I Married a Demon

by Beverly Rae

  “George ran the wolf off, but George didn’t hurt her much. She was bad.” His scowl grew even meaner. “George doesn’t like bad people. Or bad animals.”

  She? I hadn’t realized the shifter had been female. Not that it mattered. “Me, either.” I stuck out my hand and he took it before I had a chance to think better of my offer. His calloused hand, nearly three times the size of mine, enveloped my fingers. I waited for the sound of cracking bones and, when it didn’t happen, marveled at how gentle the big guy could be. “I’m Jennifer. But my friends call me Jenn.”

  “George is only George.” The face-splitting smile came again. “But you already know George’s name. Is George your friend? Can George call you Jenn?”

  “I’d say saving me from an ass-chewing would make you my friend.” I pulled my hand away from his. “Thanks for saving me, George. And yeah, call me Jenn.”

  “Awesome! You’re welcome, Jenn.”

  “If you two are finished getting all chummy, could someone get me out of this hole?”

  Showing remarkable agility for a guy his size, George spun around, fists in the air, ready for anything. “Where is he? Is it another wolf?”

  I patted the big guy on the shoulder and pointed to the storm drain. “No, no werewolf. But my, uh, friend got knocked down the drain when the shifter attacked me.”

  George followed me over to the curb and watched me get down on my knees to peer into the drain. Sure enough, Partner lay on the edge of a piece of metal protruding from the side of the concrete. “Hey, Partner, how ya doing?” I peered past the shelf into the darkness below it. “Judging from the looks of things, you got lucky.”

  Why I found this amusing I couldn’t say. After all, knowing the number crunchers at the Society, they’d probably garnish my wages to pay for a missing or busted Partner. And something told me Partners didn’t come cheap.

  “Darlin’, could you give me a hand?” The cowboy on the screen sat in the middle of a mudhole, arms raised above his head and waving them in an imploring gesture. “A little help, please?”

  I tried to work my hand through the iron rods of the grate, but couldn’t get more than a couple of fingers through them. I tugged on the drain, hoping to find it loose, and got a neck strain for my efforts.

  “Is your friend in there, Jenn?”

  His dark shadow from the street lights covered not only me but half of the sidewalk, too. I wondered what it must be like to be that huge. “Yeah, he is. But I can’t reach him and I can’t lift the cover.”

  George placed a hand on my shoulder and moved me away. “Let George see.”

  I nodded and moved out of the way, giving room for George to squat down. “Do you think you could lift the grate?” I twisted around to see a couple of the bar’s customers come stumbling out of the door. Luck was with me, though, since neither one of them was Michael. “I really need to get going, but I don’t want to leave him here.”

  “You mean the phone? The phone is your friend?” George’s seeking eyes found me. “How can a phone be your friend?”

  “Because I’m much more than a phone, you nitwit.” The cowboy was out of the mudhole and stomping the slimy gunk off his jeans. “I’m a virtual partner with emotions and intelligence like anyone else. And more than some others I could name.”

  George took his hand off the grate. “He doesn’t sound very nice. George isn’t sure George wants him to get out. Is he mean to you, Jenn?”

  The evil part of me wanted to say yes, to enjoy a little payback for all of Partner’s verbal jabs, but I knew better than to mess around right now. “No, George. Partner’s really very nice. He’s a little upset right now. You understand.”

  “Are you sure he gets it, darlin’? He sounds like he’s fallen on his head one too many times.”

  I opened my mouth to stick up for George, but he beat me to it.

  “George isn’t the one trapped in a drain, is George?” The big guy crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at Partner. “Now who fell on his head too many times?”

  Way to go, George! Yet another couple of drunks exited the bar and I ducked behind the friendly lug, using his mass to shield me. “Please get him out. I need to get out of here and get home.”

  The disgruntled giant nodded and lifted the grate off the drain as easily as if he was picking up a sheet of paper. George reached down to scoop up Partner and held him up with his short, stubby fingers for my inspection. Muck and debris clung to Partner’s metal and plastic. “Here you go, Jenn. But he sure is dirty. Sure-sure.”

