Rock and Troll Read online

  Rock and Troll

  Mystical Matchmakers #1

  C.C. Wood

  Copyright © 2022 by Crystal W. Wilson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  To my friend, Elana.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek

  About the Author

  Also by C.C. Wood

  Chapter One

  Dylan stared at the man sitting next to her and, for the first time in her life, considered committing homicide.

  While she would never be a shy, retiring flower, she knew how to control her impulses. Especially illegal ones.

  But as Todd continued to speak, she gripped her steak knife and fought the urge to stab him with it. Maybe she could maim him a little by jamming into his arm since his hand was currently creeping up her thigh toward her crotch.

  "Take your hand off me," she demanded. Her voice wasn't as loud as she would like because her teeth were currently clenched together in anger.

  "C'mon, darlin'. This is date number three. We both know what that means."

  As his fingers came closer to her private area, she'd had enough. Though it was difficult, Dylan released the steak knife, reached down to grab his wrist, and tried to yank his hand away from her.

  Instead of releasing her, he gripped her thigh. Hard.

  She gasped in pain and, without thinking it through, grabbed his whiskey and tossed it into his face.

  Finally, her voice broke free and she yelled, "Keep your hands off me, you bastard!"

  All eyes turned toward them as she got to her feet, the barstool she'd been sitting on crashed to the ground in a clatter of wood and metal.

  "You bitch!" he yelled back, grabbing for her wrist.

  Dylan did exactly what she'd been dreaming of doing all night. She punched him in the face.

  He howled in pain and cupped both hands over his nose as it began to bleed.

  "For your information, asshole, three dates doesn't mean you can grab me and expect me to like it," she continued, shaking the pain out of her hand. Damn, she'd never punched someone before. It hurt almost as much as his grip on her thigh had.

  "I'm going to press charges," he said, his voice muffled by his hands.

  "Fine. I'll press charges, too."

  "I didn't do anything to you," he replied, releasing his face long enough to grab a napkin and press it to his nose.

  "You tried to stick your hand between my legs after I told you to stop," she shot back. "I'm pretty sure that's considered sexual assault."

  "Like you could prove it."

  A female voice rang out. "I'd be happy to provide a statement to the police."

  Dylan glanced over and saw the bartender standing directly beside them, a smirk on her face.

  "I saw what you did and heard her tell you to stop. Not just that, but there are cameras in each corner. I imagine I caught the whole thing on film."

  Todd scowled at her, the threatening look ruined by the bloodstained napkin he held to his face.

  The man who'd been sitting on the other side of Dylan stepped forward. "I'll be giving my statement as well." He gave Todd a look of disgust.

  Todd glared at the man, then at Dylan. "You know what? Forget it. I can't believe I wasted my money on taking you out three times when you obviously don't appreciate it."

  "You mean when you refused to let me pay for my own meals each time?" Dylan asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "Was that because you wanted me to feel obligated to let you grope me?"

  "Fuck you!" Todd yelled.

  "Okay, that's it," the bartender said. "You have ten seconds to get your ass out of my place or I'm calling the cops and pressing charges myself."

  Todd didn't argue, just grabbed his jacket with one hand and stormed out, his other hand still holding the napkin to his nose.

  Dylan let out a long breath and suddenly felt extremely tired.

  "Here, ma'am."

  She looked over and saw the man who'd spoken up setting her bar stool upright.

  "Have a seat," he said. He glanced at the bartender. "Why don't you get her a drink, Carly? Put it on my tab."

  "That's okay," Dylan said.

  Carly ignored her and spoke to the man. "Don't worry about it, Bob. It's on the house."

  Dylan sat down and stared at the remains of her dinner. She hadn't eaten much because she'd been so uncomfortable. It had been a mistake to accept Todd's invitation. Their first date had been okay, which was why she accepted a second date. Dylan had given it a shot because she knew how hard it was to make a good first impression when you were nervous. She’d been nervous on their first date, too.

  The second date had been less than mediocre. Todd had talked about himself all night long, drunk too much, and made offensive jokes.

  She'd tried to refuse his invitation to a third date, but had given in when he sent her a message and apologized, saying he'd drunk too much and that wasn't like him.

  Never again, Dylan decided.

  This was the fourth human man in a row she'd found on a dating app and it was clear that this wasn't working.

  Were all human males this rude and entitled?

  As Carly made her drink and Bob settled on his stool beside her, Dylan realized that wasn't a fair thought. The two humans helping her now seemed very nice and one of them was a man.

  "Are you okay?" Carly asked as she set another glass of red wine in front of Dylan.

  "Yeah. Thanks. I'm so sorry about the scene."

  Carly waved it off. "Don't worry about it. I was about to come over and distract him before you threw his drink in his face."

  Dylan couldn't help smiling at the woman. "Really?"

