Page 3 of The Witch & the Hound
He tilted his head, considering me with those steady amber eyes. "I'll drive you."
I blinked. "What, like—now?"
"Yes."
"I don't even know your name."
"Bram."
Of course it was. Short, blunt, sounded like it should be carved into stone somewhere.
"Well, Bram," I said, sitting up straighter, "thank you for the offer, but I don't usually let strange horned men drive me home after first dates in the toy aisle."
That almost-smile spread just enough to be dangerous. Sharp teeth caught the light. "Is that what this is?"
My face heated again, and this time I couldn't blame the hot flash.
"TBD," I managed, trying to salvage some dignity. "Depends on whether you actually kidnap me or just drive me home."
His laugh was low and unexpected, rolling through the cramped office like distant thunder. "Fair enough."
Chapter 2
Maggie
"Not a date," he said, and the corner of his mouth did that dangerous almost-smile again. Sharp teeth caught the light.
"Tragic," I muttered, and immediately wanted to take it back. Who flirts with a horned stranger after face-planting in the toy aisle? Apparently me.Because apparently my survival instincts had been replaced with gallows humor and a deep, treacherous attraction to velvet-skinned monsters.
Bram glanced once at the door. The crowd noise outside had dwindled to the hum of retail, beeps, wheels, and the occasional child wail that could have been a banshee or a sugar crash. He looked back at me. “You can stand?”
“Define stand.” I swung my feet off the couch. My knees argued, my pride rallied, and I got vertical. The room did a lazy tilt. Bram's hand came up, steadying my elbow with cool fingers that felt like blessed relief against my still-overheatedskin. He waited until my spine remembered how to do its job, then released me like I was a delicate piece of glass he didn’t trust the shelf with.Not because he thought I was fragile, but because he thought I was worth setting carefully down, worth not breaking.
“Okay,” I breathed. “That was… something.”
“Hot flash,” he said, like he was cataloguing it with price guns and spill kits.
"First one," I admitted, fanning myself with the mangled coupon flyer. "Thought I'd be thirty-nine forever. My body had other plans."
Something shifted in his expression, not pity, but understanding. Like he knew what it felt like when your body decided to betray you in public. “I’ll walk you out the back. Fewer… princesses.”
“Bless you,” I said, because I had no idea how to explain to the front of the store that Merida was alive and well and contemplating arson.
He cracked the office door and ghosted down the corridor in that quiet way of his, moving with an unnatural silence for someone his size. Long stride unhurried, tail flicking once before settling into a lazy curve. I followed, trying to tame my hair and dignity. An employee stocking paper towels blinked at us, took in Bram, took in my damp shirt, and decided she hadn’t seen a thing.That was the effect he seemed to carry with him, like hebent the world around his presence, made people look away or bow their heads, even if they didn’t understand why.
At the loading bay, he paused. “You left a tote. I had someone secure it.” He touched the comm clipped to his collar. “Jen, the canvas bag from aisle thirteen?”
A minute later, a harried teenager hustled over with my tote cart. She didn’t look at me. She looked at Bram like he was the moon telling the tide what to do. “Here you go, boss.”
“Thank you,” he said, his voice gone softer. The kid beamed and evaporated.That voice, gentle and warm, could level a battlefield if he wanted. No wonder she looked like she’d just been knighted.
I grabbed the handle and immediately realized that pulling my life up the bus steps on gelatin legs was going to be comedy or tragedy, and I wasn’t in the mood for either. Bram looked at the tote. Looked at me. “Bus?”
“I like public transportation,” I lied. “It builds character.”
“I’ll drive you,” he said again. Not pushy. Just final, like the sky announcing rain.
“I don’t—”
