Page 22 of Bewitching the Orc Chief

As if sensing my thoughts, Miranda glanced over her shoulder at me and grinned. She tilted her head slightly, beckoning me forward. I made my excuses to Vanin and wound my way through the crowd toward my mate.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully as I approached, “I’ve been thinking about maybe setting up my own booth here.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

She nodded, words tumbling out faster and faster. “For Brewed Awakening. I could offer some of my remedies and potions. The seasonal allergies here are brutal, but I have this amazing nettle and elderberry tincture that works wonders. And my moisturizing serums practically sell themselves online. Plus, I’ve been experimenting with protection charms disguised as jewelry?—”

Her words cut off as she noticed my deliberately blank expression. “What? You don’t think it’s a good idea?”

“I’m not sure that’s wise, little witch.” I made a show of considering it, even as my heart soared at her wanting to put down roots. “After all, you’ll be too occupied in our bed for the foreseeable future to manage a stall.”

Miranda snort-laughed even as her elbow found my ribs. “Keep it up and I’ll hex you with impotence.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” I nipped at her ear, grinning at her squeak of outrage. “Besides, you’d only be punishing yourself.”

“Cocky orc.” But she melted further into my embrace, and I caught the spike of arousal in her scent.

I captured her lips in a quick kiss, uncaring of the eyes on us. Let them look. Let them see the orc chief had chosen his mate, magic and all. I’d spent my youth dreaming of nothing more complicated than perfecting my brews, but fate had other plans.

And watching Miranda’s eyes dance with mischief as she threatened increasingly creative hexes, I knew I’d choose this—choose her—every second of every day for the rest of my life.

Now I just had to convince the clan of that fact.

“I mean it though.” She sobered slightly. “About the booth. I want to contribute something meaningful. To show your people I’m more than just...” She gestured vaguely. “The witch who seduced their chief.”

“You saved my brother’s life.” I caught her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Anyone who suggests otherwise will answer to me.”

Echoes of the words said during our mating and rephrased a dozen times over in the days since. I’d repeat them until she believed them.

“My fierce protector.” She rose on tiptoes to kiss my jaw. “But I still want my booth.”

“Then you’ll have one.” I threaded our fingers together. “Though perhaps we should focus on one venture at a time. The clan’s woodworking display hasn’t been seen since?—”

“Since your father, I know.” She squeezed my hand as the real reason for our trip to Silvermist barreled down on us. “Ready to make an appearance, Chief Axebreaker?”

I nodded. The Sombra clan was part of the greater Silvermist community. We’d mourned our loss, and now it was time for us to continue living our lives. My father would have wanted that for all of us.

We wound our way through Mist & Market toward the clan’s woodworking stall. Carvings lined the shelves, ranging from practical pieces to artistic creations. A few sturdy furniture pieces served as displays better than any catalog, or waited for pickup by their new owners. The steady scent of cut wood comforted me, even as memories swirled of my father instructing me how to carve my first arrow shaft.

My brother lounged behind the booth, boots propped on the display table as he worked a piece in his lap. Wood shavings dusted his pants and the surrounding ground.

“About time you showed up,” he called without looking up. “Though I suppose that’s expected when you can’t keep your hands off each other for more than five minutes.”

“Because using the merchandise as a footrest is so very taxing.” I cuffed the back of his head as we passed. “Down.”

He didn’t move an inch. “I earned my comfort, thank you. I’ve been stuck here listening to Mrs. Henderson complain about her missing garden gnomes for an hour.”

“The ones that move when no one’s looking?” Miranda asked.

“The very same.” Torain finally lifted his head, grinning. “Though now she swears they’re organizing union meetings in her rosebushes.”

I settled onto the stool behind the counter, pulling Miranda into my lap. “Actual gnomes or enchanted decorations?”

“Neither.” Torain set aside his carving. “Luna—or Stella, I’m not sure which—confessed she’s been rearranging them after her shifts at Fork & Fangs. Says it serves Mrs. Henderson right for complaining about her ‘suspiciously walking’ in her own damn town.”

“Those two,” Miranda chuckled, shaking her head. “Though I have to admit, the image of garden gnomes picketing with tiny signs is pretty entertaining.”

“Complete with miniature megaphones?” I suggested, earning another adorable snort-laugh.

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