Page 15 of Vexing the Grumpy Orc

“Fine, you win.” She stretched up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “But I still say we need better lighting for the smaller pieces.”

I cleared my throat before they could get more nauseating. “Where do you want these?”

“Pop the box under the back table,” Torain said absently, pointing toward the rear of the tent. “Zral swears he’ll have the new display when he comes inthis afternoon, but I had a dwarf ask if we’d stock any today, so we’ll pull from there if not.”

I grunted, swallowing the bitter taste of being an afterthought. I could have brought the display. But Zral would handle it—he always did. He knew how to joke with the customers and charm them into parting with their cash. Unlike me, who couldn’t get through a single market day without someone’s pointed suggestion to smile more.

A breeze stirred through the open front of the stall. Winter air and mint tickled my nose.

My grip tightened on the box. That scent.Herscent. The witch.

Father’s crude words about introducing witches to cliffs flashed through my mind. Fucking asshole.

I forced myself to keep moving. To focus on navigating the cluttered space. If I couldn’t find the witch, I technically wasn’t failing Osen’s orders to watch her or my father’s to kill her. Simple. Just ignore the way her scent clawed at my ribs and dug into my lungs. How it stirred memories of biting kisses and hungry moans.

So close. If I just turned, I’d see her standing somewhere in the crowd. Probably scowling. Most likely arguing with someone.

Dammit. I couldn’t leave her unwarned about the wards, no matter how much I wanted to avoid her and her bewitching scent. Better to handle this now than wait for her to stumble into trouble on clan lands again.

I set the box down harder than necessary. “Need to check something.”

Torain’s reply was lost in the market noise as I slipped into the crowd. She moved quick for a human, darting between stalls and down side streets. The winter frost and mint trailed behind her, maddeningly easy to follow despite the press of bodies. How could one witch’s scent stand out so clearly?

She veered away from the market and toward the heart of Silvermist Falls. The crowd thinned as I followed her path to Bean Me Up. Her trail mixed with strong roasts and fresh bread, then vanished into the shop. I growled under my breath before posting up against a wall across the street. Going inside meant dealing with humans who’d either flinch at my scowl or try too hard with their fake smiles and nervous chatter.

Better to wait. She’d emerge eventually.

Minutes crawled by. Other scents drifted past—more coffee, pastries, chattering humans. But underneath it all, that damned hint of winter frost. Like she’d marked the whole town as her territory.

Through the window, I spotted her laughing at something the barista said. She drifted along the counter, studying the menu board while steadily closing the distance to the kitchen. The flash of red-gold hair vanishing through the employees’ door left me standing there like an idiot.

Clever witch.

Her trail led to Pixie Dust next, where she lingered over crystals in the window display before sidling inside. Magic hummed in the shop’s doorway, old spells that warned me to mind my manners. No way in hell was I following her in there.

I circled the block instead, catching a glimpse of red ducking into an alley between two brick buildings. Always just ahead. Always just out of reach.

The winter frost and mint grew stronger where pavement gave way to forest. Her hair caught my eye far up the path leading out of town, the red-gold shining like sunlight through morning mist. She took the winding trail at a steady clip, clutching a paper bag to her chest. Probably more supplies for whatever she planned.

The path ended at a small rental house, the kind that attracted drifters who never stayed long. Paint peeled from the siding in gray strips. Dead flowers filled the window boxes, remnants of some previous occupant’s attempts at home. But under the neglect, the witch’s scent saturated everything.

This was her den.

I hung back at the property line. Approaching a witch’s home uninvited seemed unwise. Who knew what wards she’d set? What traps waited for intruders? The memory of her magic surging around us that night made my skin prickle.

“Planning to lurk there all day?”

I jerked my head up. The witch had slipped aroundthe corner of the wraparound porch. She leaned against the railing, a steaming mug cradled in her hands. Her lips curved in a mocking smile.

“You must be the worst hunter in your clan if that’s your idea of stealth.” She took a pointed sip from her mug. “Should I be worried about having a stalker now?”

My shame burned hotter than my irritation at being caught. A hunter who couldn’t track prey in broad daylight? She might as well have gutted me.

“I wasn’t stalking—” I bit back the denial. She wouldn’t believe it, and why would she? I’d slunk around on the sidewalk like some abandoned pup. “I need to talk to you about your ritual.”

Her eyebrows rose over the rim of her mug. “Really. And following me across town seemed easier than, I don’t know, walking up and saying hello?”

“I don’t do hello.” I shifted my weight, eyeing the tree line. I didn’t like being so exposed on her tiny debris field of a front lawn. “The chief’s mate sensed magic near our borders. The clan’s setting wards.”

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