Page 4 of Vexing the Grumpy Orc (Silvermist Mates #3)

CHAPTER FOUR

GALAN

C old mountain water swirled around my boots, but it did nothing to cool the restless heat under my skin. My gaze drifted to the purple mushrooms dotting the bank, their caps glowing faintly in the afternoon shadows. The same shade as the ones she’d arranged in that ritual circle. The ones that had pulsed with power when?—

My fingers tightened on the fishing rod, knuckles whitening as if I could strangle the memory away. Fuck. Even fungus reminded me of her now. Of smooth skin under my hands. The way she’d arched against me, demanding more. Her nails raking down my back as I?—

No. I cast the line harder than necessary, sending the hook sailing past the deeper pools where trout usually lurked. Focus on catching dinner for Father. Not on witches who smelled like winter air and defiance. Not on how she’d felt wrapped around me, so tight and hot and?—

Gods damn it.

Shame coursed through me. Witch magic. That was the only explanation, despite her claims of channeling ‘truth’. Filthy, corrupting—and I’d let her seduce me with her spells. Let her take what should have been saved for a proper orc mate.

Father would explode if he knew. Bad enough I’d failed to drive her off clan lands. But to rut with her like some mindless beast...

Twigs snapped behind me. I tensed, already reaching for the knife at my belt before recognizing the familiar heavy tread. Osen emerged from the brush, his expression grim.

I turned my back on my chief and cousin, focusing on the fishing line cutting through dark water. “What did he do this time?”

A weary sigh answered me. We both knew there was only one reason the clan chief would track me down personally. One stubborn, delusional reason living in a cave and spinning tales of nonexistent allies.

“Your father chased off another park ranger.” Osen came to a stop on the bank, arms crossed. “He was caught destroying their equipment, and accused them of spying.”

Fucking hell. Fury flashed through me. Again? This made the fifth official complaint from humans, and the third time he’d gotten destructive. As much as I understood his frustration—humans did love poking their noses into private clan business—the rangers kept random hikers from straying too close to our borders.

The clan did not need another dead human on its hands.

“He’s getting worse.” My knuckles whitened on the pole. “The isolation?—”

“Is his own doing.” Osen’s voice cut through my excuses. “He chose exile over accepting my leadership.”

He was right, damn him. But it didn’t make the truth sit any easier.

The hook snagged on a submerged branch. I yanked it free with more force than necessary. “And what do you want me to do? He barely tolerates my visits as it is.”

“Talk some sense into him.” Osen kicked a pebble into the water. “Make him understand?—”

“That his exile was justified?” I whipped around with a snarl. “That his own son betrayed him for a chief who lets witches into our territory? You’re his chief?—”

“I’m not. He made that clear when he tried to drive an ax through my skull and murder my mate.” My cousin’s voice turned frigid. “The Silvermist mayor is threatening the clan’s access to the lower trails. Miranda’s already working overtime setting wards against some unknown magic she sensed near our borders, and I don’t have the patience to deal with your father’s paranoid rages on top of everything else. Just make sure he stays in his damn cave until we sort this out. ”

My grip tightened on the rod. Hannah. Her ritual. The shadow caps dotting the bank suddenly felt like accusatory eyes.

“The wards won’t be lethal,” Osen continued, “but we don’t need him stumbling into them and starting another incident. Handle it.”

“Don’t.” The word tumbled out before I could stop it.

Osen’s reflection went still. “Don’t what?”

Fuck.

“Don’t set any wards.” I reeled in slowly, buying time to choose the words I forced past gritted teeth. “There’s a witch. She needs the shadow caps. For some ritual.”

Osen dragged a hand down his face. “You know this how?”

Because I caught her trespassing. Because something drove us together in ways I still couldn’t explain. Because I fucked her in the dirt while filthy magic surged around us, and woke up every day since with the feel of her still on my cock.

I shrugged. “Caught her gathering them.”

“And you let her go?” Disbelief colored his voice.

“What was I supposed to do? Kill her?” The mere thought turned my stomach. “She’s not dangerous, just desperate to save her familiar. A gorgon turned it to stone.”

Osen studied me with uncomfortable intensity. “You care what happens to this witch. ”

“I care about not starting a war with Silvermist over a handful of mushrooms.” I snorted, but it didn’t cover the bitterness of the lie. “She works at their hospital now.”

Or she had, before I’d apparently fucked that too. Her furious words echoed in my head: Stop ruining my life . First her ritual, then dinner with that prick doctor. I shoved down the unwelcome sourness that tried to crawl up my throat.

Not my problem. None of it was my problem. She was just another witch bringing chaos to clan lands.

“Then we compromise.” Osen rose, brushing dirt from his pants. “She can perform her ritual, but only under supervision. Your supervision.”

“No.” The word exploded from my chest. “Find someone else.”