  I again ignored George’s own odor, deciding not to insult my rescuer. “You’d be dirty, too, if you’d fallen in there.” I pinched Partner between two fingers and shook some crud off him. “I’ll clean you off when we get home. Speaking of which, I need to get moving. Blake’s going to have questions about where I ran off to. I kind of left him in the lurch.” I didn’t have a clue what I’d tell Blake about deserting him and the good time he’d had planned for us in the shower. But I had the drive home to figure it out.

  “Are you going to eat dinner, Jenn?”

  Dinner? Was he asking me out? “Uh, no, George.” I held up my left hand and wiggled my ring finger. “I’m, uh, flattered and everything, but I’m married.” To a man whose brother is a ghoul. I scowled and banished the unwanted thought from my head. How would I ever tell Blake what Michael was? Of course, I already knew the answer in my heart. I couldn’t tell him. I mean, why break his heart needlessly? Besides, if I told him what Michael was, I’d have to tell him the truth about me. See? I can rationalize almost anything.

  “Oh, shoot, George isn’t asking you for a date, Jenn.” George waved me off as if dating me would be a disgusting experience. “No, no. George is asking about food. Nothing more. You know, like friends do. They eat food together sometimes. Sure-sure.”

  He sure liked the word sure a lot. I wasn’t “sure-sure” if I felt insulted or not. Sheesh, now he had me saying it. Yet I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and forget the possible slam to my ego. “Oh. Dinner as friends. Yeah. Got it.”

  “Well, invite yourself over, why don’t ya?” Partner whistled low and gave a couple of warning beeps. “Pushy, isn’t he?”

  “When someone is his size, they can afford to be a little pushy.” And when a person saves your life, it’s extremely hard to say no to feeding them a decent meal. But I didn’t have a choice. “Gee, George, I’d love to have you over for dinner”—I hurried on when I saw the excited light in his eyes—“but not tonight. My husband and I have things we need to discuss. Without company around. Maybe another night, okay?”

  George’s face looked like the droopy mug of a Basset Hound. “Oh. Okay. Sure-sure. George understands. Another time.”

  “Sure, George. Another time.” I couldn’t help it. He looked so forlorn I had to hug him. Partner, however, didn’t appreciate getting squished between us.

  “Hey! Gotta breathe here!” A series of loud beeps echoed against my chest. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  George and I parted, and I lifted Partner’s cowboy image close to my face. “Drama queen, knock it off. You don’t have lungs, which means you don’t breathe, right?” He started to answer, but I shook my head. “No, don’t go there.”

  George watched us in fascination. “George would like one of those things. Where did you get it?”

  I stuttered, trying to think up a good excuse and, instead, pulled my car door open. I needed to get out of there. “Oh, a friend gave it to me.”

  “Awesome.”

  “Yeah. Awesome.” I started to sit in my seat, but George wiggled his fingers at me, bringing me up short. “Bye, George, and thanks again. I won’t forget you.”

  Heavy eyebrows dived between his bulbous nose. “’Course you won’t. George is coming for dinner soon.”

  Thinking George might be the oddest surprise guest I could ever bring home for dinner, I nodded, tossed a complaining Partner onto the other seat, and started the engine. G
eorge waved goodbye again and I returned his wave, grateful to have met the big guy. I squealed the tires and aimed the Jag toward home.

  I killed the engine, letting it coast into the driveway. No way was I going to open the garage door. Blake may sleep the sleep of the dead, but he had the hearing of a dog when he was awake.

  “I see someone’s using her stealth abilities tonight. Afraid to let the new hubby in on your fun-time excursion? Or don’t you think he’d be interested? After all, your trip to town turned up rather revealing information about his brother.”

  Oh, how I hated a smug know-it-all. Especially one that runs on batteries. And especially when he’s right. “I’m being considerate, if you must know. Why wake Blake up? I can tell him everything in the morning.” Or not.

  The long, lean cowboy whipped off his hat and whooped it up. “Hoo-ee! I need to get me some knee-high boots with all the manure you’re slinging. Sure you’ll tell him. Or to quote your new friend, ‘sure-sure’.”

