Hexennacht: a Cambric Creek Monster Romance by C.M. Nascosta

Author:C.M. Nascosta [Nascosta, C.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Meduas Editoriale
Published: 2024-04-21T18:30:00+00:00

“Will you please sit down? I hate having people hover over me.”

Holt’s voice was bored. Bored! She felt as if she might vibrate out of her skin, and there he sat, slouched on his folding chair with nary a care in the world. Ladybug only glared. He’d been video chatting just a few minutes earlier with a pretty human woman with purple highlights in her hair and wide, black-rimmed eyes — his girlfriend, Ladybug surmised — discussing their dinner plans as if her entire future wasn’t resting in carefully placed positions on the table before them.

Now he was slouched in the chair, making his black leather jacket rise up around his ears like a cape as he tapped out a text with a pointed black nail. He was clean-shaven that morning, and the absence of his close-cropped beard somehow made him look even younger, the rankest sort of glamour, she personally thought. Nothing set her teeth on edge like a hundreds-year-old near-immortal chasing after human teenagers, simply because they were able to project an aura of youth to conceal their decrepit hearts. She didn’t know anything about the life Holt lived in Bridgeton, but she decided in that moment that she would find out, rifle through his mail, and determine that this human he’d taken up with was an actual adult with a life, and not some besotted co-ed he kept clouded under his charm.

His thick black hair fell in a tumble over his forehead, concealing his sharp green eyes from her for the moment. He had one leg stretched out, his black boot disappearing beneath the table, preventing her from pacing. He was as annoying, she had decided, in his man skin as he was as a cat.

“Then stand up,” Ladybug snapped, cracking her knuckles for the tenth time that hour. “I’m too nervous to sit.”

The day had arrived, at last.

She couldn’t stop twiddling her fingers. Her hands were clasped in front of her, fingers interlacing, winding and unwinding together, over and over again. The room buzzed with the white noise of dozens of different voices, and she didn’t know how she was meant to concentrate on anything, let alone how she was meant to smile serenely and project an aura of professional witchiness. All she really wanted to do was curl up beneath the table, hidden by the satisfyingly long drape of the custom tablecloth he’d ordered, and let Holt handle things topside. She could pass him product as things ran low, keep the understock of jars organized . . . it might actually be worth making the suggestion.

She’d already gone tongue-tied once, when they were approached by a pair of goblins, her neighbors, she’d learned. The pair exclaimed in wonder as Holt unfurled the tablecloth, double teaming her with questions about who she was and what she sold until they were mollified that she’d be no competition for their hand-crocheted pot scrubbers, ambling off arm-in-arm while she breathed heavily.

She wasn’t sure how she was meant to get through an entire day of that, and now the time was nearly here.

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