Page 1 of Vexing the Grumpy Orc (Silvermist Mates #3)

CHAPTER ONE

GALAN

T he migraine pulsed behind my left eye as Miranda measured out a pale green liquid into a vial. Her steady hands moved with practiced care, but the slight curl of her lips said she enjoyed my discomfort far too much.

“Almost done.” The witch’s smug superiority crawled under my skin. “Unless you’d prefer to keep glaring holes in my back?”

I shifted my weight, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response. The kitchen walls pressed in close, heavy with the scent of herbs and whatever magic she’d worked into them. My cousin might have welcomed this witch into our village, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.

But my only other choice was pain that left me bedridden for days. Shaman Durzum turned me away each month, telling me the witch’s potion would do the trick better than any he could brew.

It felt suspiciously like a setup, and I hated being shoved around for another’s whim.

“There.” She stoppered the vial and slid it across the counter. “Three drops in water, same as always.”

I snatched up the vial, ignoring how the glass warmed at my touch. Magic. Her magic, seeping into everything it touched. Just like she’d seeped into our clan, our traditions, our?—

Osen’s watchful gaze from across his kitchen kept my tongue in check.

“Thank you for your... assistance.” I managed not to spit the last word. Barely.

“Always a pleasure, Galan.” Her tone dripped honey-sweet venom. “Such stimulating conversation.”

I gave her the barest nod required by clan courtesy. Any less, and Osen would tear it from my hide. The chief might be my cousin, but his mate was still his mate with all the possessive, protective bullshit that went with the bite.

The door didn’t quite slam behind me. The sound of their low voices followed me out—probably discussing my ‘attitude problem’ again.

The autumn wind bit through my clothes as I stalked through the village. My head throbbed in time with each step. The pain felt righteous somehow, matching the fury that burned in my chest.

Grimstone had changed in the year since Miranda’s arrival. Small things. Subtle things. The way the night watch carried healing potions alongside their weapons. The strange herbs drying in kitchen windows. How quickly they’d forgotten my father’s exile while embracing an outsider.

A year since Alris died after getting in bed with dark magic and rotten covens. A year of watching my cousin moon over the witch who’d turned our world inside out. A full fucking year of my father’s empty seat at clan gatherings while Miranda sat in a place of honor.

At least Torain had the decency to keep his human mate in Silvermist Falls. Though watching him abandon his duties to play shopkeeper wasn’t much better. The clan’s master carver, reduced to dusting shelves and hosting reading circles. Our ancestors must be howling.

I left the village proper behind, following the steep path that wound toward my territory. My cabin perched on the edge of clan lands, where the mountain met the sky. Close enough to fulfill my duties as border guard, far enough to escape the stench of change that clung to Grimstone’s streets. The isolation suited me. Let them have their progress. I’d keep to the old ways, guard the boundaries that mattered.

The vial burned in my pocket. A reminder that some lines had already been crossed.

Shadows stretched long across the mountainside as the sun dipped behind jagged peaks. The wind shifted, whispering promises of the first snow. Good. The cold kept visitors away and left me to my solitude.

I rolled my shoulders, working out the familiar tension. My head still throbbed, each beat a reminder of the unopened vial in my pocket. I needed to get back to my cabin, take the damn potion. Just enough time for it to work its magic before the steep climb to my father’s door. Just enough to make the visit bearable.

I froze. Something crisp cut through the mountain air. Mint. Then something darker. Richer. Like honey dripping down my spine. It curled through my senses, making my mouth water and tusks ache.

The sound of branches snapping echoed from the clearing ahead. Trespasser. In my territory? Near our sacred grounds?

I moved silently through the trees, following that maddening scent. A woman crouched just beyond the border stones, her hands busy with… were those shadow caps? The mushrooms were rare, growing only under the right conditions.

And used in the clan’s most sacred rites.

The thief muttered to herself as she arranged the caps in a precise circle. Around a stone... badger? The absurdity of it barely registered past the fury building in my chest. Magic crackled in the air, raising the hair on my arms.

Another fucking witch.

“This is clan territory.” I kept my voice level despite the way my blood hummed. “Leave. Now. ”

She didn’t even look up. “Busy at the moment. Come back later.”

The casual dismissal hit like a slap. “Those mushrooms are sacred to my people. You’re trespassing.”

