Page 9 of Guarded By the Bigfoot
“I made arrangements to have it pulled out when the ground is stable,” I said.
Her expression shifted, surprise flickering across her face. “You did that for me?”
“Professional courtesy,” I said, though my voice softened. “For now, we need to make sure the rest of the village is safe.”
“And how exactly do you suggest we do that without my equipment?”
“The old-fashioned way,” I said, a hint of a smile touching my lips. “Magic.”
5
PARKER
Brock oozed a tall, dark, and this is definitely a hairy situation kind of vibe. But did the guy have to pile on the chivalry, too? All that heavy lifting, muscles flexing like a slow-motion thirst trap, those half-smirks whenever he caught me staring.
Was he trying to make distrusting him a lost cause?
Because resisting him?
Yeah. That was officially a losing battle.
Like how he steadied a ladder for an elderly woman while she hung lanterns, despite her grumbling that she’d “been decorating this festival since before most folks around here could walk.” She had a sharp tongue, but watching her boss Brock around made me bite back a smile. Guardian or not, he was getting schooled.
Or the way he crouched to eye level with a tearful little girl who’d lost her stuffed rabbit, then “found” it behind a market stall with what I swore was a touch of magic. Show-off.
“Here.” His deep voice broke into my thoughts as he appeared beside me, holding out a steaming cup of cider.
When I took the cup, our fingers brushed, and that same spark of awareness shot through me. Fantastic. Because that’s exactly what I needed right now, more weird phenomena.
“Thanks,” I managed, wrapping my hands around the warmth. “So, do you always play handyman, or is this a special occasion?”
“Someone has to make sure the lanterns don’t fall on unsuspecting tourists.”
“Right. Nothing to do with how that sweet old lady promised you her secret-recipe apple tarts when she thought no one was listening. Subtle bribery. Very noble.”
A real smile this time, not his usual half-smirk. The sight of it sent a traitorous flutter through my stomach.
“Hazel’s tarts are legendary. Even a I have weaknesses.”
He nodded toward the village square. “Come on. We need to set up the fire pits.”
I followed him through the growing crowd of villagers. Everywhere, people were stringing lights between lampposts, setting up wooden stalls draped in rich fabrics, and arranging displays of carved pumpkins. The scent of burning wood and spiced cider filled the air. It was like walking into every fall festival cliché ever, except for the whole mysterious-Guardian-escort thing.
“Brock!” a voice called out. “We need you over here!”
He glanced at me, his expression softening. “Want to help? Or are you still planning your escape?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” The words came out gentler than I’d intended.
“Yes, you are.” His eyes lingered on me for a moment before he turned to help with a stack of firewood.
After an hour of watching Brock be the village’s personal ladder, and trying not to notice how his shirt pulled across his shoulders every time he reached up, I had to admit, the setup was actually looking pretty good. Lanterns crisscrossed overhead, their glass panels catching the afternoon sun, and the fire pits were ready for lighting later.
Then I heard it.
Not the festive music from the square, or the chatter of villagers, but a haunting howl. The sound rippled through the air, making the lanterns shiver on their strings.
Brock went rigid beside me, all traces of his earlier warmth vanishing. His sharp eyes met mine, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing: the Veil fracture.
