5. Torain
CHAPTER FIVE
TORAIN
“ T hat’s a gorgeous inlay pattern.” The woman traced the carved swirls adorning the jewelry box. Her pointed ears marked her as one of the local fae. “How long did it take?”
“Two days for the basic form.” I adjusted the display, showcasing how sunlight caught the copper accents. “Another three for the detailed work.”
“I’ll take it,” she said. She hauled her giant shoulder bag to her front and dug through the contents. “It’s a shame you don’t have a storefront here in town. My sister is visiting soon to plan her bonding ceremony, and I’m sure she’d love to browse.”
“We do have a website. Not much more than hours to find us here, unfortunately.” I tugged a business card out of its holder on the table, then turned to wrap the box in paper and twine.
Mist rolled off the river, wreathing the market stalls in ethereal tendrils and dreamy watercolors. Strings of lights twinkled overhead, more for atmosphere than illumination at this hour. The weekly Mist & Market had barely opened, but already the scents of fresh bread and coffee mingled with herbs from Miranda’s Brewed Awakening.
The clan’s stall drew plenty of admirers, even if they wanted more of our business on their demand. As much as even an online order form would bring us into the current century, the heaping serving of shit Vanin still got for leaving Grimstone kept the idea behind sealed lips—and he wasn’t the chief’s brother. Between my position and the elders’ reaction to the website, suggesting a permanent storefront would be like kicking a hornets’ nest. Still, the commissioned pieces brought in good money, when we could fit them around the clan’s traditional projects.
A warm weight pressed against my calf. I glanced down to find Gus weaving figure-eights between my legs, his fluffy tail held high like a banner.
“Gus!” Miranda’s voice drifted from her booth. She didn’t look up from measuring dried herbs into tiny glass vials. “Leave the poor orc alone.”
Gus ignored his witch, rubbing against my boots and purring loud enough to drown out the nearby musicians. His yellow eyes held ancient wisdom. And judgment.
“He clearly wants something.” Miranda leaned over our shared wall of displays, her knowing smirk too similar to her familiar’s expression.
Don’t we all , I thought, memories of Carissa’s lips against mine sending heat through my veins. Her hands in my hair, nails scraping my scalp. The way she’d ground against me, desperate for friction...
Before Tate fucking Gerrard ruined everything.
My hands clenched, remembering the satisfying thump as I’d thrown him out. Fucker threatened my mate and her livelihood? A crumpled suit was the least of his worries.
The memory of her horrified retreat made my chest ache. But what were my options? Storm the bookstore? Corner her at the grocery store? My instincts screamed to claim what was mine, to show her exactly how good we could be together.
But Miranda’s words about taking things slow with humans echoed in my head. Osen and his mate were disgustingly happy and perfectly matched. If listening to her advice got me even a fraction of that kind of contentment with Carissa, I’d gladly suffer through it.
“One hundred even.” I turned back with the wrapped box. Her delicate fingers brushed mine as she handed over the cash.
“Worth every penny.” The fae woman cradled her purchase like a newborn. “My daughter will adore this.”
I managed a smile, though my mind wandered back to Carissa. Would she appreciate the subtle details? The way copper inlay caught morning light? Or would she smash it at my feet like Tate did to all my hopes and dreams?
“Quite the salesman.” Zral’s voice jerked me back to reality. He’d materialized beside me, shit-eating grin firmly in place. “Though you seem a bit distracted. Thinking of a certain human?”
I shoved him good-naturedly. “Shouldn’t you be helping set up instead of running your mouth?”
“And miss the chance to fuck with you? Never.” His grin showed too many teeth. “Word is you two got cozy at One Hop Stop before Tate crashed the party.”
I growled. “Word needs to mind its own business.”
“Please.” Zral rolled his eyes. “This is Silvermist. Everyone’s business is everyone’s business.” He held up an intricately carved box. “Speaking of business, where should I put the new stuff?”
“Back table.” I waved vaguely toward the storage area. Carissa would see the uneven rows and out-of-place items as a mess. “And reorganize the display while you’re there. It looks like a hurricane hit it.”
We fell into an easy rhythm, arranging new pieces and chatting with potential customers. The work was soothing and familiar. It let me ignore the ache in my chest, the constant pull urging me across town to where Carissa?—
Movement caught my eye. Mayor Weatherby had cornered Osen by Miranda’s stall, her pinched expression spelling trouble. When she glanced our way, the venom in her glare could have stripped paint.