“Sacred, yes. Yours? Debatable.” She carefully placed another cap, then traced some symbol into the dirt. “The land doesn’t recognize property lines.”

“The clan’s claim goes back generations.”

“Fascinating.” Her tone suggested it was anything but. “Did the mountains sign off on that arrangement?”

I advanced, using my height to loom over her. Most humans had the sense to back down when faced with an angry orc. She just tilted her head, finally meeting my gaze with sharp green eyes as vibrant as any venomous snake.

The impact knocked the breath from my lungs. Her scent crashed over me—the bite of winter frost and mint, the richness of freshly turned earth, and beneath it all, the thick honey sweetness that made me want to bury my face in her neck and breathe until I drowned in it.

No. Absolutely fucking not.

“Get. Out.” I growled past the sudden desert in my throat.

She rose slowly, brushing dirt from her knees. Red-gold hair caught the fading light like sun fighting through mountain mist, making my fingers twitch with an urge I immediately wanted to cut off at the root. Even standing, she barely reached my chest. But the way she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin spoke of steel beneath her hourglass proportions.

“Make me.” The words came soft and deadly serious. “I have work to do here. Important work. So, stay out of my way.”

“You dare?—”

“I dare quite a lot, actually.” Her smile held no warmth. “Now, are we done with the territorial pissing match? Because these mushrooms need to be placed before moonrise, and your brooding is blocking my light.”

The headache exploded behind my eyes. Of all the nights for this—when I still had to make the weekly trek to visit my exiled father. When relying on another witch for relief still rankled. When everything in me screamed to either strangle this infuriating woman or slam her against the nearest tree and devour that poison-laced tongue.

“The mushrooms stay.” I stepped closer, satisfied when she had to crane her neck to maintain eye contact. “You leave. Final warning.”

“Or what?” She didn’t retreat an inch. “You’ll throw me over your shoulder? Drag me away? Because I have to warn you—” Her hand shot out, faster than I could track. Something cold pressed against my side. “I don’t play damsel very well.”

I glanced down. The metallic glint of a blade kissed my ribs through my shirt. Not steel—silver. The witch came prepared for monsters .

“Last I checked, silver doesn’t affect orcs.” But I kept very still, recognizing the expertise in her grip. This was no amateur playing with daddy’s hunting knife.

“True.” That dangerous smile again. She pressed the blade harder, just shy of breaking the skin. “But I infused this one myself. Care to test what else it might do?”

Fucking witches. Always with their clever tricks and sharp tongues and the way they turned your world upside down without even trying. The way this one’s pulse jumped in her throat when I growled. The way her scent deepened with something that wasn’t entirely fear.

But she was right. One overzealous orc led to a dead human hiker, and the consequences snowballed into a shaman and my father plotting a losing coup. The clan had suffered enough, and Osen—with his witch mate and human sympathies—would never stand with his kind against one of theirs.

My hands clenched at my sides. Unless I wanted blood on them, there was nothing I could do to force her off the land. The realization tasted like ash.

“Be gone when I return.” The words scraped past my teeth. “Then we’ll see if you’re as good with that knife as you think you are.”

I stepped back. Turned away. Ignored every instinct screaming to stay. To act.

To prove I was the monster she clearly expected .

Her soft laugh followed me into the trees. “Looking forward to it.”

I lengthened my stride, trying to outrun her scent, the lingering tingle of her magic, the memory of those fierce eyes dismissing me like I was nothing.

The sun had fully dropped behind the peaks by the time I reached my father’s cave. Sweat cooled on my skin despite the autumn chill. The climb should have settled my temper to a familiar simmer, but it hadn’t. If anything, I felt worse. Brittle. Edgy.

And I knew why. That witch’s frosty scent clung to my clothes, making it hard to focus.

“You’re late.” My father’s accusation carried from the shadows of the cave. “I expected you an hour ago.”

No greeting. No warmth. Just disappointment wrapped in judgment. Even exiled, he kept score of every perceived slight.

I ducked through the entrance, squinting as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. The cave smelled of wood smoke and something less pleasant. Probably whatever he’d attempted to cook for himself.

“Got held up.” I set down the supply pack, deliberately not mentioning what—or who—delayed me. The last thing I needed was Coth ranting about witches corrupting sacred ground. “Brought extra firewood. Winter’s coming early this year.”

