I Married a Demon

by Beverly Rae

  “Besides, it looks like you have a guest.”

  I followed the direction of Myra’s attention to see Blake standing at the window with a man larger than any man I’d ever seen—except for one. George, my rescuer who’d beaten off the white werewolf outside the bar, raised a hand big enough to put a Christmas ham to shame, and waved to me.

  “George? What’re you doing—” Before I could finish the sentence, George engulfed me in a huge bear hug, mashing my face against his round stomach, and making me glad I’d left Partner in my car. He’d have gotten squashed to bit after broken bit. I gave up trying to talk and listened for the sickening crack of my ribs.

  “Hi. I’m Myra.”

  At the sound of her voice, the giant man went stock-still, then turned, thrusting me away from him. He stepped closer to my friend, bent over and ogled her. Nothing else in the world existed for George and his eyes glazed over in an unmistakable look of love at first sight. “My-ra.” A low sigh drifted after her name.

  Yep, the big galoot had it bad.

  Myra giggled and held out her hand in greeting.

  “No! Don’t!” I started to intervene, but stopped when I realized how gently George took her hand in his huge mitts. I glanced from the big guy to the little woman and saw an identical look of worship come into my best friend’s eyes.

  “Wow. I think your friend is smitten.”

  Blake’s wonder reflected my own. Turning toward him, I narrowed my eyes and demanded an answer. “Why is George here? How do you know George?” Could the big lummox be mixed up in this Bracelet mess?

  “George.”

  The way Myra stated his name was an exact copy of the reverential way I’d heard George say hers. If this was love at first sight, then at least they’d both hitched a ride on the same love train.

  “I don’t know him. He showed up looking for you.” Blake shook his head at the new couple. “He said you invited him for dinner.”

  Dinner? I’d forgotten about my less-than-sincere invitation for dinner. After all, I’d figured I’d never see George again after the attack. How had George found my home?

  At last, the longest love-gaze in history came to an end. “Right! George came for dinner. Jenn invited George the other day when George helped Jenn—”

  Afraid he would spill the beans about the white werewolf—aka my husband’s newest friend—I jumped in and headed the conversation away from dangerous territory. “Retrieve my phone. It, uh, fell into a storm drain and George helped me get it out.”

  “Yeah, right. Then Jenn said George was her friend and George could call her Jenn. Jenn said George could come to dinner.” The biggest smile spread across his face. If his smile got any wider, he’d have a mouth in the back of his head. “George is here for dinner.”

  “He sure-sure is.” At Blake’s quizzical expression, I added, “You’ll see.” I shrugged at Blake and hoped he’d get my message. I had no clue he would show up like this. “I don’t suppose anyone’s hungry for pizza? Because, frankly, I think the cupboard is bare.” I turned to my husband. “Unless Blake went shopping for us.”

  “Actually, I did. In fact, George, you picked the perfect night to, uh, drop in. I made my incredible—even if I do say so myself—lasagna. Let me heat up the French bread and dinner will be ready in ten minutes.” He cocked his head toward the kitchen, taking me by the arm and dragging me along with him. “You two get acquainted while Jenn and I get supper on the table.”

  I let my husband guide me into the kitchen and prepared to confront him. Blake, however, had culinary problems on his mind.

  “Thank God I made a big pan of lasagna. I figured I’d save some to eat throughout the week but, by the looks of your big friend, we’ll be lucky to get any of the food for ourselves.”

  Was he kidding me? Was he really worried about food? He lifted the pan from the oven, then retrieved the French bread. In the meantime, I grappled with a rush of conflicting emotions. Could this man really be a demon? But how could I have missed it? Why hadn’t I noticed any of the signs? What was wrong with me? First I saw demons where there were none, then I missed one right in front of me. How could this have happened? How could I have fallen in love with a demon? But, no question about it, I did love this demon. No! I love this man!

  I hate to admit it now, but when I saw my old friend Denial knocking at the door, I couldn’t wait to let him in again. I needed to give Blake a test to be sure. Once he passed, I could forget what the gargoyle said and relax for the rest of the night. Either he’d have to pass, or I’d have to believe.

