by Lexi George
“I’m a pretty fast healer,” she said, wincing, “but I’ve never had pretty shoes before.”
He gave her a strange look. “Why not? You are hardly poor.”
“I do okay. Not much need for pretty shoes in a bar.”
“Were you mine, I would shower you with beautiful things.”
“Why? You hardly know me.”
“I know you better than you think. I know you are beautiful and that you have a kind heart.” Lifting his hand, he gently smoothed the crease between her brows with the tip of one finger. “I know you are brave, sometimes to the point of imprudence. But, mostly I would give you beautiful things because I do not think I could help myself.”
He thought she was beautiful? Oh, please. The guy was temptation on two legs and had a voice like brandy and chocolate. With very little effort, he could wrap her around his little finger.
“Oh, you’re good,” she said, leaning closer. “You’re real good.”
Don’t do it, sanity urged. You’ll regret it.
“Oh, what the hell,” she said and kissed him.
She kissed him. Astonishment surged through Conall followed by a wave of lust that almost brought him to his knees. How many times had he wondered what she would taste like?
He had his answer at last, and the reality far exceeded his expectations.
She tasted sweet and ripe, like sun-warmed berries. He could not get enough. Cupping her head in his hands, he deepened the kiss, dipping his tongue into the honeyed recess of her mouth. She gave a purr of satisfaction deep in her throat and stroked his tongue with hers. Lust gripped him, hot and fierce.
His entire existence had been about duty and service. Never had he spared a thought for himself. Indeed, he had no inkling anything was lacking, until he met Rebekah. She had changed everything.
He wanted her as he had never wanted anything in his very long life. He burned for her.
Why not? his baser self whispered. She is warm and willing. You can smell her heat. Take your pleasure with her.
You cannot, his logical self growled in protest. Would you succumb to the same madness as your brothers?
Yes, he wanted to shout. A thousand times yes.
With a daughter of the djegrali?
No. He could not.
Cursing his inner sentinel, Conall released her and stepped back, his lungs bellowing like he’d outrun a ravenous six-legged Drakthian tiger.
Rebekah’s violet eyes were wide, her luscious mouth soft from his kiss. “That probably wasn’t a good idea.”
His gaze caressed her flushed face, lingering on her mouth. It was wide with a slight indention in the pouty lower lip. “It was a terrible idea, but I do not regret it.”
“You don’t?”
“No.” Unable to help himself, he touched her bottom lip with the tip of his finger. “I have wanted to kiss you for a very long time. Duty brought me here, but I stayed because of you.”
He frowned, cold fingers of unease gripping his belly as he realized the truth behind his words.
Like a dog starved for affection, he’d followed at her heels for weeks, nay, months, craving the sight of her, fascinated by the proud set of her shoulders, the elegant curve of her back, and the tempting sway of her rounded hips as she moved about the bar. The jasmine scent of her had haunted his dreams, and the husky music of her voice was balm to his weary soul.
And her smile . . . She had a lovely smile, warm and mischievous. She was always smiling at someone. Tobias. The customers.
Even the surly cook.
Never at him, though, her unseen shadow. He wanted her smiles, her attention . . . her touch, all of it for him and him alone.
His reaction to her baffled him. Why, ’twas almost as if he were under some kind of strange enchantment . . .
“Of course,” he said slowly. “You put a spell on me, you she-devil. That is why I could not stay away, why I have lingered near you all these months.”
“What?” She jumped off the desk and faced him, her chest heaving. “Of all the—I can’t believe you think that I—Oh, never mind. I am out of here. I knew it was a mistake to kiss you. If anyone’s put a spell on somebody, it’s you. A pretty face and a pair of bedroom eyes, and I fall for it. I should have known better.”
He regarded her with gathering unease. “You think I bewitched you?”
“You’re damn straight. Why else would I kiss a stuck-up, disapproving demon hunter?”
Every line of her strong, graceful body radiated hurt and outrage. She was telling the truth. His careless words, born of pride and frustration, had caused her pain.
