Page 27 of Vexing the Grumpy Orc

“So, ask Miranda,” Zral interrupted, turning back to his carving.

“No, that’s not?—”

“What, too proud to ask a human for help?” Anger crept into his voice. “Thought you were different from Coth.”

“She’s female,” I snarled, bristling at the comparison. “It’s not that she’s human. This is a…” I pressed my lips together and tried to find answers in the ceiling above me. The stone here was as silent as the beams in my cabin and all the branches of all the trees in the entire territory. “It’s a male issue.”

Zral’s eyebrows shot up. “Ask Osen then.”

“It’s not a matter for the chief.” The thought of discussing Hannah with my cousin made my skin crawl. Bad enough I’d had to report the completion of my assignment yesterday. Osen’s questions about the witch had been awkward enough without revealing how personal it had become.

Zral sighed, setting his carving aside completely. “Fine. Sit before you wear a hole in my floor.”

I hadn’t realized I’d been pacing. I dropped onto a stool, the wood groaning under my weight.

“So,” Zral prompted when I didn’t speak. “Human woman troubles?”

I grunted. Close enough.

“What, she won’t fuck you?” His lips quirked. “Can’t say I’m surprised. You’re not exactly charming.”

“She did,” I snapped, then winced at my own admission.

Zral’s eyes widened. “Well shit. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

I glared at him, hands clenching into fists. This was a mistake. I should never have come here. Just another opportunity for mockery, another reminder that I’d spent years living out my father’s ideas of honor and tradition. And for what? To end up alone while my cousins found happiness with their mates—human mates, no less?

I stalked toward the door with a growl.

“Wait.” Zral’s voice stopped me. “I’m sorry. That was... uncalled for.”

The apology, rare from Zral, hung in the air between us. I hesitated, hand still on the door.

“Look,” he continued, setting his chisel down. “Whatever’s eating at you must be serious if you’re coming to me. So just... talk.”

“It’s about the witch. Hannah.” I turned back slowly, jaw clenched. The admission felt like surrender, like acknowledging every tradition I’d clung to had been as hollow as Coth’s promises.

Zral nodded, expression suddenly serious. “The one you were watching. Torain mentioned her.”

“The ritual worked. She freed her familiar.” I leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “My assignment is over.”

“And?” At my look, he shrugged. “What’s the problem?”

“And I can’t stop thinking about her.” The words scraped my throat raw. “She’s... different.”

The problem was I couldn’t stop remembering how she’d felt beneath me, around me. How right it had feltto carry her to my bed after the ritual. How I’d kept watch while she was at her most vulnerable, fighting the urge to trace the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw, the fullness of her lips.

The problem was I wanted more. And that terrified me.

“She’s a witch,” I said instead, as if that explained everything.

Zral studied me, his expression unreadable. “And?”

“And witches can’t be trusted.” The words sounded thin even to my own ears. I’d seen Hannah’s dedication to her familiar, her refusal to give up. I’d felt the truth of her magic—raw and powerful but fundamentally honest.

“This from the orc who’s been visiting his exiled father like clockwork?” Zral’s voice cut through my thoughts. “The same father who conspired against our chief?”

I growled, a warning he ignored.

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