Page 5 of Vexing the Grumpy Orc (Silvermist Mates #3)

CHAPTER FIVE

GALAN

T he box of ornaments and trinkets slipped in my grip, corner catching my knuckles. I swallowed a curse and readjusted, following Torain’s bobbing head through the crowd. His enthusiasm for the weekly Mist & Market circus hadn’t dimmed since he’d opened the new storefront. Mine grew darker with each visit.

Humans scattered from my path like startled deer. Their scents clogged my nose in a dizzying mix of perfumes and foods and whatever else they used to mask their natural odors. The mist rolling off the river didn’t help, turning everything damp and indistinct. Give me the clean mountain air of Grimstone any day over this cramped maze.

But to think it should disappear and erase over a century of shared existence? Or even would? Pure idiocy .

Torain slipped into the clan’s stall ahead, his head dipping immediately to that tiny human mate of his. Carissa. The way she tilted her face back to meet his gaze, eyes full of trust, twisted something in my gut. If anyone touched her, he’d tear them to shreds. Human or orc. Asshole snake shifter or his own father. Didn’t matter.

“You’re sure about the placement of the bowls?” She drummed her fingers inches above the rim of a pair balanced on the front table. “I worry they’ll look out of place.”

“Trust me.” Torain’s voice held that disgustingly besotted tone he got around her. “The grain catches the morning sun just right. Watch.”

He shifted a polished bowl slightly, and sure enough, the wood seemed to glow from within. Carissa’s delighted laugh drew more stares from passing humans, but neither of them noticed.

If Father saw them now, he’d spit curses about clan purity and human weakness. Fucking prick.

“Fine, you win.” She stretched up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “But I still say we need better lighting for the smaller pieces.”

I cleared my throat before they could get more nauseating. “Where do you want these?”

“Pop the box under the back table,” Torain said absently, pointing toward the rear of the tent. “Zral swears he’ll have the new display when he comes in this afternoon, but I had a dwarf ask if we’d stock any today, so we’ll pull from there if not.”

I grunted, swallowing the bitter taste of being an afterthought. I could have brought the display. But Zral would handle it—he always did. He knew how to joke with the customers and charm them into parting with their cash. Unlike me, who couldn’t get through a single market day without someone’s pointed suggestion to smile more.

A breeze stirred through the open front of the stall. Winter air and mint tickled my nose.

My grip tightened on the box. That scent. Her scent. The witch.

Father’s crude words about introducing witches to cliffs flashed through my mind. Fucking asshole.

I forced myself to keep moving. To focus on navigating the cluttered space. If I couldn’t find the witch, I technically wasn’t failing Osen’s orders to watch her or my father’s to kill her. Simple. Just ignore the way her scent clawed at my ribs and dug into my lungs. How it stirred memories of biting kisses and hungry moans.

So close. If I just turned, I’d see her standing somewhere in the crowd. Probably scowling. Most likely arguing with someone.

Dammit. I couldn’t leave her unwarned about the wards, no matter how much I wanted to avoid her and her bewitching scent. Better to handle this now than wait for her to stumble into trouble on clan lands again .

I set the box down harder than necessary. “Need to check something.”

Torain’s reply was lost in the market noise as I slipped into the crowd. She moved quick for a human, darting between stalls and down side streets. The winter frost and mint trailed behind her, maddeningly easy to follow despite the press of bodies. How could one witch’s scent stand out so clearly?

She veered away from the market and toward the heart of Silvermist Falls. The crowd thinned as I followed her path to Bean Me Up. Her trail mixed with strong roasts and fresh bread, then vanished into the shop. I growled under my breath before posting up against a wall across the street. Going inside meant dealing with humans who’d either flinch at my scowl or try too hard with their fake smiles and nervous chatter.

Better to wait. She’d emerge eventually.

Minutes crawled by. Other scents drifted past—more coffee, pastries, chattering humans. But underneath it all, that damned hint of winter frost. Like she’d marked the whole town as her territory.