  I shot Partner the finger, then pushed my car door open. “Well, you’ll never know, will you? Have a good night in the car, Partner.”

  Slamming the door on his protests, I glanced around the street before hurrying up the walkway to my front door. Almost getting torn apart by a werewolf makes a person jumpy—especially after getting attacked by a perky zombie. I didn’t waste any time getting into the house and punching in the code to reset the alarm.

  Glancing around, I knew the house was empty. Not even the kitchen light was on. Had Blake gone out when he’d found out I’d left? If he had, where had he gone? I frowned, not liking the idea of my husband roaming the streets looking for me. Yet I could hardly admonish him to keep safely locked behind closed doors when I didn’t take my own advice.

  I dropped his phone on the desk by the front door where I knew he’d find it in the morning, and made a dash for the bedroom. Again, I was greeted by a dark room. “Blake? Are you home?” But my whispers received the response I’d expected. None. Deciding an empty house was actually a silver lining, I shed my soiled clothing, headed into the bathroom, and switched on the shower. With any luck, I’d get into bed and fall asleep before he came home with questions.

  Dark patches where the bruises were already forming greeted me in the mirror. Some minor scratches crisscrossed my abdomen but, for the most part, I looked pretty damn good considering I’d spent part of the night mixing it up with a werewolf. After all, when I can tangle with a shifter and manage to come out of the battle still standing and without any bites, I count it a good day. Thanks to George, I’d managed to do both.

  I stepped into the shower, luxuriating in the respite it gave me from the outside world. The water streamed down my back, easing the soreness threatening to set up shop. Besides the soothing comfort, I needed to get the smell of shifter off me. Shifter stench is unbearable and I was afraid Blake would get one whiff and pledge never to touch his wife again.

  After a few minutes—I could have stayed in the shower for an hour—I toweled off, threw on my most comfortable and least attractive pajamas, and crawled between the sheets. Blake, however, still hadn’t made an appearance and I was more than unhappy. I’m no financial whiz-kid, but I knew midnight was too late for any investment counseling. Where the hell was he?

  Exhausted from my rumble with the wolf, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. But I didn’t get to sleep for long. Instead, I jolted out of a great Brad Pitt dream and checked the alarm clock’s yellow glow. “Three in the morning?” My hand flew to Blake’s side of the bed and found it empty. “Where the hell is he?” The Worried Wife morphed into the Irritated, Pissed-Off, Just-Plain-Fed-Up Wife in three-point-two seconds. Game on, baby.

  And wouldn’t you know it? Blake tiptoed into the bedroom at that exact moment. Instead of demanding answers, however, I closed my eyes and tucked myself under the covers. Carefully, I slid the comforter over my head and hoped he hadn’t noticed the movement.

  Although I knew he was trying to be quiet, I could hear him dropping his clothes to the floor. He coughed a few times, quietly, restraining himself, and I heard the familiar clink of money dropping into his change jar.

  Should I peek? Will I see anything that might tell me where he’s been? I’d decided not to risk it until I heard a different, yet familiar sound. But this wasn’t a familiar hubby-type sound. Oh, no. This was definitely not a Blake-like sound.

  The clicking sound I heard was the sound of a demon having difficulty maintaining his human appearance. I was one of a few Protectors who’d ever heard the sound. Yet, although I’d only heard it once before, I remembered it well.

  The clicking sound happened again and I opened my eyes to peer through tiny slits. Blake stood in front of the television set with his back to me. What was making the sound? Silently, I prayed it wasn’t my husband. Denying any possibility, I shoved the idea away. My husband wasn’t a demon! He couldn’t be. But if not, why did he sound like one?

  Without warning, Blake pivoted quickly and I shut my eyes again. Another click happened, sending urgency rushing through me. Whether I liked it or not, I had to risk his knowing I was awake. I held my breath and peeked again.

  What the hell?

  Honey, What Big Bruises You Have!

  The announcer punched the buttons on the gadget. Click. Click-click-click. “Folks, if you pass up this amazing new food processor, you’re going to regret it. The Mix-O-Master does everything your old food processor does in half the time, half the mess, and takes up half the space.”

