Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb

by Lexi George

  “Daddy issues,” Sassy confided. “She as much as told me she resents your grandfather Cole for playing favorites with her and Blake. She’s angry and she wants the mill. I think she staged the recent accidents at the plant to force me to sell.”

  “Could be, I guess.” Junior shrugged. “Can’t say for sure. She was never around much. Too busy burying a husband or marrying a new one. She married two brothers in succession—Robert and John Gordan. Planted both of them before moving on to Reginald Cherry. What number’s she on now?”

  “Gordan Gordan Cherry Woody Harwood.” Sassy ticked the names off on her fingers. “Five.”

  “Do tell,” Junior said.

  The Dalmatian materialized.

  “There you are, Trey.” Junior patted the dog on the head. “Good news. Your sister has given Meredith her marching orders. She won’t be back.”

  The dog wagged his tail and barked.

  “Did you know he hangs out at the mill?” Sassy asked Junior. “He was there today. I saw him.”

  Junior wagged his finger at the Dalmatian. “Again? How many times have I told you to stay away from that place?”

  Trey hung his head and slunk into the ether.

  “I’d better go after him.” Junior sighed. “He hates to be scolded.”

  Junior vanished.

  The front door slammed and Taryn sailed into the living room. The woman moved like she was on wheels. Evan was with her. His expression was sullen, and his hands were jammed in his jeans pockets.

  “I found this one walking down the road.” Taryn indicated Evan with a toss of her head. “He is in a foul mood because we did not return for him.”

  “His mood is about to get worse.” Grim crossed the room in two strides and slammed Evan against the wall. “You were supposed to stay with Sassy,” he said through his teeth. “Had Dell not warned me, she would be dead.”

  “Grim. Stop it.” Sassy hurried over and grabbed him by the arm. His muscles were flesh-covered steel. “His eyes are turning black. If he monsters out, there’ll be nothing left of the house. I am not staying at the Hannah Inn.”

  Evan’s eyes were black as raisins. “If you were so worried about Sassy, why’d you run off to look for the rogue?”

  Grim snarled and tossed Evan to the floor then stalked to the other side of the room.

  “Rogue?” Sassy looked from Evan to Grim. “What’s he talking about?”

  Grim glanced at Taryn. The huntress inclined her head a fraction.

  “Arta, the leader of the Kirvahni, sent word by Taryn that one of our brothers has taken up with the enemy.” Grim’s mouth tightened. “For the first time in the history of our race, a Dalvahni warrior is foresworn. Conall sounded the alarm among our ranks to find the villain.”

  A demon hunter, one with the powers and abilities of the Dalvahni, had gone to the other side? The thought was alarming.

  “Did you find him?” Sassy asked.

  “Nay,” Grim said. “He is clever, this dastard. He has unleashed the viper of distrust in our midst. One of us is a traitor, though we know not who. Now brother looks upon brother askance and with grievous doubt.” He shook his head. “Never would I have believed such a thing possible. But fear not. He will be caught and there will be a reckoning.”

  He gave Sassy a look so hot and primal, so full of promise that she looked down to make certain she hadn’t burned to cinders. “But the pleasure of bringing this rogue to justice will have to be another’s. You come first from now on. In all things.”

  Evan’s gaze whipped from Sassy to Grim and back again. “Whoa. Why do I feel like I’ve missed something?”

  Sassy blushed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re a lousy liar, Lollipop.”

  “Naturally.” Sassy showed him her dimples. “It’s not nice to lie.”

  Evan pushed to his feet and rolled his shoulders. Slowly, his eyes faded from black to purple. “Rotten luck the old hag showed up while I wasn’t around. Wish I’d been there to help, Red.”

  Grim rounded on the huntress. “What is this?”

  “The witch accosted us on the road.” Taryn grimaced. “I missed the shot. She got away.”

  “Taryn winged her,” Sassy said. “I heard her holler.”

  “The old bitch is on the run and injured?” Evan’s mouth curled in an unpleasant smile. “Excellent. Things are about to get hotter for her.”

  “Meaning?” Grim asked.

