Page 18 of Mistletoe

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.

HetouchedEmma. 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 heavythudnext 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.

Chapter Six

Emma

Sweetwater Point

The Tavern

Emma touchedthe shell of her ear. It tingled from the orc’s—Hal’s—whisper. His proximity. What had that touch been? His tusks?

Any wonder and bemused bafflement was quickly replaced by indignation when the sheriff slapped cuffs on her wrists.

“Miscreants. Plural,” Nina said.

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