Conall’s belly sank to his shoes. He’d killed and wounded scores in the line of duty with nary a moment’s remorse; yet the knowledge that he’d hurt Beck cut him to the quick.
She took two steps away from him and whirled back around. “And what the hell do you mean ‘all these months’? How long have you been spying on me?”
“For some time now. ’Twas my duty to determine if you or your kind posed a threat.”
“I’m a threat all right—a threat to punch you in your sanctimonious, judgmental nose.” She clenched her hands at her sides. “How long? Answer me, Mr. I Cannot Tell a Lie.”
“Since the month you call July.”
“July? But you didn’t come into the bar until the end of August.”
She remembered the first time she saw him? He felt a flicker of hope. A propitious sign, surely.
And she thought he was pretty. Not the proper term to describe a Dalvahni warrior, but he would not quibble with it.
“I observed you for some time without your knowledge,” he admitted.
“That’s not possible, unless you can make yourself invisible.”
“The Dalvahni have many gifts.”
“Right. Whatever.”
She did not believe him. Vexed, he vanished in front of her and reappeared.
She gaped at him for a moment before her face darkened. “You are such a creeper,” she said, charging out the door.
“Rebekah, wait! ”
She was still barefoot and the floor had not been swept. She would hurt herself. Again.
Conall swore and went after her.
Chapter Eleven
Beck was so mad she couldn’t see straight. The big jerk thought she’d put a come-hither spell on him. She was kith. So, naturally that made her a hoochie mama from hell, a demonic Delilah sent by the dark side to lure Mr. Holier Than Thou to perdition.
He was attracted to her and it was her fault. It couldn’t be his fault. Oh, no. He was a demon hunter. He could do no wrong.
Self-righteous jackass. She hated him. She wanted to kick his ass.
She wanted to kiss him again.
How could she want a guy so bad her teeth ached and hate his guts at the same time? It was mental.
She barreled out of the office and slammed into Toby.
“Whoa, hold your horses,” Toby said, catching her as she stumbled. He looked done-in. “I’m for calling it a night. The bar’s a mess, the dang cook’s done run off with the band, and the customers are scattered ’tween here and next Sunday, thanks to that Wampus Kitty. I say we clean up in the morning.”
Beck looked around, taking in the sticky floors, broken glass, and smears of blood. The breeze through the open doors chased tufts of animal hair into corners like frightened mice. Tables and chairs were smashed, and the place reeked of eau de skunk.
She couldn’t face this. Not tonight, not when she was so hurt and mad.
“Go home,” she told Toby. “We’ll deal with it tomorrow.”
Toby jerked his thumb in the direction of the door. “You close up and I’ll give Jason a ride to his truck. He’s parked up by Pell Landing.”
“Sure,” Beck said with a twinge of shame.
She should’ve thought of that herself. Daddy had no business being on the river this time of night, particularly after the shock he’d had. Her nerves were worked, and she was used to the kith.
Daddy must be practically comatose after seeing a room full of people—some he’d served at the Burger Doodle for years—turn into a bunch of animals.
A tingle of awareness warned her of Conall’s approach. Why didn’t he just go away? She should have fired him, that’s what she should have done. But, she’d shaken his hand and that was as good as giving her word. She’d made her bed and now she was going to have to lie in it.
Wrong analogy; beds made her think of sex. With Conall. No point going there, because it was never going to happen. The gulf between them was too wide, their differences too great.
Squaring her shoulders, she turned to face him. In spite of her resolution, a tiny thrill of huzza shot through her when she saw him. He screamed medieval warrior, in spite of his modern clothes. It was his no-quarter-given attitude and the powerful way he moved. Like the trappings of civilization were nothing but a thin veneer and he could go from GQ to killer in a nanosecond.
She gave him the squinty-eyed treatment, because looking at him full on made her heart go thumpity thump and she forgot to be furious. “What do you want?”
He held out an old pair of sneakers she kept in the office. “You forgot your shoes. I found these behind the desk. Put them on.”