  “I ran into that sheriff while I was in town.” Evan held his hands up, palms out. “As a general rule, I’m allergic to pork, but I decided to liven things up for Ora.” He showed his teeth in a feral grin. “Told Whitsun if he wanted to solve the Charlie Skinner murder case, he should poke around the Luker place.”

  Sassy’s eyes widened. “You think the witch killed Charlie Skinner?”

  “Know she did,” Evan said. “Ora told me the whole story before she drugged me and threw me in the clink. Said Charlie stole some plant from her. She killed him for it, crazy old bitch. Drowned Charlie in his own moonshine and kept his boots as a souvenir.”

  Sassy shivered. The witch made a cruel enemy.

  Grim laid his hand on her shoulder and stroked the nape of her neck with his thumb.

  “It is well past midday, and you are hungry and weary,” he said. “A bath and a change of clothes should set you to rights. Take your ease whilst I prepare a meal.”

  “My new clothes.” Sassy brightened at once. “Yay. I forgot about them.”

  “I see you got new kicks, Red.” Evan smirked at the huntress. “Not your usual style, are they?”

  “Kicks? I do not—” Taryn got that faraway look in her eyes, the one that meant she was processing. “Ah. You refer to my boots. They are not my doing.”

  “Lolly bedazzled you, huh?”

  “Yes. I fear they are not appropriate garb for a warrior.” Taryn looked down at the boots with something like regret. “Though they are a trifle garish, I confess that I find myself loath to part with them. I have never received a gift.”

  “Never?” Sassy stared at the huntress in astonishment. “Not even for your birthday?”

  Taryn shook her head. “Verily, the workmanship is exceptional, and they are agreeable in fit and form. The color, alas, does not suit. I should much prefer it they were black.”

  Poof. The boots went from red to black.

  Taryn gave Sassy a startled look. “Did you . . . ?”

  Sassy shook her head. “Wasn’t me. Cross my heart and hope to die in an ugly dress.”

  “Astonishing.” Taryn cleared her throat. “And I am not overly fond of the gewgaws.”

  The glitter vanished, although the boots retained a certain luster that bespoke fairy magic.

  Tilting her right foot this way and that, Taryn admired her footwear. “Excellent.” Looking much cheered, she motioned to Evan. “Come. You will help me fetch the parcels.”

  Evan saluted. “Yes, sir, sergeant ma’am.”

  Grinning, he sauntered out the door with Taryn.

  Sassy opted for a quick shower instead of a soak in the tub. She towel-dried her hair, letting it fall in natural ringlets, and brushed her teeth. When she came out of the bathroom, the king-sized bed was covered with her purchases. She pawed through the bags until she found panties and a bra—heaven to be wearing her own things—and slipped on a pair of skinny jeans, a fitted white tee, and a pair of barely-there nude sandals with a strap around the ankle and another one across the toes. The shoes had heels, of course; a girl could only go so casual.

  A heavenly smell tugged her into the kitchen, and she found Grim standing at the stove. She stopped in the door to admire the view. Holy beefcake, he was glorious. She loved the tough, rugged look of him, the stern expression that belied the tenderness underneath, the way his fiery hair brushed his wide shoulders, the cut and perfection of his muscular body. She loved the protective streak that ran through him a mile wide, his commitment to whatever he set his mind
and energy to, his solid good sense and unassailable honor, his sun-gold eyes and deep, mesmerizing voice.

  She loved him. She loved his stubbornness and bossy nature, although it drove her to distraction at times. Most of all, she loved who she was with him—more than a pretty face and a perky picker-upper. He made her happy, not the other way around. He gave and didn’t take. In turn, she wanted to give him joy and laughter, not out of guilt or obligation, but out of love.

  He had seen her at her purple whatzit worst and hadn’t run the other way. She loved him for that, too. And she ached to sooth the loneliness, grief, and guilt she sensed inside him.

  Grim turned as though he sensed her presence.

  “Hungry?” He gave her a look that made her breasts tighten.

  She nodded, too ravenous to speak, and not for food.

  He looked her up and down, taking in her jeans and tee shirt and her skimpy sandals. Heat kindled in his gaze. He liked what he saw, and Sassy liked that. Gracious, she was giddy with desire, and all the man had done was look at her. She wasn’t wearing makeup, her nails were peeling and torn, and her hair was damp. Yet he made her feel beautiful.