Through the window, I spotted her laughing at something the barista said. She drifted along the counter, studying the menu board while steadily closing the distance to the kitchen. The flash of red-gold hair vanishing through the employees’ door left me standing there like an idiot.

Clever witch .

Her trail led to Pixie Dust next, where she lingered over crystals in the window display before sidling inside. Magic hummed in the shop’s doorway, old spells that warned me to mind my manners. No way in hell was I following her in there.

I circled the block instead, catching a glimpse of red ducking into an alley between two brick buildings. Always just ahead. Always just out of reach.

The winter frost and mint grew stronger where pavement gave way to forest. Her hair caught my eye far up the path leading out of town, the red-gold shining like sunlight through morning mist. She took the winding trail at a steady clip, clutching a paper bag to her chest. Probably more supplies for whatever she planned.

The path ended at a small rental house, the kind that attracted drifters who never stayed long. Paint peeled from the siding in gray strips. Dead flowers filled the window boxes, remnants of some previous occupant’s attempts at home. But under the neglect, the witch’s scent saturated everything.

This was her den.

I hung back at the property line. Approaching a witch’s home uninvited seemed unwise. Who knew what wards she’d set? What traps waited for intruders? The memory of her magic surging around us that night made my skin prickle.

“Planning to lurk there all day?”

I jerked my head up. The witch had slipped around the corner of the wraparound porch. She leaned against the railing, a steaming mug cradled in her hands. Her lips curved in a mocking smile.

“You must be the worst hunter in your clan if that’s your idea of stealth.” She took a pointed sip from her mug. “Should I be worried about having a stalker now?”

My shame burned hotter than my irritation at being caught. A hunter who couldn’t track prey in broad daylight? She might as well have gutted me.

“I wasn’t stalking—” I bit back the denial. She wouldn’t believe it, and why would she? I’d slunk around on the sidewalk like some abandoned pup. “I need to talk to you about your ritual.”

Her eyebrows rose over the rim of her mug. “Really. And following me across town seemed easier than, I don’t know, walking up and saying hello?”

“I don’t do hello.” I shifted my weight, eyeing the tree line. I didn’t like being so exposed on her tiny debris field of a front lawn. “The chief’s mate sensed magic near our borders. The clan’s setting wards.”

That got her attention. The mocking smile slipped. “And you came to gloat about ruining another ritual?”

“I came to help, actually.” The words tasted strange on my tongue. “The wards won’t be lethal, but they could still hurt you. I convinced Osen—the chief—to let you continue, only…”

“Only what?” Her fingers tightened around the mug .

“The chief offered a compromise. You can perform your ritual under supervision.” I forced my shoulders to relax from somewhere around my ears. How did one inform a witch she needed a babysitter? “My supervision.”

The witch barked out a laugh. “You’re joking.”

I crossed my arms. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“You look like someone’s holding your balls in a vice.” She set her mug on the railing with the deliberate care of someone trying not to chuck it at my head. “Why would you volunteer for that?”

“I didn’t volunteer.” My temples throbbed. This was going worse than expected. “Osen assigned me after I told him about your ritual.”

“And why would you do that?” Her eyes narrowed. “Last I checked, you despised witches and their filthy magic.”

My words, thrown back at me again. I growled, but the sound held more frustration than menace. Why did she make everything so difficult?

“I’m doing it because you’ll try again anyway.” I met her gaze steadily. “Better supervised than dead in a magical backlash.”

And to keep my father from stumbling across her alone. But she didn’t need to know about that particular complication.

Her shoulders tensed. For a moment, I thought she’d tell me to fuck off. Then she nodded, though her posture remained wary .

“Fine.” She retrieved her mug, wrapping both hands around it like a shield. “I need two nights, minimum. First to locate and harvest fresh shadow caps, then the actual ritual. The mushrooms can be tricky to find in the dark.”

I shifted my weight, remembering the patch I’d spotted while fishing. The purple caps had taunted me all afternoon, but now... “I might know where to find some. Save you the search.”

“You’d share that information?” Her voice held equal parts suspicion and hope. “Just like that?”

