Page 4 of Bewitching the Orc Chief

Osen released a slow breath and turned back to face me. Concern softened his expression. “Are you all right?”

“Just peachy.” I picked at my dress. The ale had soaked through to my skin and made the fabric cling uncomfortably. Standing sent another cold rivulet down my thigh. Great. This dress was dry clean only. “Though I think that’s my cue to head home.”

“Let me walk you.” Osen’s hand found the small of my back. Warmth radiated from his palm, a welcome counterpoint to the chill. “Can’t have Silvermist’s newest citizen getting doused again.”

“Such dedication to public service.” I raised an eyebrow. “And here I thought you just wanted an excuse to know where I live.”

“Caught me.” He grinned down at me, holding the door open. “But I do enjoy looking after what’s mine.”

Goddess help me. The possessive note in his voice should have set off warning bells, but that rumbling laugh short-circuited all my self-preservation. I cleared my throat, looking for something witty to say. Something to distract from the warmth pooling in my belly.

The wind kicked up, biting through my alcohol-soaked dress. Goosebumps erupted down my arms and thighs. Osen swore under his breath, then wrapped one massive arm around me, shielding me from the worst of the breeze.

I should have pulled away. Should have maintained distance. Instead, I relaxed into Osen’s warmth, my shoulder fitting perfectly against his chest. His thumb traced maddening circlesalong my side. My skin sparked wherever he touched, calling my magic to the surface.

We rounded the corner onto my street. The small cottage I rented sat dark except for the porch light. Gus would be curled up inside, probably annoyed I was out so late. I slowed my steps, not ready for the night to end.

Osen matched my stride, his thumb drawing lower. Each pass brought his grip a little closer to cupping my hip.

I fumbled for my keys, blood pounding in my ears. When the lock finally clicked, I turned to thank him for walking me home—but the words died in my throat as Osen stepped closer.

This close, I had to crane my neck to look up at him. Even then, I barely came up to his chest. We stood still, silent, breath fogging between us. I drank in the sight of him: the sweep of his nose, the jut of his tusks, the tattoos swooping over his skin.

Do not invite him in. Do not risk exposure. Do not?—

Do it,whispered the reckless part of my brain. The part that was tired of being alone and second-guessing every connection. The part that wanted to trace those tattoos with my tongue.

Besides, hadn’t I moved to Silvermist Falls to start fresh? To stop hiding and reclaim my life? Why not put a check in that box tonight, with someone who looked at me with heat and wonder and something that felt dangerously like adoration?

“Do you want to come inside?” The words spilled out before I could overthink them. “For tea,” I added quickly. “Or whatever.”

His eyes darkened to midnight. “Whatever sounds wonderful.”

CHAPTER TWO

OSEN

The wooden porch creaked beneath my boots. My fingers twitched at my sides, longing to feel Miranda’s soft curves beneath them again. I’d only spent a handful of hours with her, but I was already hooked.

Mate.

The word echoed through my blood with each thundering heartbeat. The urge to sink my teeth into her pale throat, to leave my mark where everyone could see it, threatened to overwhelm my control.

Mate bonds—those true, fated matches that struck like lightning and knocked your world on its ass—were uncommon among orcs. But the unmistakable thrumming in my veins sang the truth loud and clear.

It was supposed to be a date. One date, to keep the elders off my back during an already painful time and transition. They pushed for quick alliances my new rule needed, but I had no intention of allowing them to decide my future bride. They’d only think they controlled every decision I made thereafter.

I clenched my fists. What would Father say? Shaman Alris? They’d spent years teaching me the old ways, the proper steps of courtship. The importance of tradition.Orctradition.

But Father was gone. And Miranda... Miranda wasmine.

She moved ahead through the living room, her hips swaying beneath the damp fabric of her dress. White-blonde hair curled at her nape, still pristine despite the mishap at the bar. The urge to bury my face there and inhale her scent nearly drove me to my knees. Even the three silver hoops piercing the upper curve of an ear seemed designed to drive me wild.

By the gods, how had I gotten so lucky? This beautiful, fascinatinghumanwoman was the other half of my soul.

“Let me change into something dry.” She flicked on a lamp and hastily snatched something black off the back of a nearby chair. Red flushed her cheeks and those gorgeous caramel eyes went wide. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Comfortable.Right. As if I could be comfortable when her scent filled every breath. Rosemary and citrus, mixed with something darker. Something that called to the beast in my blood.

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