Page 34 of Vexing the Grumpy Orc

My jaw clenched. The clan’s search parties had found nothing. No blood trail leading from Hannah’s yard. No sign of him in his cave or any of his usual haunts. Just... gone. Like a ghost.

But Coth was no ghost. He was flesh and blood and hatred. The wound in my side had mostly healed—Hannah’s blast of magic, a skilled surgeon, and orc constitution had seen to that—but the deeper wound festered. My own father had tried to gut me like an animal. Would have killed Hannah without hesitation.

Part of me hoped he’d bled out in some forgotten corner of the forest, his hatred finally consuming him completely. Another part—the son who’d once sought his approval, who’d carried supplies to his cave every week despite everything—dreaded the day they’d find his body.

The front door opened, followed by the familiar sound of Hannah’s footsteps. Digby’s claws clicked against the hardwood as he trotted ahead of her, appearing in the bedroom doorway first. The badger gave me a once-over, as if checking I hadn’t moved from where they’d left me, before hopping onto the foot of the bed.

Hannah appeared a moment later, and my breath caught on my growl about being treated like an invalid. She wore a simple green dress that brought out her eyes, her hair pinned back from her face in a way I’d never seen before. Even her face looked different—something dusted across her cheekbones, color on her lips.

“You look...” I swallowed hard, searching for words that wouldn’t sound like the fumbling of an inexperienced youth. “Different.”

“Good different or bad different?” She quirked an eyebrow, approaching the bed.

I caught her wrist as she reached to check my bandage, pulling her closer. “Beautiful.”

She smiled, allowing herself to be drawn in before placing a hand on my chest. Her free hand rose to my forehead. “No fever. Must be the medication making you delirious.”

“Must be,” I agreed, drinking in the sight of her. After a week of her in shapeless sweaters and worn leggings, this transformation struck me dumb. Not better—I’d found her breathtaking covered in dirt and mushroom spores—just different. A side of Hannah I hadn’t seen before.

“How’s the pain?”

“Nonexistent.” I stretched deliberately, hiding the twinge that shot through my side. “See? I’m fine. No need for this lockdown.”

“And I’m sure your medical degree qualifies you to make that assessment.” She rolled her eyes, but her touch remained gentle as she peeled back the bandage and inspected the stitches with a critical eye. “Another few days and you can go back to prowling the woods and terrifying hikers.”

“You weren’t terrified,” I reminded her, catching her wrist. “Just annoying.”

“Poor baby.” She patted my chest, her touch lingering. Her lips twisted and her tone turned serious. “You’re lucky to be alive. If that blade had been an inch to the left...”

She didn’t finish the thought. Didn’t need to. We both knew how close I’d come to bleeding out on her porch. To dying before I had a chance to claim my mate. Before I’d even really gotten to know her.

“So…” The ends of her hair tickled at my chest as she leaned over to replace the bandage. “Before your father tried to kill us, you were saying something about mates?”

The question caught me off guard. We’d been dancing around the topic since that night, too focused on my recovery and making sure Coth couldn’t hurt us again. I’d begun to wonder if she regretted the admission and if the bond I felt so strongly was one-sided after all.

“I did.” I kept my voice neutral, watching her face for any sign of rejection. “You’re my mate, Hannah. My fated mate. If you want me.”

She shifted on the bed, moving to face me fully. “And what does that mean, exactly? For us?”

I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. The last week had given me too much time to think. Time to imagine a future beyond the confines of tradition, the limits of clan and kinship. A life with meaning beyond duty.

She’d already sacrificed so much because of me. She loved being a nurse. It was woven into who she was, as much as the magic in her blood. I’d watched her thesepast few days, tending to my wound, worrying, hovering. There was a weariness in her shoulders that didn’t match the satisfaction of providing help.

But the bridge to her career had been burned to ash, and I’d been the match.

“I think it means leaving Silvermist Falls,” I finally said, the words heavy on my tongue. “And Grimstone.”

Her fingers traced the edge of my bandage. “Would you go back to Grimstone? After everything?”

The question hit a nerve I hadn’t realized was exposed. “To be the disgraced son who needed his mate to save him? The one they whisper about behind closed doors?” I shook my head. “I’ve had enough pity to last a lifetime.”

“Is that what you think?” Her hand found mine, fingers lacing through mine. “Galan, your cousins have been driving me crazy with constant calls for updates. Osen and Torain nearly broke down my door the day after surgery. Miranda sent healing salves. Zral even brought food.”

My head snapped up. “Zral was here?”

“Left it on the porch with a note that said ‘Don’t die, asshole.’ Very touching.” She smirked. “Your clan cares about you, Galan. Whether you want them to or not.”

I stared at Hannah, trying to process what she was telling me. The clan hadn’t abandoned me out of shame. Hadn’t written me off as weak or broken. They’d been here, checking on me.

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