It was an order, not a request. He worked for her, not the other way around, a fact he didn’t seem to get.
She considered refusing, but that would be childish and immature. Lifting her chin, she looked down her nose at him. Hard to do, when he towered over her, but she gave it her best.
“I’ll put them on,” she said, taking the shoes from him. “But only because there’s glass on the floor and not because you said so.”
Wow, way to be mature. Whatcha gonna do for an encore, stick out your tongue and say nanny nanny poo poo?
She shoved her feet in the sneakers. Lucky for him, he kept his mouth shut. One word out of Conall, one superior twitch of a dark eyebrow, and she’d explode and there’d be ugly all over the place. She wasn’t half demon for nothing.
“Came to say goodnight,” Daddy said, coming up to them.
“Thanks for helping out.” Beck gave her father a bright smile. No point in taking out her bad mood on him. She was saving it all up for Conall anyway. “I appreciate it.”
“Any time,” he said.
Daddy didn’t mean it, of course. He was being polite. His expression was dazed, his eyes slightly out of focus, like a man who’s seen too much. He didn’t know the half of it. He had a long-lost son. She should warn him about Evan before her brother showed up at the Burger Doodle and announced the news over a cola and fries.
She could hear him now. Hi yah, Pops. Add another imp to the Damian family tree. I’m Evan, the son you never knew you had. Pass the ketchup.
Daddy would have a stroke.
She’d tell him some other time. They were both too tired to deal with it tonight.
“I need to get on home,” Daddy said. “I’m never this late. Brenda’s probably laid an egg by now.”
More like a dozen.
“Tell Brenda and the twins I said hello.”
“Tell ’em yourself.” Daddy removed his hat and turned it over in his hands. “We’d like you to come to the house for Thanksgiving. That’s the real reason I come by. The fishing thing was just an excuse. It’s past time you got to know the twins better.”
Beck’s smile faltered. “Thanks for the invite, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. Things being . . . well, what they are.”
“Things are what you make of them, sugar bear. I reckon I know the score. If I didn’t, I do after tonight.” Daddy jammed his hat back on his head. “And I still want you to come.”
“What about Brenda?”
“It was her idea,” he said. “Toby’s already said he’s coming.” He hesitated. “Course, she don’t know about certain things, if you catch my drift.”
“No duh,” Beck said. “Don’t worry. Toby and I won’t out ourselves in front of Brenda or the twins.”
Daddy looked relieved. “It’s for the best. Brenda’s a fine woman, but she wouldn’t understand. Matter of fact, not sure I do.” He glanced at Conall. “You’re more’n welcome, too, Mr. Dalvahni.”
Beck stiffened. “I’m sure Mr. Dalvahni plans to spend the holiday with his brothers.”
“As it happens, Ansgar and Brand are out of town with their wives indulging in the traditional post-nuptial celebrations,” Conall said smoothly. “I would be honored to break bread with you and your family, Mr. Damian.”
“Be a whole lot more ’n bread.” Daddy was starting to sound more like his old self. “My wife knows how to put on a feed. There’ll be plenty to eat, so save your hungries.”
“The Dalvahni enjoy a good repast,” Conall said. “It is kind of you and your wife to include me in the festivities.”
“It ain’t nothing,” Daddy said.
“What about the other one?” Beck said in a belligerent tone.
Conall gave her a bland look, as if he sensed how close she was to detonating. “The other what?”
“Your other brother,” Beck said through her teeth. He was being purposely obtuse. “I don’t remember his name. He married the librarian. I read about it in the paper.”
“Lordy, you still pouring over that rag?” Daddy chuckled. “You used to read that thang front to back when you were little.” He shook his head in wonder. “She always knew more about what was going on in Hannah than folks who lived smack dab in the middle of town.”
Conall raised his brows. “Is that so?”
Beck flushed. “So I read the paper. It’s not a crime. What about your other brother?”
“Rafe and Bunny are spending the holiday with her family.” Conall heaved a huge sigh. “Alas, I was not invited.”
