Page 6 of Mistletoe (Monsters of the Nexus #3)

Chapter Five

Emma

Sweetwater Point

The Tavern

Silence hung over the tavern, all sharp edges and ready to fall, slicing everyone to ribbons.

The soldier gasped, dragging his hand across his face and through his hair to shake off the coffee. The aroma of vanilla and brown sugar was unmistakable.

“If it’s any consolation, you smell delightful,” she said.

“I demand satisfaction!” He flicked his hand, scattering drops of overly sweet coffee.

“Let’s calm down,” her father said. “Apologize to my daughter, and all will be forgiven.”

It was too late for apologies. The mood in the tavern soured, shifting from jubilant to agitated.

A barstool scraped across the floor. Emma heard Nina’s loud and much put-upon sigh. Without glancing over her shoulder, she already knew the sheriff wore an unhappy expression. This situation had only one resolution.

The silence broke. A figure burst through the front window, wearing an old saddle blanket over his head and shoulders like a cowl. Glass shards fell to the floor. The blanket fell away, revealing an orc—her orc.

This was not good. An orc in the tavern full of soldiers sworn to defend the population against monsters and the sheriff who was from a family of monster hunters? Disastrous, yet somehow exactly what she’d expect from the orc she discovered stark naked in her barn.

Why be discreet about your very existence when you can be dramatic?

The orc charged across the room and grabbed the offending soldier, yanking him off his feet with force.

Extraordinarily dramatic. She liked it. She liked watching him. He was exceptional. Strong, yes. He stood taller than any other person in the room. He moved with a grace unexpected for his size. But it wasn’t his physical size that drew her gaze.

He smiled.

The smile twisted around the tusks jutting from his bottom lip, and it was the most charming thing she had ever seen.

Surprised by the attraction, Emma was caught unawares as a pair of strong arms wrapped around her from behind. Lifted off her feet, her arms were pinned down at her sides.

Emma kicked wildly, thrashing to be released, but the man holding her was too strong.

“Calm down, sweetheart?—”

That was as far as he got before Emma slammed her head back, knocking her skull into his nose. It hurt. She saw stars, but he released her.

Howling, he clutched his face. Bright red blood seeped between his fingers.

Emma scrambled away, searching for the nearest object to use as a weapon but finding nothing. A tavern full of bottles and busted furniture, and she was in the only tidy section.

The mug. That would have to do.

She brandished the coffee mug that started the brawl like a dagger.

“You stupid cu—” The man never got to finish the sentiment.

Emma smashed the mug onto the side of his head, this time shattering the vessel.

Spinning on her heel, she grabbed her father by the hand and hurriedly moved to hide behind the bar.

“How disappointing. He seemed like such a pleasant fellow,” Oscar said, his feet dragging every step of the way.

“No offense, Pa, but you’re a terrible judge of character.”

He chuckled, an easy and casual noise, as if they were in the parlor enjoying a chat by the fire and not, in fact, in the middle of a brawl. “I suppose I am. Still, such a shame. It’s hard to find a stimulating conversation, even if his views on poetry and literature are a touch pedestrian. Such a character flaw can be overlooked. Not the insult to you, mind. That is unforgivable.” He gave the unconscious man a regretful look. “Pity. I suppose it is because he is young. Youth is wasted on the young, they say.”

“Pa?”

“Yes, petal?”

“Hush. We got bigger problems than a lack of stimulating conversation,” she said.

The biggest problem was currently in the middle of a mob, roaring as soldiers jumped onto his back. The thing was, the roar sounded like delight.

Hal

Fighting was brilliant. His body sang with the joy of it.

His first clear memories were of fighting, struggling against armed security and his brother. Finally, he felt like himself.

Moving on instinct, he anticipated where the blow would land, blocking and countering. His opponents were slow and announced every clumsy move. Heartbeats and hurried breathing gave him the location of every person in the room.

Glass crunched under his boots. Furniture splintered. This was no challenge at all.

A chair smashed against his back.

Hal grabbed the assailant by the arm, flinging them forward. They stumbled to the floor, their arm limp and dangling at a painful angle.

A man rushed forward. Hal recognized him as the man who insulted Emma. Touched her.

Hal grabbed him by the arm, redirecting his momentum, and flung him across the room into a table. Another rushed forward, this one managing to grapple him.

Hal grabbed the man by the back of the head and slammed his face down into Hal’s raised knee. Cartilage crunched and blood gushed.

As the chaos in the tavern spread, Hal noticed the woman sitting at the bar, casually drinking coffee, unconcerned that a massive brawl surrounded her. She checked her pocket watch, almost looking bored.

The man who slammed into the table was back, this time with a friend. Dressed in navy blue, their clothing had the rigid look of a uniform. The cut was unlike anything Hal had worn during his stint as ship’s security. The way the man held himself, with an air of unearned authority, it was definitely a uniform.

He touched Emma. Grabbed her. Made her angry, which made him furious. This man needed to understand that he could not bully others simply because he wore a uniform. So many people turned into tyrants the moment they had a modicum of power to abuse. Hal had the dreadful feeling that he had done the same.

Well, now was not the time to work through the murky tangle of his memories and indulge in self-reflection. He had heads to bust.

Two against one did not even the odds. Hal had an advantage with his reach and his size. He wasn’t nimble, but he hit hard. Alcohol made his opponents slow and clumsy, so it balanced. At some point, a wide-brimmed hat fell to the floor at his feet. Deciding it was rather keen, he placed it on his head and continued swinging.

The shouting and unimportant noise faded away, leaving only a single heartbeat. The one he had been chasing all day.

Emma watched him from behind the bar, crouched down with only the top of her head visible.

Their eyes locked.

Hal grinned.

Emma gasped, vanishing behind the bar.

Hiding from him? That wouldn’t do at all.

Hal vaulted over the bar, landing with a heavy thud next to her.

To her credit, she rose to her feet, wiping her hands on her pant legs like she had been crouched down to do some work and not, in fact, hiding from the brawl that she started. The thundering of her heart was deafening, but she raised her stubborn chin and looked him in the eyes.

He took a step forward. She stepped back, retreating until she bumped into the cabinet holding empty glasses and bottles of liquor, rattling the glassware.

He reached for the scarf, gently wrapping material around his hand, and pulled.

She stepped forward without a hint of resistance.

Hal leaned down, getting close enough to whisper in her ear. His tusks scraped against the shell of her ear. “My name is Hal.”

His voice was rough from disuse, raw and nearly a croak. Enunciating around the tusks was a challenge he had not anticipated.

In a matching whisper, she repeated his name, and the only thing that could top that sound would be her moaning his name.

Next time.

“And this is mine,” he said, tugging on the scarf to remove it.

With a grin, he wrapped the scarf around his neck and tipped the hat, then vaulted back over the bar, leaving via the same window he came in through.