Page 139 of Bride of Choice

“Make him let him go!” I shouted, giving up trying to get Odix to let him go, my grip on the blanket around my waist slipping in the madness that ensued. Latched onto Odix’s forearm, I sank my teeth into the first bit of his flesh I came into contact with.

Odix roared as I tasted blood, an awful, bear on the loose sound, and finally loosened his grip.

Rek slammed to the floor, grabbing at his throat, gasping for air.

Kirch blinked at my half naked state, the stickiness coating me that so was not snow cone syrup glazing me, my teeth sunk deep into Odix’s arm, the look on my frazzled ass.

Releasing Odix, I dropped and snatched up Bum-bum’s blanket.

“Assed-hole,” Rek choked out.

I thought that might be aimed at Odix, but you never know.

Kirch took one short sniff of the room and let out an I can’t believe you guys groan.

“Oh, shut up. I’ve heard stories about your epic ridiculousness. Don’t think folks don’t talk,” I muttered, meeting his gaze levelly as I dared him to say one fucking word.

With a few mumbled words I had no clue as to what he was saying, Odix cupped his arm, curled it to his chest, and quit the room. Just left. Just like that.

Walking over to Rek, trying to see if he was okay, the sound of his hand slapping mine away was a resounding clap. “Rek not baby!” he snapped at me. Finding his feet, he glared at me like this was all my fight, and quit the room.

Picking my chair up, I flopped into it. “Fuck me,” I muttered.

“That not what happened?” Kirch just had to chime in with a snort.

How he found this all so amusing was lost on me.

“Good luck explaining why you smell like me, a couple guys, and sex when you get home,” I quipped sweetly.

Kirch’s eyes widened and he smartly backed out of the room. Taking the door with him, he slammed it back into place, assuring me someone would be by to fix it.

“I hate things with penises,” I mumbled, slapping my head into my bent forearms with a groan.

Chapter 19

A knock at my door sounded.

I was attempting to nap here.

After scrubbing every inch of my hut with a mix of hot soapy water and dust of shame, hoping that did the trick, and scrubbing my jacket with the same solution, then setting it by the fire draped over a chair to dry, everything really started to hit me.

My door was fixed. Kirch had sent Doogie by to fix it. It was like the eff you I just needed right now.

Not in the mood to bicker with him, I’d quickly thanked him, much to his shock and oddly enough a smidge of dismay, and left him to it, pretending a headache that wasn’t very pretend, and crawled into bed.

Having fallen asleep at some point, I woke up to that incessant, nagging, rapping tap on my freshly fixed door.

All these broken doors really weren’t making me feel safe and sound against an insistent Krampus.

Rolling over to stare at the ceiling, I didn’t bother answering. Moisture gathered in my eyes. I didn’t care to pinpoint what exactly was triggering it, but I resented it all the same.

It took me several minutes and a lot of throat clearing to compose myself. Sitting up, nabbing up a shawl with an annoyed sigh, I’d just thrown my legs over the bed when the fool seated at my table lifted his head from where he’d apparently been doodling away at my table for god knows how long.

Too half-awake to fully understand there was no threat, I shrieked, threw a pillow at him, tripped, and flopped backwards onto the bed.

Doogie grunted as the pillow clapped him in the kisser.

“Joansie?! Jojoknee?!” Booger barked from the other side of the door.

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