“Pissed them off, too, huh?” Beck said. “I’m not surprised.”
“Becky,” Daddy said, giving her a look of reproach. “What’s gotten into you?” He clapped Conall on the arm. “It’s settled then. You’ll spend the day with us.”
Conall bowed. “I am honored.”
“Uh, sure,” Daddy said, eyeing him uncertainly. Folks in Hannah didn’t go around bowing. “See you Thursday, then. Feed’s on at noon.” He turned to Toby. “You ready to go?”
“Yep.” Toby lifted a hand in farewell. “See you in the morning.”
As soon as they left, Beck pounced on Conall.
“What’s the big idea?” she said. “It’s bad enough I have to make nice over turkey and dressing with my stepmother without having to sit across the table from you. Talk about indigestion.”
“You do not care for your father’s wife?”
“I don’t care for you, but that part went right over your head.”
“You are angry,” he said with irritating calm. “Your spleen will soon pass.”
“You leave my spleen out of it.”
“Why do you dislike your stepmother?”
“She dislikes me. She thinks I’m going to hell on roller skates because I run a bar.”
“She knows you are kith?”
“Oh, hell to the no. And she’s not going to find out. You keep your mouth shut about it, you hear?” To her disgust, an angry tear rolled down her cheek. She brushed it away, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “Daddy doesn’t need the kind of grief Brenda would give him if she found out I’m part demon. You leave it alone. I mean it.”
Conall stepped closer. “Rebekah, upon reflection, I fear that I may have—”
The screen door swung open and Tommy shuffled into the bar.
“Where’s Annie?” Beck asked, grateful for the distraction. Another minute and she’d be bawling like a baby.
“Hunting,” Tommy said.
Face scrunched in misery, he trudged past them and disappeared into the kitchen.
“The undead creature seems desolate,” Conall said.
“I’d better check on him.”
“Why? He is dead. He can hardly do himself more of an injury.”
“Mr
. Sensitive,” Beck muttered, starting after Tommy.
She screeched to a halt as Junior Peterson materialized in front of her.
“Junior,” she said, clutching her chest. “You scared the hell out of me. Why don’t you wear a bell or something?”
“What am I, a cow? Ghosts don’t wear bells.” Junior looked around. “Where’s the piano?”
Beck’s head throbbed. Stress; it was the stress. It was too much, all of it. She needed to get away, to think, to regain her center.
“We don’t have a piano.”
“No piano? What kind of rinky-dink bar is this?”
“The kind without a piano,” Beck said. “This ain’t the Grand Hotel.”
The ghost sniffed. “No kidding? How am I supposed to play my music without a piano?”
“I don’t know. I’ll figure something out tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? What am I supposed to do until then?”
“Sleep?”
“Hel-loo,” Junior said. “Ghost Course one-oh-one. We don’t sleep.”
“Listen to music, then. There’s a radio in my office.”
Junior rolled his lavender eyes. “Please. Unless things have changed—which I doubt—there’s only one radio station and it alternates country music with the farm report.”
Things hadn’t changed. The hills around Hannah did funny things to the signals from the big radio stations in Pensacola and Mobile—something about the crater rock. The only reliable signal came from the local station, WBHR. They didn’t call it Bear Country for nothing. Cell phone reception was spotty for the same reason.
Beck held onto her rapidly fraying patience. “Maybe one of the band members knows where I can borrow a keyboard.”
“A keyboard?” Junior’s eyes widened in horror. “You mean one of those electronic gizmos? I studied music at Vanderbilt, darlin’. These hands have never touched a keyboard, and they never will.”
“Suit yourself,” Beck said. “I’m going home.”
“I will accompany you to your dwelling,” Conall said. “We need to talk.”
“No.” Good Lord, she was shouting. Beck took a deep breath. “I mean, that won’t be necessary.”
Ignoring the protesting ghost, she shut and locked the double front doors and tidied up behind the bar. It was a tiny spot of clean in all the mess, but it made her feel better.