombra clan!” Coth’s voice boomed across the clearing. “Let the gods decide who is worthy to lead us!”

Time seemed to slow as I weighed my options. I could surrender, try to spare Osen and his people from the Sisters’ wrath. But I knew my former coven—they wouldn’t stop with just me. They’d drain every gift, every talent from the clan until nothing remained but shells.

I could run, using my magic to clear a path. But that would leave Osen to face both Coth’s challenge and whatever scheme Alris had planned.

The Sisters began to move, spreading out in a loose circle. I tracked their movements, my focus torn between their every twitch and the disaster unfolding between Osen and Coth.

“I accept your challenge.”

Osen’s voice cut through my rising panic. His eyes never left Coth as he shrugged out of his shirt, and I knew with sudden clarity there were no options. Not really. My path had made room for another at my side, and we would see it to whatever end it led us.

Osen squared his shoulders, jaw clenched. “Don’t expect me to go easy just because we’re kin.”

“Neither will I, boy.” Coth’s grin was feral as he drew his ax.

He lunged without warning, ax whistling through the air where Osen’s head had been a heartbeat before. My mate rolled smoothly to his feet, hands empty.

Something was wrong. Murmurs of ‘honor’ and ‘cheating’ ran through the crowd. Coth barked a humorless laugh, shifting his stance to compensate for his opponent’s disadvantage.

“Ax!” Osen called out, dodging another vicious swing. “Give me an ax!”

No one moved. My eyes darted frantically around the gathered clan members.

Osen dodged another brutal swing, but he couldn’t keep this up forever. Already sweat glistened on his bare torso as he continued to evade rather than engage. And still the other orcs made no move to offer assistance.

Rage boiled within me as I watched the scene unfold. They were his people. His friends. Relatives. How could they stand by and do nothing as Coth sought to kill the man they claimed to respect?

Blood sprayed as Coth’s blade found its mark, opening a deep gash across Osen’s shoulder. A pained grunt escaped my mate’s lips, but he remained upright. Jeers sounded from somewhere in the crowd.

The rage became a roaring fire in my veins. I focused it into a burning ball of energy, letting the magic build between my palms.

Metal scraped against leather, drawing my attention to Galan. He pulled his weapon free and hesitated for just a moment before hurling it at Osen’s feet. My mate wasted no time snatching it up and bracing himself for the next blow.

Coth charged with a roar, weapon swinging and hacking with no grace or precision. For the first time, Osen met his assault—metal sang against metal, sparks flying as blade clashed with blade.

My mate shoved Coth back, aiming a blow at his throat. The older orc danced out of the way, then brought his weapon down in a hammer-strike aimed at Osen’s skull. My mate blocked at the last second, driving Coth’s ax into the ground.

I fought to keep my breath steady as a ripple of wrongness brushed against my senses. Glancing around, I spotted my former mentor moving slowly in my direction, fingers flexing as if readying to cast. And there—Alris drumming his fingers on his staff, eyes latched on the orcs fighting for control of the clan.

That cheating bastard!

Osen stumbled, ax slipping in his grip. I reached for my power without thought, magic humming in my veins as I prepared to counteract. “Rend asunder, br?—”

Pain shot through my arm as Maura’s fingers clamped around my wrist like a vise. Her touch sent needles of ice through my veins, a reminder of the power she wielded.

“Still so predictable.” Her breath ghosted across my ear. “Always ready to sabotage your betters.”

“Let. Go.” Each word dripped venom as I tried to wrench free.

“Look!” Maura’s voice carried across the crowd. “See how she attempts to corrupt your sacred duel!”

“No, I—” The words died in my throat as silver tendrils of power wrapped around my arms and chest.

“Poor little Miranda.” Lisabet materialized on my other side, her silver eyes gleaming with false concern. “So lost, so corrupted. Let us help her before she brings further ruin.”

Then pain exploded through my chest. They were trying to rip out my demon mark—and with it, every scrap of knowledge and power I possessed. My knees buckled as the sisters began their feast, drinking in my power like fine wine.

I tried to focus on Osen through the haze of pain. He’d lost his weapon, his ax lying broken nearby. Now he and Coth traded brutal punches, neither willing to yield.

Blood ran down Osen’s chest from the earlier wound. His attention kept darting to me, leaving openings in his defense. Coth’s meaty fist connected with his jaw. My mate staggered but stayed upright.

Mine. They were hurting what was mine.

I tried to scream, but it came out as little more than a whimper.

More silver cords wrapped around me, drawing out essence and memory alike. The day I perfected my first protection charm. Gone. The satisfaction of brewing my first successful healing potion. Stripped away. The warmth of Osen’s arms. The taste of his kiss. They couldn’t take that, could they?