  “I can’t tell you how relieved I was when you walked through the door. George has talked both my ears off.” My loving hubby turned to me after placing large portions of the entrée on our best china. “He’s a bit strange, don’t you think? I mean, he talked about living in the forest, for Pete’s sake. And his habit of referring to himself in the third person is driving me crazy.”

  “Yeah, he’s different.” But he’s not a demon. I bit my tongue and decided not to challenge him until I’d tested him with water. Holy water, of course.

  “Oh, sure. I didn’t mean bad different. Funny different.” Blake lifted two of the plates and paused to scrutinize me. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve had a rough day. Is Swindle on your case again?”

  I shook my head to force away the image of my husband-turned-demon. “No, everything’s okay. I even sold a house this morning.”

  “Great! I’m proud of you, honey.” He put his shoulder to the door and pushed. “Are you coming?”

  “In a sec. I need to get something first.”

  The shaking started right after the door closed behind him. The signs had been there and I’d ignored them like an ostrich with her head stuck firmly in the ground. Now, however, I couldn’t ignore them any longer.

  How many times had I seen a flash of red in his eyes and resolutely swept it out of my mind? Instead, I’d concentrated on his captivating gray eyes, letting myself get sucked into them.

  How often had I marveled at how much hot sauce Blake could eat? Lots of people like hot sauce, but he dumps tons of it on almost everything he eats. He swamps his eggs in hot sauce, covers his pancakes in hot sauce, and dips his pickles in hot sauce. Hell, he even likes including hot sauce in our more playful, tasty love sessions. If anyone else had eaten their food drenched in tongue-searing, throat-flaming sauce, they’d have screamed in agonizing pain. But me be suspicious of Blake? Nope, instead, I’d chalked it up to men having iron stomachs.

  And what about the odd growling sound? If I’d heard the same sound from any other man, I’d have known he was a demon. Yet coming from Blake, I’d thought it sounded sexy.

  But the most condemning fact was the lack of a history before a few years ago. Sure other people like those in the Witness Protection Program changed their names and relocated, losing all their prior history, but my gut told me Blake wasn’t a star witness for anyone.

  How could I, a trained Protector, have missed or ignored all the signs? How could I have been blind to Blake’s true nature? Talk about getting swept off my feet! Hell, I’d gotten swept out of my right mind.

  I crossed to the cabinet on the far side of the kitchen, and wiped away my tears. Reaching deep into its recesses, I brought out a small vial of holy water. With this test, I’d know the truth once and for all with no way to deny or ignore it. Taking a deep breath, I said a quick prayer, slipped the bottle into my pocket, and joined my husband and the others in the dining room.

  “Jenn, you are one lucky woman.” Myra took a seat next to George. Blake, playing the perfect host, passed the food around and offered to pour everyone a glass of wine. George mumbled a happy sound, grabbed the French bread and tore the loaf in half. With a satisfied sigh, he placed one of the halves next to his plate. Blake sent me a conspiratorial glance and added, “Yes, please. Help yourselves.”

  I decided the best course of action was to play it cool. Remember? I’m good at playing it cool. “Uh, yeah,
Myra, I’m a lucky girl. But why do you think I am?” I diverted my gaze from Blake. Until I did the test, I didn’t think I could look him in the eyes.

  “Because Blake’s not only good-looking and successful, but he cooks. Does he do housework, too?” Myra took a small piece of bread from the remaining half of a loaf and laughed. Yet, although her praise was for Blake, her eyes were on George.

  “Not much. And I don’t do windows.” Blake walked around the table, brushing his hand along the tips of my shoulders, and sat next to me. “However, I do love to make those patterns in the carpet when I sweep.”

  Maybe it was my way of preparing for the disappointment of a lifetime, but I tried pointing out a flaw in Blake’s entertaining skills. “Before we make him a saint, I have to admit he does make mistakes. Like, for instance, we don’t have a salad for this meal. I mean, what’s lasagna without a good salad first.”

  I knew I’d thrown him a pitch out of left field, but Blake shook off his initial surprise and easily caught the verbal ball. “Hey, I’m trying to keep everyone safe.”