Shit.
Osen’s expression stayed neutral as she spoke, but his shoulders tensed. Not good. Really not good.
“What did you do?” Zeal asked, following my gaze.
“Nothing that didn’t need doing.” I busied myself with inventory, pretending I couldn’t see Osen’s thunderous approach.
“Brother.” Osen’s voice carried the weight of command. “A word.”
I recognized that tone. It usually preceded lengthy lectures about responsibility and clan image that may or may not be deserved. “I’m kind of busy here...”
“Now.”
I ignored Zral’s delighted “ooooh” and followed him behind the stall, where curious eyes couldn’t watch the chief dress down his idiot brother. Again.
“Want to explain why the mayor is threatening to revoke our market permits?” Osen’s jaw clenched. “Something about potential assault charges filed against a member of my clan?”
“That smug motherfucker had it coming.”
“By the gods.” Osen pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell me you didn’t actually assault him.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Define assault.”
“Torain!”
“He grabbed Carissa.” The words shot out of my mouth at the memory of Tate’s hands on her and my blood boiling. “I simply removed him from the situation.”
“By throwing him onto the street?” At my silence, Osen’s expression darkened. “We cannot afford this kind of attention right now. You know how delicate things are with the humans after...”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. One of ours killed one of theirs, and months of fury and condemnation followed. Savages. Murderers. They kill humans for sport.
And our father ultimately died because he turned the orc over and upheld human law. An honor duel, only there’d been no honor in the clan’s shaman whispering dark words in his challenger’s ear.
Shame burned in my throat. I’d proven every whisper about orcs right with one impulsive action. “I’ll fix it.”
“See that you do.” He squeezed my shoulder. “I know you meant well. But we have to be better than they expect. Smarter.”
I nodded, properly chastised. The weight of clan expectations pressed down, making it hard to breathe. I’d make it right with the mayor somehow, but Tate could get fucked if he thought he could mess with my mate. Even if Carissa didn’t know she was mine yet.
A flash of white-blonde hair caught my eye. Miranda gave me a sympathetic look over Osen’s shoulder before returning to her herbs. At least someone understood the need to defend mate and territory.
The morning crawled by in a haze of fake smiles and practiced sales pitches. My hands moved through familiar motions while my mind circled back to Carissa. Was she okay? Had Tate tried anything else? The need to check on her clawed at my chest.
“Great, you’re manning the booth.” Galan’s sneering voice broke through my brooding. “This afternoon just got worse.”
I bit back a growl. Just what I needed—more shit from my perpetually pissy cousin. “You’re not supposed to be here for another hour.”
“Thought I’d come early.” He inspected the display with exaggerated care. “Make sure everything was ready. You know how you are with deadlines.”
The dig struck deeper than he knew. I’d spent the night bent over my workbench, trying to carve away thoughts of Carissa’s hasty exit from the bar. About failing her when she needed backup. About letting my carelessness ruin everything.
Again.
“Your piece is done.” I nodded toward the wrapped carving without meeting his eyes.
“Three days early?” Galan’s laugh held no warmth. “I padded that deadline by a week, figuring you’d need the extra time to dream up excuses.”
Because I wasn’t reliable. I forgot commitments. Didn’t follow through. Couldn’t even defend my mate without putting the clan in jeopardy.
“It’s done,” I repeated through clenched teeth.
“Huh.” He lifted the piece, turning it in the morning light. His perpetual scowl deepened as he searched for flaws. “Miracles do happen.”
My hands clenched. One more smart comment and I’d show him exactly how much damage these “lazy” hands could do.
A plaintive meow drew my attention. Gus stared up at me, tail twitching impatiently.
“I’m taking lunch.” I grabbed my jacket before temptation won. “Try not to fuck up the booth while I’m gone.”
“Enjoy your afternoon delight!” Miranda’s voice sang out as I passed her stall.
I shot her a one-fingered salute without looking back. Her bright laughter mixed with Osen’s deeper chuckle as I lost myself in the market crowd.
But maybe a walk would clear my head. Help me figure out how to fix things with Carissa without pushing too hard or too fast. Because one taste wasn’t enough. I needed more.
I needed everything.
The bell chimed as I pushed through the door of Spines & Spirits. Carissa’s scent hit me first—vanilla and cinnamon layered with stress. She stood behind the counter, fingers flying over a calculator. Her hair had escaped its severe bun in wisps that caught the afternoon light.