  "Yeah. I've dealt with my fair share of assholes, too. We women have to stick together."

  "I'm sorry I didn't say something either," Bob said from beside Dylan. "I saw what was happening when you told him to take his hand off you and wasn't sure if you'd welcome my interference or not."

  Carly shot Bob a sharp look. "Whether it's welcome or not, you should still help a woman in distress."

  "Yes, ma'am," he drawled, taking a sip of his beer. "I promise I will next time."

  "I appreciate both of you for your help," Dylan said, looking at Bob. "Even if it did come a little late."

  Bob smiled at her, revealing a crooked eyetooth that was oddly endearing. "Next time, I won't hesitate. I promise."

  "It's okay, Bob. It wasn't your fight," Dylan reassured him. "But you came through when I truly needed you." She paused. "Besides, I kinda enjoyed punching him in the nose after he grabbed me like that."

  She rubbed her thigh. It was likely it would be bruised when she got home. As would her knuckles.

  Carly moved away for a moment and came back with a plastic bag half-filled with ice cubes. "Here, put this on your hand." She glanced down at the plate. "I'll put this in a to-go box for you," she said.

  "Thanks," Dylan said, feeling like she'd said the wor
d too much over the past few minutes. "Bring me the check, too."

  Carly opened her mouth as though to argue and Dylan shook her head.

  "I'm paying for the food and drinks," she stated. "If you don't bring me the bill, I'll just leave a bunch of cash in the tip jar to cover it."

  The other woman sighed. "Fine, but that glass of wine in your hand is on me."

  Dylan smiled and lifted the glass to toast the bartender.

  Carly laughed and carried Dylan's plate off to the kitchen.

  "So, how'd you meet that guy?" Bob asked from beside her.

  "Dating app," Dylan answered. "He's the fourth guy I've been matched with and definitely the last."

  Bob frowned. "You're giving up?"

  "For now, at least," Dylan answered. "I need a break from dating after this mess."

  "Aw, sweetie, you shouldn't give up on finding love," he said, patting her hand. "No one should go through life alone."

  When Dylan stared at his hand on hers, he chuckled and moved it. "Don't worry," he said, lifting his left hand and flashing a wide gold band. "I've been married for nearly thirty years now to my Sally. Still think she's the prettiest girl I ever met, too."

  Dylan smiled. "How'd you meet her?"

  "Blind date," he answered.

  They both laughed and the last bit of tension in Dylan's neck vanished.

  By the time Carly returned with a pair of to-go containers in a plastic bag, Dylan had finished her glass of wine and was thoroughly enjoying her conversation with Bob.

  "Where's your wife tonight?" Dylan asked as she fished her wallet out of her purse.

  "Girls' night," Bob answered, winking at Carly. "Once every couple of weeks, she goes out to dinner with a few of her friends and leaves me at loose ends, so I come here and flirt with Carly."

  The bartender laughed. "Only because you know I'd never take you seriously."

  Dylan handed her debit card over to the bartender along with a twenty. "The cash is for you."

  The woman tried to refuse but Dylan shook her head. "Take it or you'll just find it in the jar later."

  Carly relented. "Well, thank you." She carried the card to the register and ran it through the machine, returning in a few moments with the slip for Dylan to sign.

  "I hope y'all have a good night," Dylan said to both of them as she put her card away and gathered her things. "I appreciate you both."

  "Remember what I said," Bob replied. "Don't give up on love."

  "I'm not giving up," Dylan assured him. "Just taking a break."

  "Don't take too long of one," he said.

  "We'll see."

  He shook his head and waved her off, but he was still smiling.

  "Come see me sometime," Carly said.

  "I will."

  Dylan left the restaurant and didn't start shaking until she parked in front of her little duplex. It was small and older, but it had charm.

  Such as the built-in bookshelves on two walls in the living room. Since books were her first love, they'd sealed the deal when she saw this place.

  When the door was shut and locked behind Dylan, she kicked off her shoes and carried the leftovers into the kitchen.

  Her hands trembled as she put them in the fridge. The shudders increased as she walked into the living room and collapsed on the couch. Tears filled her eyes but she blinked rapidly to clear them. She would not cry. That bastard didn't deserve her tears.

  As she inhaled air deep into her lungs, long strands of ivy crept over her shoulders, wrapping around her arms and torso. Dylan relaxed into the embrace, letting her plants comfort her.

  Though she disliked camping and hiking, Dylan was still a wood nymph. She might prefer houseplants to nature, but she still needed living things around her. Her backyard garden was lush and beautiful, filled with plants, trees, and small forest creatures who were drawn to her magic.

  "No more humans," Dylan murmured. The ivy seemed to agree with her for it squeezed her briefly.

  Another vine flowed to the side table where she'd thrown a stack of mail earlier and lifted the envelopes toward her.

  "Thank you," Dylan sighed, taking the stack.