  “Safe?” George crammed a huge chunk of bread into his mouth and followed it with a bite of lasagna only Godzilla could have fit into his mouth.

  I met Blake’s eyes and saw the twinkle I loved. Stifling the pain it struck in my heart, I tucked my head and studied my plate as though I’d never noticed the gold pattern around the edge.

  “Yeah, safety first. I’m terrible at putting together a salad. I tend to throw in just about everything including the kitchen sink. Trust me. It can get pretty scary.”

  “Along with a lot of other things at this table,” I muttered.

  Blake leaned closer to question me, his warm breath tickling my neck. “What’d you say, Jenn?”

  “Nothing. Ignore me. I’ve had a long day.” I gave Myra a weak smile, one she would have normally interpreted to mean I’m tired. Go home, friend. But tonight her attention rested with our other uninvited houseguest. “George, how about telling us about yourself.” I needed time to think.

  “George?”

  Although he spoke with his mouth full of food, Myra stared at him with adoration. “Yes, George, tell us about yourself. I bet you lead a fascinating life.”

  Somehow the words “fascinating” and “George” didn’t seem to go together, but who was I to judge? I leaned forward, making a show of giving him my full attention. Meanwhile, my brain stuck with the problem at hand. Was my husband a demon? If so, what would I do?

  “George’s life?” George reflected Myra’s sappy, love-sick grin. “Do you want to know?”

  Myra hung on his every word. “Oh, yes. Tell us everything. I want to know all about you. Don’t hold anything back.”

  I shifted in my chair to watch Blake more closely. Surely, if he was a demon, I’d see the signs now that I’d pulled my head out of the sand. Carrying on a conversation with someone seated across from me wasn’t easy since I was more preoccupied with the person sitting next to me. But I was determined not to miss any signs of demonic possession.

  “George lives in the mountains of Wyoming.”

  I heard Myra’s gasp and knew she was already working out a plan to move to Wyoming. Blake nodded to keep our guest talking.

  “George lives by himself in the woods. George doesn’t like people much.” His goofy grin grew bigger and he once again looked longingly at my best friend. “Except special people.”

  I glanced at Myra and nearly giggled at the sappy expression on her face. “Special? Like in handicapped?” Although I’d directed the question at George, I returned my attention to Blake to see him pour a river of hot sauce over his lasagna. Did any normal human ever put that much hot sauce on their food? Blake, on the other hand, kept listening intently to George, oblivious to my perusal.

  “No, not special in a different way. Special like Jenn. Special like Jenn’s friend, Myra. George likes Myra.”

  Myra inhaled and held her breath before blurting out her feelings. “Myra, uh, I mean, I think you’re special, too.”

  If I hadn’t been focused on Blake I might have gagged on the copious amounts of love coming from the other side of the table. Still, I felt the need to inject some common sense into the situation. “I’m happy you two are hitting it off, but let’s hear more about George. I mean, we”—I shot a pointed look at Myra—“don’t know a thing about him. I’ve only met him once before.”

  Myra rolled her eyes at me like a besotted teenager and put her hand on George’s arm for encouragement. “Go on, George.”

  “George likes fish.”

  “To eat or for a pet?” I couldn’t have cared less if George ate fish or played Scrabble with them, but it kept the conversation going.

  Blake gave me one of his what are you doing? expressions which I pointedly ignored.

  “Eat. George eats fish.”

  “Oh, I love fish, too. I especially love tuna, swordfish and shark. Have you ever eaten shark, George?”

  “No, Myra. George eats what George catches in George’s river.”

  “Wow, you have your own river? You must have a great place in the woods.”

  If Myra got any giddier around this guy, I’d have to pour Blake’s hot sauce on her to cancel out all the sweetness. Hopefully, I could use George’s autobiography to get answers out of my hubby. “Blake, honey, would you like to live in the woods of Wyoming? It sounds wonderful, doesn’t it? Think of all the snuggling we could do by the fireplace.”

  Caught off guard, Blake laid his fork down and gaped at me. “Wyoming? Me? You’re kidding, right? You know how much I hate cold weather. I’d probably end up in the fire trying to get warm. You know the only reason I moved here with the cold, icy winters is because your work is here. Even though I’m sure you could sell real estate anywhere you wanted to.”