“You already know her. You know the situation.” His tone brooked no argument. “This way, she gets her ritual. We maintain control of our borders. Everyone wins. Unless there’s some reason you can’t handle this duty?”

Images flashed through my mind. Pale skin in moonlight. The arch of her spine. Her lips forming my name.

“Fine.” I yanked my line from the water. “But I’m not responsible for whatever trouble she causes.”

“Just keep her from causing any.” Osen’s satisfied nod only irritated me more. He turned to leave, then paused. “And make sure your father understands his place. The clan’s had enough of his madness.”

My fingers tightened on the empty fishing basket until the wood creaked. He wasn’t wrong—I’d watched my father spiral further and further into delusions and face-saving tales of nonexistent allies. And after he’d swung that ax at Osen... But hearing my cousin dismiss him so coldly, like some rabid beast that needed putting down, made my blood boil even as shame twisted in my gut.

Talk sense into him. Make him understand. As if I hadn’t spent months trying.

I left without a single damn fish. The empty basket mocked me as I packed up my gear and shouldered the other supplies. I’d wasted too much time arguing with Osen. Father would be in one of his moods by the time I arrived—hungry and suspicious and full of questions I couldn’t answer without setting him off.

Something gray darted between the trees ahead, too deliberate to be a squirrel. I dropped the basket, hand flying to my knife.

Yellow eyes gleamed from behind a fallen log. The cat—Miranda’s familiar—stared with unsettling intelligence. My hand stayed on my knife, remembering how that same innocent-looking creature had torn a dark witch’s soul from her body. Just because this magic wore a friendly face didn’t make it less dangerous.

But it had also saved Torain’s life. Saved the clan. The contradiction made my head ache worse than any migraine.

I tried stepping around him. The cat simply jumped on a boulder, tail twitching. When I moved again, he repeated the maneuver.

“Fuck off, cat.” My voice carried more confidence than I felt. “I’m not in the mood for witch games.”

Those yellow eyes continued to stare at me. The familiar’s fluffy tail twitched once, twice, before it turned and trotted further up the path.

Curiosity won over caution. I followed, knife still drawn.

Around the path’s bend, perched on a flat rock, sat a woven basket. The smell hit me before I even nudged up the lid. Fresh fish. Six of them, cleaned and ready to cook.

The familiar sat beside it, tail curled neatly around his paws.

“I don’t need handouts from your witch.”

The cat’s stare felt judgmental. Like he knew exactly what choice I faced—show up empty-handed and watch Father spiral further into his delusions, or swallow my pride and accept help from the very people who’d caused this mess.

“Fine.” I sheathed my knife and grabbed the basket. “But this changes nothing.”

The familiar yawned, showing off too many of those sharp teeth. I didn’t flinch—did not flinch—but the beast was gone between one blink and the next .

Leaving the basket.

I stood there too long, jaw clenched, before snatching it up and stepping into the gathering dusk. Time to lie to the man who taught me honor while plotting against his own clan. Who preached tradition while trying to murder his chief.

Who would disown me in a heartbeat if he knew what I’d done with a witch in the woods.

The cave mouth gaped ahead, dark against the mountainside. No smoke rose from the entrance. He’d been letting the fire die again, choosing to huddle in darkness rather than venture out for wood.

“About time.” His voice rasped from the shadows. “What news from the village?”

I set both baskets down and crouched to rebuild the fire. “Same as always.”

“Lies.” Something shifted in the darkness. “The clan doesn’t operate in a vacuum. That witch-loving cousin of yours must be planning something. Why else keep me trapped out here?”

The kindling caught. Firelight threw his gaunt features into sharp relief—deeper shadows under his eyes, more gray in his beard. He smelled strongly of alcohol. I frowned. Nice of Osen to warn about that bit of thievery.

Or maybe the full extent of destruction had yet to be uncovered.

“You’re not trapped.” I kept my voice neutral. “But the rangers filed another complaint. You destroyed their equipment.”

“Spies.” He snatched a fish from the basket, examining it with narrowed eyes. “Crawling all over our mountains, marking trails for the humans to invade. I did the clan a service.”

“You threatened our access to the lower trails.” I shoved the other supplies into their usual places with more force than necessary. “Osen says you need to stay in the cave until things cool down.”

The fish hit the cave wall with a wet slap. “Osen says? Osen says?” Father’s voice rose to a roar. “I was guarding these mountains while he was still suckling at his mother’s teat! He doesn’t command me!”

“He’s the chief.” I picked up the fallen fish, brushing off dirt. “And the rangers aren’t spies. They’re just doing their jobs.”

“Let them try.” He grabbed a knife, gesturing wildly. “We’ll gut them like these fish. Remind them why their ancestors feared the dark.”

