Page 2 of The Witch & the Hound
"Merida's been kidnapped by a monster!" the little girls shrieked in perfect, devastating harmony.
Fantastic. I'd gone from magical woman of mystery to Disney damsel in distress in under sixty seconds. At least they'd picked the right princess, wild, red curls, questionable decision-making, and all.
His arms were cool, his grip steady, skin smooth as velvet and solid against my clammy forearms. Cool. Blessedly, wonderfully cool. It seeped into me like shade in high summer, a relief so sharp it almost broke me. My head lolled against a broad shoulder as he carried me through the gawking crowd. He smelled like cedar and something darker, clove, maybe, or the promise of autumn bonfires.
I should have been horrified. Instead, my treacherous brain whispered:safe.
Straight through the sliding doors of the back hallway, past shocked employees, into the cramped little office marked "Manager." He shouldered the door shut behind us and lowered me onto a hideous avocado-green Naugahyde couch that had seen better decades and better duct tape. The room smelled likeburnt coffee and copier toner. It was every corporate office's signature scent.
"Stay here," he said, straightening. "I'll get water."
His voice was gravel and smoke wrapped in command, the kind of voice you listened to even when your better judgment screamed not to.
I fanned myself harder with a wrinkled coupon flyer. "Don't suppose you've got an exorcist on speed dial?"
One dark brow lifted, horns gleaming under the cheap fluorescent light. The blue undertone in his skin was more visible now in the closer quarters, making him look like he'd been carved from shadow and midnight. And damn it if my heart didn't give a little kick that had nothing to do with heatstroke. Of course, the universe sent me a horned, broad-shouldered monster manager at my absolute lowest point. Because humiliation is never complete without temptation tucked inside it.
He returned in less than a minute, a paper cup of water in one hand, his other braced against the doorframe as if daring anyone to follow. And no one did. Not one curious employee. Not one rubbernecker. The look in those amber eyes promised consequences, and apparently the humans knew better than to test him.
I squinted up at him, taking in the horns, the lean frame, the tail flicking once behind him before it stilled. Definitelynot human. Definitely intimidating. Definitely, my stomach dropped, handsome in a "might eat you, might take you to a movie" sort of way.
He handed me the cup. His fingers brushed mine. They were cool, velvet-soft skin that made my overheated nerves sing with relief. My pulse stuttered, then kicked into a rhythm that had nothing to do with the hot flash.
I gulped water like I'd just crawled out of the Sahara. He didn't move, didn't fidget, didn't even blink. Just watched me with that unnerving stillness, like he was cataloging evidence. But not in the way men usually looked, not assessing what they could take. This was different. He looked like he wasmemorizingme. Like every swallow, every shaky breath, mattered.
"Feel better?" he asked at last.
I wiped sweat from my temple with the back of my hand. "Define 'better.' I didn't spontaneously combust. That's a win."
A beat of silence. Then, was that the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth?
"You passed out," he said. "In the toy aisle."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious. I was there."
His eyes flicked to my hair, wild curls plastered to my flushed cheeks, then back to my face. "You scared people."
"Yeah, well, hot flashes aren't exactly polite." I dropped my voice into a dramatic stage whisper. "You'd think people had never seen a sweaty witch collapse before."
Another pause. His gaze softened, just for a second. Then he said, "You scaredme."
Quiet. Flat. But it hit like a hammer to the sternum. Because monsters weren't supposed to get scared, and yet here he was, admitting that my collapse, thatImattered to him.
I didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know how to handle a monster manager who looked at me like I was breakable and worth protecting all at once.
He cleared his throat, some of that intensity banking behind his careful expression. "Do you need me to call someone?"
"Nope." I waved the fan. "Just my dignity. It's in critical condition."
That almost-smile again. This time it lingered. He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms, horns brushing the ceiling tile. For a moment, the office felt smaller, warmer, and not just from my internal inferno. It felt like he'd sealed us in together, a private pocket of space where my humiliation was suspended and only his steady presence remained.
"Your ride?" he asked.
My stomach sank. "The bus."
One dark brow lifted.
"I don't drive," I added quickly. "I live in Seaview. I have an e-trike for around town, but it doesn't exactly handle bulk citric acid runs."
