Page 1 of Bewitching the Orc Chief

CHAPTER ONE

MIRANDA

Frost crept along my glass, delicate tendrils of ice spiraling outward from where my fingers gripped too tight. Shit. I forced my hand to relax, willing the magic to recede before anyone noticed.

“Another honey ale?” Vanin’s eyes lingered on my hands as he collected the empty glass. “Or something stronger?”

“Just the ale.” My voice came out steadier than I felt.

The orc bartender’s tusks glinted in a knowing smile. “Expecting someone?”

I plastered on a smile and hoped it didn’t look as brittle as it felt. “That obvious?”

“You’ve checked your phone six times in two minutes.”

“Five times.” I smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from my burgundy dress. “Maybe I’m just eager to gush about my new favorite drink.”

“Sure.” He slid a fresh glass across the polished cedar bar. “And maybe I’m secretly a fairy princess.”

The ale’s sweet notes hit my tongue, followed by an earthy finish that spoke of deep forest honey and late summer herbs. I’d chosen One Hop Stop for this meet-up partly because Vanin’sbrews never failed to calm my nerves. But mostly because it felt safe—public enough to ease my paranoia, private enough to talk.

I took another sip, letting the honey ale’s sweetness linger. Around me, the usual Thursday crowd filled the tavern with comfortable white noise—humans and supernaturals mingling over craft beers and pub food. The kind of easy coexistence that had drawn me to Silvermist Falls.

The kind of acceptance I hoped to find here. But one wrong move. One slip of magic…

What the hell was I doing? Over a year of careful anonymity, of building my new life brick by painstaking brick, and I was about to lay it all on the line for what? A pair of broad shoulders and some witty text messages?

But goddess, the loneliness. It gnawed at me, a constant ache even Gus’s sweet purrs couldn’t soothe. I was tired of watching couples stroll hand-in-hand, of overhearing snippets of inside jokes and shared histories. Of being on the outside, always.

So much that I’d fired up the MythMatch app one night after a questionable amount of wine, set my location to Silvermist, andvoila.

My fingers tightened on the glass. Frost crackled up the sides.

The tavern door swung open, and the usual din of conversation died in an instant.

I steeled myself and swiveled on my barstool. Unholy hell.

The orc in the doorway made my MythMatch match’s photos look like badly lit selfies. Osen Axebreaker filled the frame, ducking slightly to clear the top beam. His dark hair was pulled back in a messy topknot, loose strands framing a strong jaw and the slight jut of tusks.

Those tusks definitely shouldn’t have been sexy. But combined with how his rolled shirt sleeves strained to containpowerful forearms, and the tease of tattoos disappearing under the fabric…

Osen’s dark gaze scanned the room with quiet authority before landing on me. Recognition flickered in their depths, followed by something that looked suspiciously like relief.

My stomach swooped as he strode toward me. That must be what deer felt like standing frozen in the headlights of an oncoming truck. A massive, muscular truck that made me forget all the reasons this was a bad idea.

“Miranda?” His voice was deep, with a hint of gravel.

“Hi.” I stared up—way up—at him, mentally cycling through more eloquent greetings and coming up blank.

“May I?” He gestured to the empty stool beside me.

Goddess help me, I was going to melt. “Please.”

Osen settled onto the seat with surprising grace for someone his size. His knee brushed mine, sending a jolt of electricity up my thigh. I took a hasty sip of ale to cover my reaction.

“Sorry if I’m late.” Osen’s gaze darted from me to the other patrons, still staring unabashedly. “The clan elders insisted on a last-minute meeting.”

“No, not at all.” I waved away his concern, trying to ignore how my skin tingled where we’d touched. “I was early. Nerves, I guess.”

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