While You Were Creeping - Poppy Rhys Page 0,14

up at George’s wedding stag.

I’d already tried getting out of it, but family pressure was real. That and I didn’t want George thinking he’d won. That I’d stayed home to cry into my pint of mint chocolate chip while he was getting hitched to my least favorite cousin.

No fucking way.

“How about... we make a deal?”

That drew his attention. He half turned, head dipping as if he wanted to hear this.

“I’m listening, witch.”

I had this sinking feeling in my gut that I was going to regret this.

Big time.

EIGHT

KYE

This was my chance to put some plans into motion. Namely, my freedom.

It had been so long since I’d been able to do something because I wanted to. Not because a berchta allowed or requested it.

Yet as Holly fiddled with her balled up napkin, all I could focus on was how red her lips were.

Uncomfortable memories of the past resurfaced. I wouldn’t be so careless around another witch.

Never again.

That reminder forced me to pay attention to what Holly was saying and not what it would feel like to touch her freckled skin or twist her crimson curls around my fingers.

“C’mon, we can talk on the way to the meeting.” She tossed her napkin and our mugs into a hovering collection receptacle that floated by. “If I’m late, I’ll never hear the end of Perry’s whining.”

I decidedly didn’t care for this Perry.

The transport was a bit small for my larger frame. Sitting beside Holly was damned close to cuddling, which raised conflicting emotions.

Her hair smelled of fruity soap and the lingering scent of chocolate clung to her clothes, making it harder to dislike being near her.

“I wanted to ask you about the Krampus thing before that kerfuffle at The Bowl. So, sorry about that, but you’d be helping me out if you did it.”

Yes. Because I live to help witches who keep me imprisoned.

My mood took a dive, and I rubbed my tongue against the roof of my mouth to get rid of the sour taste I suddenly had.

Holly kept rambling. Was she nervous?

Strange witch.

“It’s just for a few hours. One night.” She held up a slim finger as the transport turned a corner, slowing to a stop for a crowded crosswalk of shoppers. “I’ll even pay you, if that’s what it’ll take.”

“Pay me with what? Money?” I snorted a humorless laugh. “I have no use for money. I’m a prisoner, remember?”

“Oh. Right. I guess you have a point there.”

My mood curdled further. How easily she forgot I was bound to that crystal prison was a swift reminder that she and I were on two different planes of existence.

“Well, it’s a deal I’m trying to make with you,” she moved on. “So, what’s something you want?”

Freedom. It danced through my head and I nearly said it. But there were two things she was asking of me—to play this Krampus character and be her date—so why couldn’t I request two things from her?

Besides all that, wouldn’t this be stooping to a new level in the eyes of other berchtas? Pretending to date her own prisoner?

The thought was humorous, but it seemed off-theme for a berchta. They were prideful creatures.

Holly was throwing me for loop after loop and the curious part of my nature wanted to know what game she played.

“You want two things,” I finally said, “and I want two things.”

Pink crept up her face but, to her credit, she didn’t blink. Maybe she was thinking what had drifted through my mind—regrettably—a few times.

“I suppose that’s fair...”

Fair. Ha! We hadn’t begun to reach fair.

“First and foremost, I want my freedom.”

Holly opened her mouth, like she was going to say something, but thought better of it. Instead, she slowly asked, “And the second thing?”

I didn’t think it was possible for her to appear any more nervous than before. She fiddled with the hem of her coat before picking away at nonexistent lint.

Oh.

Ohhhh.

The corner of my mouth tugged upward. “Relax, I’m not going to ask for any lewd favors. Your virginity is safe with me.”

Her mouth fell open, eyes grew wide, and her cheeks were nearly as red as her hair. “I’m not a virgin!”

I canted my head as if I were allowing her to tell her little fib. Did I really think she was a virgin? No. But she didn’t need to know. My tone indulgent, I said, “Sure you’re not.”

“I’ve had sex. Lots of sex,” she argued heatedly. “I do great sex!”

I patted her knee, feigning sympathy but thoroughly amused. She was quick to bat my