  “You do get chilled easily. I don’t know why, but I never asked you. Do you come from a warm place? A very, very warm place? Like maybe down under? Way down under?” I leaned toward Blake, glancing down to the floor and back, half-hoping he’d see the real meaning behind my questions.

  “Huh?”

  “Sure. Everyone is acclimated to their hometown’s weather. Then, when they move, they have to adjust.”

  I almost growled at Myra’s interference. “What do you do for a living, George?”

  “George hunts.”

  All three of us turned to George. “Oh, so you hunt? For a living? Are you a tracker or a hunting guide?”

  “George hunts for a living.”

  Yeah, like that answered my question. I leveled my gaze at Blake who appeared uncomfortable with my line of conversation. “Do you like to hunt, Blake? Like maybe at night?”

  Blake pushed away from the table, his brow furrowing at my strange question. “What are you talking about? I don’t even own a gun.”

  “Who says you need a gun?” Hunters don’t need guns when they have the fangs and claws of a demon. I started getting into the questioning. “You could use your, uh, natural weapons.”

  “You mean kill with my bare hands?” Blake laughed along with Myra. “I’m hardly the aggressive type, honey. Unless, of course, you’re talking about beating out my competition for a new client.”

  “George, what kind of weapon do you use when you go hunting?” Myra derailed my questioning of Blake to continue her exploration of George. “I bet you look amazing in hunting clothes. I love a man who knows how to come home with the bacon.”

  “George doesn’t bring bacon home. George likes deer meat best.”

  “Deer meat? I’ve never eaten venison before.” She batted her eyes at the big lug. “I’d love to try it sometime.”

  Could Myra’s hint get any clearer? I had a bad feeling warning me to watch out for my friend, but I needed to keep my attention on the bigger problem. “You know what? I don’t remember where you told me you were born, Blake? Here in the states or someplace exotic like Brazil?”

  “Brazil? You know I was raised in Florida.” Blake reached over to t
ake my hand in his and I welcomed the touch. How could the touch of a demon make my insides quiver with lust?

  “George, do you have a family?”

  I cringed, knowing what Myra’s real question was and asked it for her. “Yes, George, do you have a wife? Someone you don’t keep any secrets from? Someone who knows you like no one else does?”

  “Jenn, are you upset with me?” Blake whispered.

  Instead of responding, I popped a forkful of lasagna into my mouth and faced forward, pretending that George’s recounting of his life had suddenly become incredibly fascinating.

  “No. George doesn’t have a mate. Not any longer. George’s mate died. In fact, George came here to find a mate.”

  “Oh, no. I’m sorry for your loss, George.” Myra placed one hand over her heart and the other hand on George’s gigantic arm. “If I can help you in any way, please tell me.”

  “You’ll help George?” George clamped Myra’s hand between both of his. “Even though George is…”

  “Is what, George?” Myra had apparently forgotten about Blake and me.

  “Even though George is a Big—”

  Myra flung her body out of the chair and hugged George. Or rather tried to hug him since her arms couldn’t reach around his massive body. “I don’t care! I know you’re big, but you’re wonderful.”

  I gaped at the new Mutt and Jeff sitting across from me. “Myra! What are you doing? You hardly know the man.”

  “I know. But I can’t help it. George is everything I’ve dreamed of. Big, handsome, self-sufficient, and lovable.” She sighed and renewed her hug.

  “Myra is special, Jenn. Very special.”

  I could see that George was enamored with Myra too. So who was I to get in the way of true love? Besides, at least George wasn’t a demon. “Promise me you’ll take things slow, okay?”

  “You and Blake didn’t.”

  Although Myra’s statement was true enough, I couldn’t think of a way to let her know about Blake. Not without blurting it out. Instead, I hopped up and headed for the kitchen. “I’ll be right back. I forgot the cheese. I love extra cheese on lasagna.” Pausing at the door, I waited for my usually helpful friend to offer her assistance, but she didn’t seem to notice I’d left the room.