Page 21 of Vexing the Grumpy Orc

A pulse of energy surged through the circle. The mushrooms flared blindingly bright, then dissolved into sparks that swirled around Digby’s form. The crystals shattered, their fragments suspended in the air for one breathless moment before falling like glittering rain.

And Digby?—

Stone gave way to fur, gray and white and black. Claws. Whiskers. His black eyes blinked rapidly, adjusting to the world again.

“Digby!” I cried, swaying where I knelt.

My familiar looked around in confusion, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. Then his gaze locked on Galan, and his hackles rose. With a fierce growl, he placed himself between me and the orc, teeth bared in warning.

The sight of my badger—my tiny, brave familiar—challenging a creature a zillion times his size broke something inside me. Laughter bubbled up, slightly hysterical with relief and exhaustion.

To my surprise, Galan laughed too, a deep rumble that shook his chest. “Protective little bastard, isn’t he?”

“That’s my Digby.” I wiped tears from my cheeks. “Always ready to fight monsters for me.”

Digby’s growl deepened at the sound of Galan’s voice. My hands shook as I reached for him, the simple movement requiring more effort than it should. I stroked his back, feeling the familiar texture of his coarse fur beneath my fingers.

“It’s okay, buddy,” I soothed Digby. The clearing spun lazily around me, like I was viewing it through water. “This is Galan. He helped us.”

Digby sniffed suspiciously, his posture still defensive.

“Smart creature,” Galan commented, keeping a respectful distance. “Knows a predator when he sees one.”

The last dregs of power slipped through my fingers, leaving me hollow. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision as exhaustion pulled at my bones. Every muscle screamed as I fought to stay upright.

“Hannah?” Galan’s voice seemed to come from far away.

My legs gave out. I pitched forward, bracing for impact with the hard ground. Instead, strong arms caught me, cradling me against a broad chest. Digby’s alarmed chitter faded as the ritual took its toll.

“I’ve got you, witch,” Galan murmured, his voice the last thing I heard before consciousness slipped away.

CHAPTER SEVEN

HANNAH

Warm. Too warm. I floated in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness, my body heavy as stone. Everything ached—muscles I’d forgotten I had protested each breath. The scent of mountain rain and moss wrapped around me, mixed with wood smoke and something earthy.

Not my bed. Not my room.

Memory flickered through the fog. Purple light. Chanting. Digby’s fur beneath my fingers.

Digby.

My eyes flew open. Panic surged, then receded as quickly as it had come. A rough wooden ceiling stretched above me, illuminated by the soft glow of a dying fire. I lay beneath a heavy quilt on a bed that smelled of him. Of Galan.

“You’re awake.”

I turned my head toward his voice, wincing as the movement sent a throb of pain through my temples. Galan sat in a chair beside the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His dark eyes bored into me with an intensity that might have been unnerving if I’d had the energy to care.

“Did I die?” My voice came out as a croak. “Because this feels like death.”

Relief washed over his face. “You’re not dead. Just stupid.”

“Charming.” I tried to push myself up on my elbows, but my muscles trembled with the effort. Galan’s hand shot out, hovering near my shoulder without touching.

“Easy,” he said. “You’ve been out for hours.”

“Hours?” I blinked, trying to focus. The room spun slightly. “What time is it?”

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