  The air was thick with sexual tension. Her body tingled with awareness. She’d never felt more desirable or alive. If this was a dream, then please, God, let her sleep.

  She stepped out of the doorway and crossed the kitchen to the wood and granite island. Grim’s gaze on her was a warm caress.

  “Do you like my new jeans?” she asked, sliding onto a bar stool.

  Her voice sounded husky and her skin glowed with fairy light.

  “I should like them better off you,” he said. “Were you mine, I would have you. Here. Now. On this surface you call a counter.”

  Oh, my. Sassy’s heart skipped a beat, and she clung to the island to keep from falling off the stool. The man had moves, and the look in his eyes made her blood burn.

  Evan loped into the kitchen, breaking the spell. And a good thing, too, before she spontaneously combusted.

  “Something smells good,” he said. “What’s for eats?”

  Sassy was hungry, too. It seemed like days since breakfast.

  Taryn joined them and they gathered around the table for a late lunch. The food Grim had prepared was simple but good: three fat chickens rubbed in olive oil and roasted with herbs; carrots, onions, and potatoes; and brussels sprouts from the freezer.

  Evan turned up his nose at the sprouts, pronouncing them rabbit food. Fresh bread slathered with butter rounded off the feast.

  Grim ate a whole chicken and half of another, an entire loaf of bread, and two helpings of veggies. The man could tuck away an astonishing amount of food.

  After they finished eating, Taryn disappeared upstairs to take a bath and Evan announced he was going for a walk in the woods.

  “And if I happen to run into the witch, so much the better,” he said with an evil grin.

  Grim went outside to check on the shield. Sassy was cleaning up after the meal when the house phone rang. The sound startled her. For a smartphone junkie, she’d detoxed quickly. If someone had told her a week ago that she could go for hours, much less days, without her cellular addiction, she wouldn’t have believed them.

  But here she was, a pickle princess enjoying the simple domesticity of washing dishes, disconnected from the world. No cell, no laptop, no Internet, no television. She didn’t miss any of it. Who had time for any of that?

  The phone jangled again. Sassy dried her hands and yanked it out of the cradle. Probably Mama, she thought. Clutching the receiver to her chest, she took a deep breath.

  “Hello,” she said, bracing for a lecture.

  “Miss Peterson?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is Robin James from the Hannah Herald. I heard what happened at Peterson Mill today. I was hoping you’d answer a few questions for the paper.”

  Marshmallows, if Burke and Furr had ratted Mr. Houston out to the paper, he’d be mad as a hornet. It would take every ounce of charm in her arsenal to convince him to give them another chance.

  “No one was hurt in the log spill, Mr. James. You can put that in your paper. It was an accident.”

  “Is it true two men were fired because of the incident?”

  Burke and Furr, no doubt about it. What a couple of widemouthed frogs.

  “The matter is still under investigation,” Sassy hedged. “A final decision hasn’t been made.”

  She hoped.

  She did some quick calculating and relaxed. The Herald came out Wednesday and Saturday mornings. Plenty of time to talk Houston into rehiring Burke and Furr.

  “My source says there have been a number of accidents since your brother died,” James said. “There are rumblings among the men that the mill is cursed. Any comment on that?”

  And say what? That she suspected her evil man-eating great-aunt of supernatural sabotage? That would make a heck of a front-page spread. Better give the reporter something else to write about.

  She sent a zing of charm through the telephone. “I am so excited to talk to you, Mr. James. It’s like meeting an old friend.”

  There was a startled silence at the other end of the line. “It is?”

  “Oh, my, yes. I’ve been a faithful follower of the Herald for years. I thought your article on powdery mildew in roses was brilliant. I never would have guessed that spraying cow’s milk on plants was an organic way to slow the spread of the disease.”

  “Well, I—”

  “And your piece on the plight of the old Harmon Theater brought me to tears,” Sassy said. “Your passionate outcry against the ravages of time and neglect single-handedly moved me to write the Pride of Hannah a five-thousand-dollar check. A magnificent building was saved because of you, Mr. James.”

