Demon Hunting with a Sexy Ex

by Lexi George

  “Steps? What kind of steps?” Toby narrowed his eyes at Cassandra. “Out with it. What’s going on?”

  “Don’t ask me, ask Duncan,” Cassandra said with a helpless gesture. “He did this.”

  Duncan gave her a look of reproach. “Your loyalty unmans me, my sweet.”

  “Well, you did,” said Cassandra, flushing.

  “Did what?” Toby’s voice rose in frustration. “What in the Sam Hill’s going on?”

  Duncan cleared his throat and indicated the mirror on the wall. “Methinks ’twould be better an you see for yourself.”

  “Oh, you do, do you?” Toby gave him a black look. Rolling off the bed, he reeled like a drunken sailor to the mirror on the wall. For a long moment, he stared at his reflection, his throat working. He held out his hands, examining the smooth, unblemished skin. Jerking his stunned gaze back to the mirror, he regarded the dark-haired, firmly muscled young man in the glass.

  “Lord love a duck,” Toby said, finding his voice at last. “What in tarnation have you done?”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The severity of Toby’s injuries, coupled with Duncan’s intervention, had wiped the shifter’s memory.

  “Everything’s hazy,” Toby said, returning to bed at Cassandra’s insistence. He allowed her to tuck several pillows behind him, then reclined. “I remember going out to Zeb’s. Then I woke up, and I was like this.” His piercing gaze met Duncan’s. “Does Cassie have the right of it? Is this your doing?”

  “Yes, but, in all honesty, ’twas not mine intent to reverse your age.” Duncan was bewildered by Toby’s transformation. “My thoughts were bent on healing you, and naught else.”

  “So . . . you’ve never youth-a-nized anyone?” asked Cassandra. “Before Toby, I mean.”

  “Nay.”

  “Oh, dear.” She looked conscience-stricken. “I think Verbena and I may be to blame.”

  “Me?” Verbena squeaked. “I ain’t done nothing to Mr. Toby.”

  “No, but I think we did something to Duncan,” Cassandra said. “Remember when we helped heal him? There was a sort of surge.”

  “Oh,” Verbena said. “Oh.”

  “What is this?” Duncan asked, startled.

  “I think Verbena and I whammied you. Not on purpose, of course,” Cassandra added hastily. “My magic’s been hinky lately, and Verbena was there, and—” She lifted her shoulders in a helpless gesture. “You got enhanced.”

  “By the sword,” Duncan said. “Is such a thing possible?”

  “I don’t know.” Cassandra turned to the shifter. “Toby? This is your area of expertise. What do you think?”

  The shifter sat up in bed and inhaled deeply. “Yep. He stinks out loud. He’s been supersized.” He tapped the side of his nose. “The schnoz knows.”

  “Indeed?” Duncan raised his brows. “Then might I suggest you examine your own scent.”

  “Whatchoo talking about?”

  “Given the . . . er . . . magical outburst that propelled me across the room, in all probability you have been ‘whammied,’ too.”

  Cassandra’s eyes danced. “Toby, you’re a Dalvahni-oid.”

  “Great Jumping Jehoshaphat,” said Toby.

  Cassandra perched on the edge of the bed and smiled fondly at the shifter. “I’m just glad you’re well. But I cannot get over the change in you.”

  Duncan was forced to acknowledge that Toby’s alteration was nothing short of a miracle. The aging shifter was no more. The man before him was young and in his prime, with shining brown locks, a noble nose, and a face and body unmarred by the passage of time. Only the mismatched eyes remained the same, one purple, the other topaz.

  “I’m on the Council, and they’re bound to put up a squawk.” Toby rubbed the taut line of his jaw. “Don’t like it when we draw attention to ourselves, and this ain’t the kind of thing to go unnoticed.”

  “Could you pose as a relative?” Cassandra asked. “I’ve done it before, to keep the norms from getting suspicious.”

  “Reckon I could, if I had any. You and Beck are the closest thing I got to family.” Toby’s expression was glum. “Lord, this is going to be a major pain in the ass. I’m going to need a new driver’s license, and I don’t know what all.”

  Cassandra twinkled at him. “The Skinners could probably help you. Something tells me they know how to fake an ID.”

  Toby made a noise of disgust. “Skinners. Like I’d truck with them no-counts.”

  “I could alter your license in a trice, if you so desire,” Duncan offered. “’Tis easily done.”

