Page 15 of Bewitching the Orc Chief

And beneath the politics, my chest ached. Because whatever else she might be, Miranda wasmine. My mate. The other half of my soul. Who snort-laughed at my terrible jokes and traced my scars with gentle fingers. And they’d forced me to choose between protecting her and protecting my clan.

“Miranda won’t be a problem.” The words tasted like ash. “She’ll keep her magic hidden while she’s here.”

Her head whipped toward me, hurt flashing across her face before anger swallowed it whole. “As theChiefrequests,” she spat my title like a curse. “I’ll be gone as soon as I can walk back to Silvermist.”

“She must be contained.” Coth’s triumphant satisfaction made me want to ram Alris’s staff somewhere unholy. “Under guard and in chains. No dark magic will corrupt Grimstone while I have breath in my lungs.”

“I will take full responsibility for her actions.” The words burned, knowing how they must wound Miranda. But better wounded pride than whatever my uncle had planned. “She stays under my protection until arrangements can be made for her return to Silvermist.”

So, for always, and never.

Miranda’s bitter laugh cut through the tension. “Yourprotection? Don’t strain yourself, Chief. I managed just fine before you dragged me here.”

I caught Miranda’s elbow, guiding her toward the entrance before anyone could add to their objections. She jerked away from my touch the moment we cleared the sacred cave.

“Don’t.” Her voice cracked. “Just... don’t.”

She strode ahead of me down the path, spine rigid. I watched her go, torn between following and giving her space. Between duty and desire. Between what was right and what was necessary.

Father would have known what to do. Would have found some diplomatic solution that satisfied everyone without compromising his principles.

But Father was dead. And I was chief of a fractured clan, bound to a witch who probably hated me, with no idea how to fix any of it.

The sacred fire crackled behind me, and I swore I heard my ancestors laughing.

CHAPTER FIVE

MIRANDA

Leaving, it seemed, was easier said than done.

First, Osen insisted I couldn’t wander the woods alone. Then he’d proposed taking me back to Silvermist himself. When I flat-out refused while uttering the fateful “anyone but you”, he’d grinned and claimed responsibility for finding someone suitable.

But his recruitment efforts weren’t exactly... robust. Everyone had duties, he’d argued. Prior obligations. Trades to maintain. Family obligations.

And on it went until the sun started to fall, and suddenly the hours were too short for travel and the remote mountain road too difficult to navigate at night. Or so Osen claimed.

I glared at the stone ceiling of Osen’s guest bedroom the next morning as my thoughts circled one another like vultures. Of course, he stalled. It gave him more time to persuade me to stay. More time for guilt to worm its way in, infecting my resolve with whispers of mate bonds and fates intertwined. More time for the inevitable heartbreak that lay at the end of that path.

There was no avoiding it. Not with his clan ready to boil me alive at the slightest hint of danger. Hell, I’d almost been locked in shackles just for admitting to practicing dark magic! Which...may not have been the wisest decision. But Alris and his asshat cronies had backed me into a corner, and I wasn’t going to lie. Not about this.

A loud purr rumbled against my chest as needle-sharp claws kneaded my collarbone. Gus bumped his head against my cheek, his whiskers tickling my skin.

“Traitor,” I mumbled, scratching him behind the ears.

I should have known better. Should have trusted my instincts and stayed the hell away from dating apps, away from Silvermist Falls, away from anywhere I might be tempted to put down roots. Roots were dangerous.

Roots could be ripped out.

“Time to go, furball.” I scooped Gus off my chest, ignoring his disgruntled meow. “No use wishing things were different.”

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, wincing as my bare feet hit the cold stone. The borrowed clothes from yesterday were neatly folded on a nearby chair, and I grimaced as I pulled them on. They smelled faintly of fresh mountain air and cut wood—Osen’s scent. The realization sent an unwelcome pang through my chest.

“Don’t even start,” I muttered to myself. “This is what you get for thinking you deserved nice things.”

Gus wound around my ankles as I dressed, meowing insistently.

“Okay, game plan.” I crouched down, meeting Gus’s unimpressed stare. “We slip out, hike back to Silvermist Falls, pack up the workshop, and disappear. Again.” My voice cracked on the last word, and I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. “It’s for the best. You know that, right? We can’t... I can’t...”

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