  “Thank you. I’m sure the committee—”

  “May I call you Robin, Mr. James?”

  “Uh . . . of course.”

  “Well, Robin, as I’m sure you know, I’m not from Hannah. But I feel as though I know this town because of your journalistic skills, and I want you to know—”

  “Miss Peterson?”

  “Call me Sassy, please.”

  “Sassy. Are you staying in Hannah? Word is you’ve decided to run the mill.”

  “That’s right. I’ve decided not to sell.”

  “How does your fiancé feel about that? The Bodifords are a distinguished old Fairhope family. Is your fiancé willing to give up his life there and move to Hannah, or will you commute?”

  “Um . . . well.” Sassy floundered. Somehow, she’d lost control of the conversation. “My decision to keep the mill was sudden. Wes and I haven’t had a chance to discuss things.”

  “Why not? He’s been holed up at the Hannah Inn since yesterday.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  A call to the Hannah Inn confirmed the reporter’s tip: Wesley Bodiford was staying in room number ten. Had checked in yesterday and hadn’t been seen since.

  Wesley. In spite of his anger, fastidious, exacting, superior Wesley had taken lodgings in a crabfest fleabag motel to be near her. Sassy was deeply touched. That was beyond sweet. It was positively Nicholas Sparks.

  And she was going to reward his steadfastness by ending things. If this were a Disney movie, she’d be the bad guy. Not a role she’d imagined for herself.

  But she couldn’t marry Wes no matter how Nicholas Sparkly he was. She didn’t love him.

  Bunny rabbits, she dreaded this.

  Turning into the motel parking lot, she maneuvered the Maserati across the potholed asphalt and pulled into the slot next to Wes’s car. If anything, the run-down lodge was seedier in daylight, a postcard for the tawdry and derelict. Acne spots of mildew pimpled the white stucco walls. A miniature replica of Jeb Hannah, town founder and Spanish-American War hero, tottered atop a rickety metal pole, sword in one hand and a glowing red peanut in the other. A faded Ford Maverick with plastic sheeting duct taped over the back window squatted on the other side of Wes’s car.
The gleaming BMW stuck out in the sleazy surroundings like a pair of Manolo Blahniks in a thrift store bin of used flip-flops.

  Wes might as well tape a sign on his car that said Steal me, and be done with it.

  The precarious and unprotected location of Wes’s beloved car was a testament to his distraught mental state. Pity and regret squeezed Sassy’s heart. Angered and hurt by her imagined infidelity, he’d taken refuge in the run-down inn and refused her calls, retreating into the dark recesses of the dank motel room to drink himself into a lovelorn stupor. She could see him now, flopped on the cheap mattress and polyester bedspread, bloated on junk food from the vending machine and drunk as Cooter Brown.

  She turned off the engine, steeling herself for the coming scene. Kind but firm, Sassy. You can do this.

  “Stay here,” she told Grim.

  She marched up to room number ten and rapped on the door. There was no answer. A steady thumping accompanied by tortured groaning came from inside.

  Wesley was exercising. That was a good sign, right? Cheered, Sassy adjusted her mental image of him. Wes hadn’t given in to despair. He was going for an endorphin high. Good for him for being positive and proactive. Vigorous physical exertion was much healthier than drowning one’s sorrows in demon rum.

  She raised her hand to knock again, and a large masculine hand wrapped around her wrist.

  Sassy looked up at Grim with a mixture of relief and annoyance. “I told you to stay in the car.”

  “I paid you no heed.”

  “What a surprise.”

  Grim tugged on her wrist. “Come. Let us leave this place. I am famished.”

  “How can you be hungry? You ate an hour ago.”

  He tugged on one of her ringlets. “I am a man of large appetites.”

  He was giving her that look again. The one that made her weak and willing.

  The moaning inside the motel room increased.

  With an effort, Sassy shook off Grim’s seductive spell.

  “Mother-of-pearl, I have to do something before Wes gives himself a heart attack.”

  Sassy put her hand on the knob and froze at a feminine squeal.

  “That’s it. Ride ’em, cowboy,” a woman cried. “Come for Mama.”