A battle cry split the air. Torain burst from the crowd, face twisted in fury. He barreled into Maura and sent her sprawling. Galan followed a heartbeat later, blade flashing as he swung for Sylas.

More orcs joined the fray, apparently deciding the witches were a bigger threat than clan politics. Smart of them. The Sisters might be powerful, but they’d never faced the raw strength and determination of angry orcs.

“Traitors!” Alris’s voice cracked with rage. “See how deeply her corruption runs!”

Lisabet’s chanting grew stronger, drawing more of my essence away. I fought to stay conscious as memories slipped through my fingers like water. But something else slipped through the cracks in the circle—something ancient and hungry that lived in the spaces between worlds.

Gus launched himself at Lisabet’s face and knocked her back. His mouth opened impossibly wide, revealing row upon row of needle-sharp teeth. The witch screamed as he landed on her chest, but the sound cut off as he fed on her soul.

That’s my boy.

The silver cords binding me dissolved. I stumbled but caught myself, power flooding back into my body. My hands shot up, magic crackling between my fingers as I sought the source of… everything. The whole damn flood of misery needed to be staunched like a wound.

I dug my fingers into the dirt and twisted . Roots sprang to life and burrowed through the earth with my muttered orders. They shot up around Alris, wrapping around his wrists and ankles and dragging him to his knees. The shaman fought to regain control, but the roots only tightened their hold, sinking into his flesh with eager ferocity.

Osen’s movements snapped back to their natural speed and grace. His fist drove into Coth’s stomach, doubling his uncle over. A knee to the face sent him reeling backward. Blood sprayed from Coth’s broken nose as he toppled.

“Yield,” Osen commanded, standing over his fallen challenger.

Coth spat blood and tried to rise. Osen’s boot pressed against his throat.

“I said yield.”

“I... yield.” Coth choked out, tapping the ground in surrender.

The words had barely left his mouth when Alris screamed in rage. Dark power gathered around his staff as he aimed it at Osen’s unprotected back. “You will not ruin everything I’ve built!”

“No!” The cry tore from my throat as I reached for my magic.

But the blast never came. Galan’s blade took Alris in the side, driving deep between his ribs. The shaman’s eyes went wide with shock, blood already staining his ceremonial robes.

Osen was there in an instant, pinning the dying man with one massive hand. “Why?” he demanded. “Why betray us like this?”

“You...” he wheezed, gaze locked on Osen. “You are... just like him. Too weak to... to do what must be done.”

Osen reeled back, horror dawning on his face. “It was you,” he snarled. “You arranged the challenge that killed my father.”

“Someone had to…” Alris coughed wetly, “when he refused to see... the old ways were best.”

The shaman’s eyes rolled back, and his body went slack. Just like that, he was gone—taking his schemes and secrets to whatever dark afterlife awaited him.

Silence fell over the clearing. I looked around, taking stock of the aftermath. The Sisters were subdued by a mess of angry orcs or fled into the gathering darkness. Coth lay unconscious, Galan hovering nearby with an unreadable expression. And Osen...

I pressed closer to Osen, feeling the tremors running through his massive frame. Rage and grief warred in the disgusted glare he directed at Alris’s body. His arms tightened around me almost painfully, but I didn’t complain. He needed this—needed something solid to hold on to as his world tilted on its axis.

Osen’s embrace loosened enough to let him cup my cheek, turning my face up to his. His thumb brushed over my lower lip. “You saved an Axebreaker. Again.”

“We saved each other.” I swayed on my feet. Goddess, I was tired. Using that much magic always left me drained, but combined with the attempted draining... “Though I think your cousin deserves some credit, too.”

Galan shifted uncomfortably as heads turned his way. “I just... Father was wrong. About a lot of things.” His gaze dropped to Alris’s body. “We all were.”

Osen nodded, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “We have much to discuss. All of us.” His voice carried the weight of command again. “But first, my mate needs rest.”

The word ‘mate’ sent a ripple through the crowd. I felt their stares like physical touches—some hostile, some curious, some accepting. It would take time for them to fully accept a witch in their midst. But Osen’s grip never wavered, and Torain stepped closer in silent support.

Gus trotted over, looking entirely too pleased with himself. His fur was perfectly groomed despite the chaos, not a whisker out of place. He bumped his head against my leg before settling at our feet.

“Your cat,” Osen murmured against my hair, “is terrifying.”

A weak laugh escaped me. “You have no idea.”

I let myself melt into my mate’s embrace. Let the last rays of sunlight wash over us. Let me believe in second chances and happy endings.

Even for a reformed dark witch who’d found her home among orcs.