Page 19 of Vexing the Grumpy Orc

I made no effort to hide my smirk. “What’s wrong? Worried about a repeat performance?”

“We should get on with it,” he growled, not meeting my eyes. “Daylight’s fading.”

“Afraid you won’t be able to control yourself around me?” I pressed, enjoying the way his discomfort manifested in that delicious flush creeping up his ears.

He made a strangled sound and stalked out of the clearing, his broad back rigid with what I suspected wasn’t entirely anger. I followed, keeping a respectable distance—but not so far that I couldn’t appreciate how his muscles moved beneath his shirt with each determined stride.

I adjusted the pack holding Digby’s stone form and hurried after Galan. My thighs burned from crouching to gather mushrooms, but I couldn’t slow down. Not when I was this close to bringing my familiar back.

“So, the woods were your escape?” I pushed as he picked our path through the underbrush. “From your father’s expectations?”

His stride hitched. For a moment, I thought he’d shut down the conversation entirely. Then his shoulders slumped.

“His. The clan’s. From a lot of things.” He ducked under a low-hanging branch. “My father’s exile hit the clan hard. Some blamed Osen. Some blamed his witch. But everyone looked at me like they expected me to... I don’t know. Fix it somehow.”

“Exile?” The word caught me off guard. “What happened?”

“A human died in our territory.” His words came slow, measured. Like he was weighing each syllable. “But it started a whole shitstorm with the town. The humans wanted justice. Osen, who’d just become chief, was trying to navigate it all. Then Miranda saved my other cousin’s life with magic, and suddenly half the clan was calling for her head. My father...” His jaw tightened. “He saw an opportunity.”

“For what?”

“To challenge Osen. Take control of the clan.” The words came out clipped and painful. “He conspired with our shaman. Set up a ritual combat that should have left Osen defenseless. Except I...” He shook his head. “I couldn’t watch it happen. I threw Osen a weapon.”

The implication hung between us. He’d betrayed his father. Chosen honor over blood.

“Your father lost,” I guessed.

“Osen exiled him. He lives in a cave deeper in the mountains now.” Galan’s voice grew rough, jaw clenched. The muscles in his neck stood out like cords. “And keeps fucking around and causing problems.”

Goddess. No wonder he’d reacted so strongly to finding me performing magic on clan land. Maybe humans and witches weren’t the cause, but they were clearly factors. “And you still visit him? Even after that?”

“He’s still my father.” He pushed a branch aside for me to pass, fingers brushing my shoulder. “Someone has to make sure he doesn’t starve.”

I ducked under his arm, close enough to catch the scent of mountain rain and moss that clung to his skin. His words settled over me like pieces of a puzzle clicking into place—the boy who’d found sanctuary in these woods, growing into a man who chose solitude over judgment. The defensiveness made more sense now, knowing what loyalty to a rotten father had cost him.

“It’s hard,” I said quietly, risking a glance up at his face, “watching someone you love destroy themselves with hate.”

Those dark eyes locked onto mine, searching. A muscle ticked in his jaw, then he looked away with a grunt. Which, I was learning, could mean anything from ‘fuck off’ to ‘you might have a point’. This one leaned toward the latter.

We reached the ritual site as twilight deepened around us. The remnants of my previous circle still marked the ground, though wind and weather had scattered the branches. I set my pack down carefully, making sure Digby’s statue remained stable while I unpacked.

“What’s all this for?” Galan asked as I arranged fresh branches in a wide circle.

“The outer ring is for containment.” I pulled crystals from my pack, placing them at each cardinal point. “Magic tends to… spill. Like banks for a stream, the circle keeps the magic focused where I need it.”

He handed me a branch, careful not to disturb my arrangement. “And the crystals?”

“Amplifiers and stabilizers.” I held up a piece of clear quartz. “This one focuses intent. The amethyst protects against magical backlash.”

His wariness faded as I worked, replaced by genuine curiosity. He crouched just outside the circle, watching me position Digby’s statue in the center.

“And the mushrooms?”

“Shadow caps grow along ley lines—natural pathways of magical energy.” I settled the glowing fungi in a spiral pattern around my familiar. “They absorb that energy, making them especially potent for reversing curses.”

He nodded, processing the information with none of the dismissive scorn I’d expected. “How do you know where to place everything?”

“Practice. Research.” I adjusted a crystal slightly. “A lot of trial and error.”

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