Page 11 of Bewitching the Orc Chief

“That would require him listening to reason.” Torain rolled his eyes. “Good luck with that.”

The workshop door creaked open, and the temperature seemed to drop by ten degrees. Zral and Torain’s faces hardened, twin glares directed over my shoulder. I turned to find a new orc filling the doorway, his stance rigid with disapproval.

The newcomer’s eyes landed on me immediately, narrowing with suspicion. “What’s this human doing here?”

“Being shown proper hospitality,” Zral drawled. “You remember hospitality, don’t you? Or has your father’s obsession with tradition squeezed out everything else?”

Galan’s face darkened. “The workshop is for clan members only.”

“Thishuman,” Osen’s voice held a dangerous edge, “is my guest.”

I leaned against a workbench. The simmering tension in the room set my teeth on edge, and I was once again reminded of the coven. Of petty politics and ruthless posturing, where each encounter was a chess game of influence and social maneuvering.

Give me a simple dark ritual over family drama any day. Especially when I seemed to spike the punch by existing.

“Oh, just a guest then. A human guest, witnessing our trade secrets. After what they’ve done?” Galan stalked to his workbench. “But what do I know? I’m just an old-fashioned fool who thinks some things are worth preserving.”

“No one’s abandoning anything.” Torain’s cheerful mask slipped. “But maybe if you spent less time sulking and more time actually working?—”

“Are you implying I don’t pull my weight?” Galan slammed his tools down. “Rich, coming from someone who wastes good wood on frivolous trinkets.”

“My ‘frivolous trinkets’ bring in more coin than your weapon racks.” Torain’s voice rose. “Which might actually sell if we still raided other villages for?—”

“Raids?” Galan barked a harsh laugh. “Why bother raiding when we invite our enemies through the front gates?” His nostrils flared as he took an exaggerated sniff in my direction. “And into our beds.”

My shoulders went rigid. Oh, that’s how he wanted to play? My magic stirred under my skin, ready for an excuse to lash out.

“Enough.”

One word. Just one. But it rippled through the workshop like thunder. Osen didn’t raise his voice or resort to violence. Hesimply stepped forward, and even I wanted to shrink back from his imposing presence.

“The world changes.” Osen pinned Galan with an icy glare. “We adapt or die. My father understood that.”

“And look where that got him.” Galan’s lip curled into an ugly sneer. “Atop a burning pyre because he chose outsiders over his own people.”

The workshop exploded into motion. Torain lunged forward with a roar of rage, but Zral and Osen moved faster. They caught him mid-leap, muscles straining to hold back the younger orc’s fury.

“You bastard!” Torain thrashed against their grip. “How dare you?—”

But Galan had already stormed out, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the tools on their hooks. The echo faded into heavy silence, broken only by Torain’s ragged breathing.

My nails dug into my palms, and I forced my fingers to relax before frost could creep across the workbench. Dark magic pulsed beneath my skin, feeding on the tension and anger filling the room.

Not now,I ordered it silently.Stay down.

“He’s not worth it.” Zral’s grip on Torain loosened. “You know he’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”

The look he exchanged with Osen said otherwise.

Most of the world didn’t give a second thought to the otherness of the monster population. Orcs were just one of the bunches who’d stepped out of the shadows over a hundred years ago. Places like Silvermist Falls fought small-town prestige wars over who welcomed their non-human brethren first. Hell, our date happened because the last minotaur on Earth fiddled with some code, slapped a pretty wrapper on the interface, and upended the dating app scene.

But there were always idiots willing to hate first, ask questions never. And like the coven, it seemed the traditionalists here had teeth.

Torain shrugged them off, running shaky hands through his hair. “Sorry. I just... when he talks about Father like that...”

“I know.” Osen squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “But bloodying his nose won’t change his mind.”

Zral snorted. “At least it would be entertaining.”

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