“The Blackrock clan wouldn’t make me huddle in a cave like a common beast.” He prodded the meager flames. “Their council chamber overlooks the entire Snake River valley. Glass windows from floor to ceiling.”

Here we go. I settled onto a worn cushion and braced for tonight’s fantasy.

“Their chief reached out personally.” Coth tended the fire, eyes bright with familiar fever. “Their council wants my guidance on some territorial disputes. Seems my reputation for wisdom carries weight, even out in Idaho.”

I nodded, letting the words wash over me. Last week it had been a clan in Oregon. Before that, Washington. The names changed, but the story stayed the same—some distant group that recognized his wisdom, valued his experience, would welcome him with open arms if only he chose to leave.

If only he wasn’t honor-bound to stay near his son.

The unspoken accusation hung between us like smoke. My fault he stayed. My responsibility to make it right. To speak for him, champion his return, convince Osen that the past was past.

But I’d seen the hatred in his eyes when Miranda healed Torain from certain death. Watched him dishonor himself by attacking my unarmed cousin. The truth was, no clan would touch a disgraced elder who plotted against his own chief. But pointing that out would only feed the bitterness that ate at him like rot.

“The supplies should last two weeks.” My head throbbed, the migraine returning with a vengeance. I stood, unable to take another minute of this. “I’ll bring more before the first snow.”

We both knew he’d be here.

His grunt of acknowledgment followed me into the cool evening air. I dragged in lungfuls of crisp, clean oxygen, waiting for the agitation to bleed away. The visits always left me drained and hollowed out. Like I’d given pieces of myself away and gotten nothing in return.

The trek down was harder in the dark, but I knew these paths by heart. Every tree root, every loose stone, every hidden hollow. I’d learned them young, mapping escape routes for when my father’s temper burned too hot, or his disappointment cut too deep. Now the trees watched as I fled his home in exile like I was still that child.

A flicker of purple light through the trunks snapped me back to attention. The witch. She was still here. Still defiling sacred ground.

I veered off the path, following that unnatural glow. Maybe it was the lingering tension from Coth’s fantasies. Maybe it was the buildup of a truly shitty day. But suddenly, confronting one mouthy human seemed a hell of a lot more appealing than brooding alone in my cabin.

The clearing glowed with unholy light. Mushrooms formed a perfect circle around that stone badger. A larger circle of branches and glittering stones ringed the mushrooms. Tendrils of purple energy danced through the air, weaving patterns I couldn’t begin to understand.

And at the center of it all knelt the witch.

Her eyes were closed, hands moving in intricate gestures. Whatever she was doing, it radiated power. The hair on my arms stood on end as magic crackled through the air.

I should leave. I knew that. Nothing good ever came from messing with witches and their rituals.

But this was my land. My responsibility. And I was sick of being pushed around by arrogant humans who thought they could waltz in and do whatever they pleased.

I stepped closer to the edge of the glowing circle. “I thought I told you to be gone.”

Her eyes snapped open. For a moment, they blazed with otherworldly light. Then awareness returned, along with that infuriating smirk.

“And I ignored you.” Her fingers never stopped moving. “Funny how that keeps happening.”

I gestured at the pulsing mushrooms, the swirling energy. “You’re working magic on clan lands. Sacred lands.”

“So you mentioned.” Her fingers sketched symbols that hurt my eyes. “Several times, in fact. Your conversational range seems rather limited.”

The dismissal in her tone—like I was some ignorant child who couldn’t grasp basic concepts—snapped the last thread of my patience. No one spoke to me that way. Not here. Not in my territory.

I stepped toward the circle.

“Stop!” Her voice sharpened with genuine warning. “The ritual circle is active. Cross it now, and the consequences?—”

“What were your words?” I took another deliberate step. “Make me?”

“This isn’t about territory.” Those green eyes blazed with power and frustration. “This is about not being an idiot who disrupts dangerous magic because his ego got bruised.”

“No one tells me what to do here.”

“Apparently they should.” Her lips curved in a sharp smile. “Since you seem determined to prove yourself a fool.”

The last word hung between us. Magic thickened the air, making it hard to breathe. Hard to think past the need to show this witch exactly who she was dealing with.

I lifted my foot.

“Don’t—”

The circle flared as I stepped across the line. Power surged around us both, and the world exploded into purple light.