No. Not just like that. Nothing about this situation was simple. But I had my orders and couldn’t get the taste of her out of my head and the urge to give her what she needed roared like wildfire in my veins.

“Meet me tomorrow.” I gestured vaguely toward the mountains. “I’ll show you.”

“Tomorrow.” She studied me like she expected some trick. “And you won’t interfere this time?”

Images of what I’d like to do with her—interfere with her plans, that is—flashed through my mind. My fingers flexed involuntarily as I recalled digging my nails into her ass, dragging her onto my cock. How she’d felt in the dirt—hot and slick and willing.

Fuck, the things I wanted to do to her. With her. On her. In her.

“I gave my word to the chief.” The reminder of my duty steadied me. This was clan business, nothing more. And she was a witch, not a proper orc mate .

She sipped her drink, watching me over the rim with those knowing eyes and smug smile. Like she knew exactly what I’d been thinking, and wanted to toy with me for her pleasure.

Gods, I wanted to wipe that smirk off her face.

“What made a gorgon target your familiar?” I forced the words past the tightness in my throat. “Please tell me you don’t make a career out of provoking territorial monsters.”

“Gotta pay the bills somehow.” She lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “And if you think the tourists would pay to watch me rile up the local wildlife…”

I fought a smile. She wasn’t funny, dammit. Just rude. Infuriating. Tempting. “Answer the question, witch.”

She huffed into her mug and took a long sip of coffee. The frost in her scent shifted, growing colder. Sadder.

“I was a trauma nurse before this. Good at my job. Too good, apparently.” Her lips twisted. “Because a gorgon colleague didn’t appreciate being passed over for the promotion I received. She waited until my shift ended, cornered me in the parking garage. I didn’t even see her coming.”

My gut clenched. Ambush. Coward’s tactics. As bad as issuing a challenge for clan control and not waiting for an opponent to arm themselves.

“But Digby did.” Pride and pain warred in her voice. “He appeared between us, took the full blast. Saved my life and got turned to stone for his trouble.” Her laugh held no humor. “Then the hospital fired me because their policy forbids familiars in the workplace. Said I should have left him at home where he belonged.”

“They what?” The words came out as a growl.

“Apparently his presence created ‘liability issues.’” She spat the words like poison. “Never mind that he saved my life. Never mind that I’d worked there for years without incident. Policy is policy.”

The rage in her voice matched the fury building in my chest. No wonder she’d defended the clan so fiercely to that prick doctor. She knew exactly how it felt to be treated like shit on a shoe.

“Your familiar showed honor.” The words felt inadequate, but her eyes snapped to mine. “Protecting the innocent deserves respect. That kind of loyalty... it matters.”

Not the twisted version of loyalty my father demanded—blind obedience to tradition and hatred. But the pure, unflinching courage that drives someone to stand between danger and those who need protection, regardless of the cost.

Something shifted in her expression. Not quite trust, but... consideration. “That’s unexpectedly decent of you.”

“I can be decent.” When I wasn’t letting prejudice and old wounds and my fucking shitbag of a father cloud my judgment. “Sometimes.”

“Sometimes.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips .

The morning mist curled around us, carrying her scent. Winter frost and mint. Clean. Pure. Nothing like the tainted magic I’d been raised to fear.

She broke eye contact first. “So. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” I latched onto the change of subject. “Just try not to do anything too witchy before then.”

“Try not to stalk any other witches.” She lifted her mug in mock salute. “You’re terrible at it.”

I started down the path, shooting her a glare over my shoulder. There was less heat in it than before, and her answering smirk held more amusement than mockery.

“Galan?”

I paused at the property line.

“Thank you. For speaking up about the wards.”

Something warm unfurled in my chest. I grunted and turned away before she could see it on my face.

It would be easier if I could hate her the way my father wanted me to. If I could see her as nothing but a witch to be feared and despised.

But her scent followed me down the path. It would probably follow me all the way back to Grimstone. Back to my empty cabin, because I couldn’t face my father’s cave again so soon. Back to my own bed where memories of pale skin and hungry moans waited in the dark.

Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

And I refused to examine why that thought pleased me so much.