Page 17 of Mistletoe

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.

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