Beautiful. And completely focused on her task until the sound of my boots on hardwood made her head snap up.
“Oh!” A blush stained her cheeks as her pulse jumped. The hint of cinnamon in her scent spiked with something warm and sweet before she schooled her features into professional blankness. “I didn’t expect you.”
“I wanted to check on you.” I kept my distance, though every instinct screamed to close the gap between us. “After everything with Tate.”
“I’m fine.” Her spine went rigid, voice holding nothing of the playful warmth of our date. But her eyes lingered on my arms, my chest, before darting away. “Just busy.”
The phone’s shrill ring cut through the awkward silence. Molly emerged from between the stacks, phone already pressed to her ear.
“Spines and Spirits, how can I help you?” She bobbed her head as she listened, then grimaced. “One moment please.” She held out the receiver. “It’s for the owner.”
Carissa’s shoulders tensed. “Carissa Morton speaking.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I understand, but if you’ll check your records, we had an arrangement—” Another pause, a shifty glance toward me and Molly, and she was on the move. “No, that won’t be necessary. I fully intend?—”
She disappeared upstairs into the office, closing the door with a sharp click.
“That’s like, the fifth call today.” Molly slumped against the counter. “Pretty sure they’re all angry vendors wanting money.”
I felt my eyebrows climb. “That bad?”
“Between you and me?” She glanced at the office door. “I’m emailing my advisors to ask what happens if my internship closes.”
I rapped my knuckles on the counter, then stationed myself outside the office. Carissa’s voice rose and fell in frustrated waves on the other side of the wood.
“Yes, I’m aware of the outstanding balance, but—” Her voice tightened enough I imagined I heard her teeth cracking. “I understand you, too, have a business to run?—”
A pause, and my mind raced with all the possible bullshit the person on the other end spewed.
“No, that won’t be necessary. I can have payment by—” Another pause, shorter this time. “End of the week. Yes, I understand. Thank you for your patience.”
The phone slammed into its cradle, followed by a muffled groan. I imagined Carissa slumped over the desk, the weight of whatever was happening crushing down on her slim shoulders. The need to comfort her, to fix whatever was wrong, lit up every cell in my body.
The door flew open and Carissa stormed past, her delicious vanilla-cinnamon scent now sharp with distress. She snatched up a pile of abandoned books, shoving them onto shelves with more force than necessary.
I followed as she retreated deeper into the stacks. “What’s going on?”
She whirled to face me, eyes blazing. “What’s going on is some overly physical buffoon decided to play hero, and now I’m dealing with the fallout. Every vendor with an outstanding invoice suddenly needs immediate payment. Even the ones who offered me extensions last week.”
“Tate’s behind this.” It wasn’t a question.
“Of course Tate’s behind this!” She shoved another book into place. “Did you think he’d just let it go after that little display at the bar?”
Guilt churned in my gut. I’d acted on instinct—protect my mate, eliminate the threat. Which, truthfully, didn’t require my mate. Any asshole getting handsy deserved the same shove out the door.
But I’d only made things worse. For her.
“I’ll fix it,” I muttered.
Hopelessness and helplessness swirled in a dangerous mixture. I kept fucking up. With Carissa. Threatening the clan’s spot at Mist & Market. Gods, how fucking embarrassing that my cousin gave me padded deadlines and I still missed the mark.
“Don’t bother.” Carissa let off a harsh breath. “He’s just speeding up the inevitable. The store’s practically bankrupt anyway.” She yanked another book from the cart. “Might as well let Tate tear it down and build his condos or whatever.”
“There has to be another way.” I reached for her, but she stepped back. “We can figure this out.”
“We?” Her eyebrow arched. “There is no ‘we,’ Torain. I’ve had a job offer. I’m selling the store and going back to Seattle.”
My chest tightened. Imploded. Exploded. A whole fucking mess of no, no, no screamed inside me.
Leave? The very thought made my vision blur red at the edges and my lungs refuse to work.
“You can’t leave.” The words tore from my throat.
She drew herself up to her full height and glared. “I can do whatever I want. In case you and the rest of the town haven’t noticed, Mags is gone. I own this place, and I’ll do what I damn well please with it.”
She turned away, but I caught her wrist. One step had her backed against the shelves, her arm pinned above her head. Her pulse raced beneath my fingers.
“You misunderstand.” I pressed closer, drinking in her startled gasp. “I don’t give a fuck about Tate or the store.” My free hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face up to mine. “You can’t leave because you are my mate.”