  Idly, she began to go through the envelopes. Bill. Junk. Bill. Junk. Oh, a catalog from Ulta. Beneath that, there was a large postcard emblazoned with gold script.

  Mystical Matchmakers. Frowning, Dylan turned the card over.

  Out of touch with the times?

  Have trouble connecting?

  Are phones, apps, and computers too confusing?

  Mystical Matchmakers can help!

  All immortals welcome.

  Find the paranormal romance you've been searching for.

  Dylan scoffed. How in the hell had they found her address? She didn't need a matchmaking service. She didn't need a matchmaker to tell her if she was compatible with someone else. Dylan could decide that for herself.

  She started to toss the postcard to the side, but the ivy nudged her.

  "What?" she asked. "Are you seriously suggesting that I use the service?"

  The ivy nudged her again.

  "Fine," she sighed. "I'll think about it."

  The vines lifted the card from her but she knew she would see it again. All living things had a sort of spirit, an intelligence. It was only that creatures such as herself were able to communicate with them.

  The plants in her home were like friends. And like friends, they didn't always agree with each other.

  She didn't intend to go to that matchmaking service. Not now. Not ever.

  Chapter Two

  Clay Dugan was at the end of his rope.

  It wasn't financial problems or issues at work that were plaguing him.

  It was women.

  One in particular and he couldn't get rid of her, no matter how hard he tried.

  "Mother, I've told you no every time you've asked me this. When will you accept it?" he asked in exasperation.

  "When it becomes yes," she retorted, her voice tart. "You are thirty-five years old, Barclay. It's time you provided me with grandchildren before I'm too old to enjoy them."

  Hiding his wince at her use of his full first name, he gestured to the three trollings running amok in the yard outside his woodshop. "And what are they?"

  Sydney Dugan huffed in annoyance. "Your sister’s children are a joy, but I have baby fever."

  "Then ask Rona when she's having her fourth because I'm not marrying some girl just to have a trolling."

  "That's not the only reason I want to see you settle down," his mother argued. "You've been alone for a while now. Don't you get lonely? Don't you want someone to talk to, to share your life with?"

  Not really, but Clay knew he couldn't say that to her because she would smack him upside the head and, as she was also a troll, that smack would hurt like hell.

  "Someday, yes. But not today."

  His mother remained silent and he felt a shaft of hope dart through him. Maybe she would finally drop this subject for a while.

  "You're right, of course," his mother said. "Why bother doing anything to make your old, ailing mother happy?"

  Clay closed his eyes and let his head drop. Shit. The guilt trip. Something his mother excelled at.

  There was no chance at all he was getting out of this without being set up on a blind date with one of his mother's friend's daughters, nieces, or cousins.

  When Sydney Dugan resorted to guilt, she had something planned and you'd best go along with it or get flattened.

  He couldn't just give up easily though. It wasn't in his nature. In fact, he was certain that stubbornness came from his mother.

  "You're not sick, Mother. You're the picture of health."

  "But I'm old?" she asked, arching a brow at him.

  Shit, shit, shit. How did he always get himself in the hole without even picking up a shovel?

  "Of course not!" he argued, abandoning the table leg he was sanding to go over to her. Clay took her by the shoulders and gave her kiss on each cheek. "Any
one who doesn't know us thinks you and Rona are sisters rather than mother and daughter."

  His mother gave him a sharp look but seemed to abandon her irritation with him.

  "That's a lovely thing to say, even if it's not true."

  Actually, it was. Though they were trolls, they aged slowly. His mother was nearing her seventies and she still looked no older than forty.

  "It is absolutely true," he stated, releasing her to go back to his table leg. Maybe he'd distracted her from the earlier conversation and she'd finally leave him in peace.

  "Thank you." She sniffed. After a moment's pause, she said, "I know how much you despise my matchmaking attempts, so I've done something you should find less irritating."

  "And what's that, Mother?" he asked absently, immersing himself in the grain and shape of the wood beneath his hand. He should have known better than to take his full attention away from his mother and her scheming.

  "I've signed you up at Mystical Matchmakers. They specialize in fae and other immortal creatures. I've spoken to Dominique at length about you and she promised me that she would find you the most suitable female."

  Clay froze in mid-motion and looked up at her. "You what?"

  "I've signed you up with a matchmaker," his mother repeated, assuring him that he hadn't suddenly gone insane.

  He tossed the sandpaper aside as fury filled him. He flexed his fingers and noticed the green tinge to his skin. Clay took several deep breaths, attempting to calm himself before he spoke. If he trolled out, his mom wouldn’t speak to him for a couple of weeks. Though, after this, he might not mind the silence.

  "Tell me you're joking," he said.

  His mother seemed oblivious to the fact that he was a hairsbreadth from trolling out. "It's for the best, dear. Dominique will be here at the house at one for your intake interview."