  Blake moved a little to the right, revealing the television set mounted on the wall. I couldn’t help it. I gawked at the screen. The smiling man on the show continued to punch more buttons. Click-click-click-click. Was that the clicking sound I’d heard?

  Relief washed through me and I tried not to giggle. Of course! I’d programmed the set to record the show. The recording shouldn’t have turned on the television, yet sometimes, for some unknown reason, it would. Tonight was one of those times. Blake had threatened to disconnect the digital recorder after several nights of being awakened in the middle of the night, but I’d stopped him. You got it. I’m an infomercial junkie.

  Blake cringed at the sound of the show’s music, frantically doing his own share of punching buttons on the remote. At last, he managed to switch the set off and turned toward me, almost catching me in the act of clamping my hand over my mouth.

  Biting my tongue kept me from laughing and I pretended to sleep. I could sense him leaning over me, checking on me. I regulated my breathing, making myself take deeper breaths and, figuratively, held my breath. His sigh told me I’d earned an Oscar for Best Actress in a Sleeping Drama.

  I contemplated whether I should pretend to wake up or not, and decided I’d missed my window of opportunity. Waking up now wouldn’t play right. Instead, relieved my foolish suspicion of demonizing my husband was wrong, I executed a perfect roll to my other side. I’d get some sleep and tomorrow I’d ask Blake where he’d gone. At least that was my plan—until I heard Blake whispering.

  “Yeah, Michael, it’s me.”

  I had to remember to keep breathing deeply and in a regular rhythm. Why call Michael at this time of the night? This was the second call to his brother he obviously didn’t want me to know about. Yet this time it was worse. This time I knew Michael’s secret identity.

  Okay, I admit it. I’m a pro at denial, although I didn’t realize it at the time. But isn’t not recognizing you’re in denial a part of being in denial? I started reassuring myself, trying to spin my new knowledge about Michael away from anything to do with Blake. Simply because Michael was an Otherworlder didn’t mean Blake was one, too. Shoot, he might not even know about his brother. Right?

  “No, bro. I don’t care what you say. I’m not giving up. What you did tonight doesn’t change anything.”

  Blake paced to the other side of the room, listening to Michael. “No, I don’t believe it. Trust me, if she was, I’d know about it. They’re wrong.”
>
  If who was what? Who was this woman he’d mentioned? What were these two up to? The relief I’d felt moments earlier fell away, crunched by the knot forming in my throat. I bit the inside of my mouth to stay quiet, but part of me wanted to jump out of bed and demand answers. Yet another part of me had set up house in fantasy land, declaring it all a horrible dream.

  “Come on, man, don’t you think I’d know?”

  Normally, I detest speaker phones, but I would’ve loved to have had one for this conversation. Either that or superhero hearing. Blake listened for several minutes before the exchange came to an abrupt end.

  “Look, Michael, you’ve got to give me a chance to—”

  Blake’s grumbles signaled his frustration and the crack of him slamming his cell phone down on the dresser made me jump. I waited for him to say something like, “Are you awake?” but luck must’ve stayed on my side and he missed my surprised jerk.

  At last, I felt the bed move beside me as Blake crawled under the sheets. Unlike he usually did, he kept to his side and didn’t touch me. Did his distance mean something had changed between us? I waited for his snores to begin, although I knew sleep wouldn’t come to me. Too many questions kept barreling through my mind without any of them running into an answer.

  Why had Blake lied to me about contacting his brother? If Michael was in trouble, why didn’t he ask me to help? Why keep it a secret? Yet the biggest nagging question was…did Blake know more than he let on?

  I knew I’d fallen asleep when Blake’s arm slipped over my hip and his hand grasped my breast, making me stir into semi-sleep. I also knew this possessive gesture was his nonverbal signal of “Me want sex”.

  Why is it men want sex in the morning and women prefer to get busy at night? After a night’s sleep with no makeup, no breath mints, and hair sticking up at odd angles, a woman hardly feels like a sex kitten. But men don’t seem to care. Which, I suppose if you think about it, is a good thing.