Yes, and then the dryads would be gathering at the borders because a human mate was among the terrified to death. Then the shifters would enter the fray, because why the fuck not? Let’s wait till midnight and invite the bloodsuckers into our homes, too.

Any threat to one portion of Silvermist would bring out the whole fucking town with their pitchforks and torches.

“They’ll stay on their side of the wards,” I said through clenched teeth. I speared one of the fish and positioned it over the flames. “And we’ll stay on ours.”

“Wards? What wards?” He lurched forward, grabbing my wrist. His fingers dug in hard enough to bruise. “What else has Osen’s witch done? What aren’t you telling me?”

I jerked free. “Border wards. Osen mentioned some foreign magic. Probably nothing.”

“Foreign magic.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “More witches? In our territory?”

I stared into the fire, watching flames lick at scales. Debated how much to reveal. How much I could hide. “Just one. Some witch gathering mushrooms for a ritual. Osen assigned me to supervise her ritual.”

“Supervise?” Father threw back his head and laughed, a harsh sound that echoed off stone walls. “Is that what they call it now? First my so-called chief lets one witch spread her legs and poison his mind, now he’s whoring you out to another?”

My fingers tightened around the cooking stick. “It’s not like that. She just wants to save her familiar.”

“Familiar?” His eyes narrowed. “You’ve spoken to this witch? Let her spin her tales?”

Spoken. Fucked. Watched her rage against that doctor who’d insulted our clan. I shoved the thoughts away. “I caught her trespassing. Warned her off.”

“Yet she’s still coming back.” He leaned in, breath sour with alcohol. “Tell me you’re finally taking proper action against these vermin. A witch trespassing on clan land deserves only one fate—walked to the nearest cliff and pushed over the edge. Then piss on whatever’s left splattered below.”

The same thought had crossed my mind that night. Before she’d looked up at me with those fierce green eyes. Before I’d felt her body yield to mine, hot and tight and perfect.

Before I’d lost control in ways that still haunted my dreams.

“It’s just mushrooms.” I turned the fish, watching skin crisp. “And she’ll be supervised.”

“By you.” He grabbed a jar of dried herbs from the supplies, squinting at the label. “My son, a Rockflaw warrior, reduced to witch-minding. I didn’t raise you to waste yourself on human trash.”

The irony burned worse than the flames. Decades of lectures about tradition. And all those lessons about honor. All those words on respect. He didn’t believe a damn word of it. Not even when his own blood stood between him and his desires. For power. For dead humans.

The jar turned in his hands, revealing the partially removed label. Brewed Awakening. Miranda’s shop.

Shit.

“What is this?” He thrust the jar in my face. “Witch poison! You bring that filth into my home?”

“It’s just salt and herbs?—”

He hurled the jar into the fire. Glass shattered, herbs igniting with a hiss .

“From her shop!” He knocked the cooking stick from my hands, sending the fish into the flames. “You think I don’t know where that comes from? That witch cunt’s store!”

Before I could stop him, he grabbed the basket of cleaned fish and dumped the entire contents into the flames.

“Fucking hell!” I lunged forward, trying to save at least one. “That was dinner!”

“Better starve than be bewitched.” His eyes burned with the same fanatical light I’d seen when he’d swung that ax at Osen. “Is that what happened? Did you eat her food and let her enchant you? Is that why you’re defending a witch?”

The accusation hit too close to the truth. Not that I’d eaten anything she’d offered—but that I’d fallen under her spell all the same. Years of pushing away interested females because they weren’t ‘suitable.’ Because their bloodlines weren’t pure enough. Each rejection had felt like duty, like honor, like protecting the clan’s future. Because Father had someone better in mind—someone who never materialized.

And in one night of magic-fueled madness, I’d thrown it all away on a witch with winter in her scent and fire in her touch.

“You disappoint me, boy. I taught you better than this.” Spittle flew from his lips. “First you let a witch trespass, then you agree to help her, now you bring their filth into my home?— ”

“Your home?” I stood, towering over him. “This cave? This is what you chose over the clan. Over your family. And you have the nerve to talk about disappointment?”

“I chose honor!” He jabbed a finger at my chest. “I chose?—”

“I’m done.” I grabbed my pack. “Enjoy your cave.”

“Running errands for your witch masters?” He straightened his clothes with shaking hands. “The Moonclaw clan would never tolerate?—”

“There is no Moonclaw clan.” The words came out sharp and cruel. I could have softened the blow. Should have. But shame and anger churned in my gut—shame for letting the witch’s magic seduce me, anger at still wanting her. At Osen for forcing me to face her again. At my father for making me choose between loyalty and basic decency.

So, I twisted the knife deeper. “No one wants your counsel. No one’s coming for you. You can rot here, and we’ll celebrate each day you don’t ruin our fucking lives.”

His incoherent howl of rage followed me into the gathering dark.