  “No, thanks. You’ve done enough.”

  Cassandra worried her bottom lip. “I feel terrible. You wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for me. I swear to you, I had no idea Zeb is a lunatic.”

  “Don’t get your drawers in a knot.” Toby reached out and took her hand. “How was you to know the sumbitch has a screw loose?”

  “A whole bucket of them.” Cassandra entwined her fingers with the shifter’s. “I didn’t know. Of course I didn’t. If I’d had the slightest idea he was cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, I never would have asked you to go out there. You know that, right?”

  “’Course I do,” Toby said, squeezing her hand. “You and me, we go way back.”

  “Yes, we do,” Cassandra acknowledged with a rueful laugh. “Way, way back.”

  Gazing at their clasped hands, Duncan suddenly wished he’d been less assiduous in his attention to Toby’s recovery. The thought instantly shamed him. Gods, he was better than this. He loved Cassandra. He wanted her happiness, did he not?

  Yes, but he wanted her to be happy with him. The green-eyed monster wanted to tie a heavy weight around Tobias Littleton and throw him in the river. Noble intentions be damned.

  He felt Cassandra’s curious gaze upon him.

  “Duncan, are you all right? You look odd.” She dropped the shifter’s hand and jumped to her feet. “Oh, my goodness, of course you’re not all right. That kind of magic takes it out of you. You must be exhausted.” She came to him and laid a concerned hand on his arm. “Are you light-headed? Do you need something to eat?”

  At her solicitous touch, the hot ball of misery in Duncan’s chest swelled until he feared he would choke on it. She loved Toby, not him. Her concern sprang from gratitude that he’d intervened on the shifter’s behalf.

  “Duncan?” Her eyes were shadowed with worry.

  “I have not eaten since we broke our fast,” Duncan said, “but I have not the time for it now. There are matters of import I must attend to.”

  “You’re leaving?” Disappointment shadowed Cassandra’s lovely face. “But I thought . . . what I mean to say is—” She flushed and gave him a ferocious scowl. “Forget it.”

  “Worried I might renege?” Her dismay was heartening. At least she desired him. There was that.

  Conscious of Toby and Verbena’s curious gazes, he drew her out of the bedroom and gave her a hard kiss. “I will return anon,” he promised in a low voice.

  She sighed and traced a circle on his T-shirt with the tip of one finger, a simple touch Duncan felt to the bottoms of his feet and everywhere in between.

  “Frankly, I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. Most men would say I’m too much sugar for a dime.”

  Duncan assimilated the odd expression. “Ah, but I am not a man.” Tilting her chin, he smiled down at her. “I am Dalvahni. Fear not. I will not tarry long.” Unable to resist the lure of her luscious mouth, Duncan kissed her again. “Be ready, sweet hornet. When I return, I mean to hold you to our bargain.”

  Delicious color climbed up her cheeks, but she looked him square in the eye. “Likewise.” Sliding out of his arms, she stepped back. “What about you, Tobes? You hungry?”

  “Nope,” the shifter said as she and Duncan reentered the room. “Still feel washed out.”

  “You should try to eat something. There’s camp stew in the freezer. I’ll fix cornbread to go with it.”

  “I’ll help,
” Verbena said, slinking out of the corner.

  She skittered from the room at Cassandra’s heels, and Duncan turned to find Toby watching him. “You and Cassie mend your fences?” Toby asked, narrowing his mismatched eyes at Duncan.

  “After a fashion. We have agreed to have . . . relations.”

  “Relations?” Toby grunted. “That a twenty-dollar word for fucking?”

  “I do not care for that term, particularly where Cassandra is involved.”

  “Don’t give a shit if you care or not. My concern’s Cassie. Don’t want to see her hurt.” Toby gave him a hard look. “Again.”

  “Cassandra has told you of us?”

  “Nah. She told Beck, and Beck told me, but here’s the thing. I know you been pestering Cassie for months, and I know how mule-headed the Dalvahni can be. So I need to know, this agreement your idea or hers? ’Cause I won’t have her bullied.”

  “I would never bully Cassandra into coupling with me. ’Twas she who suggested our . . . er . . . pact, and she who set the boundaries.”

  “Sounds like her. She’s a big one for keeping folks at arm’s length. That one’s on you, I reckon. You hurt her.”

  “I am fully conscious of my transgressions where Cassandra is concerned.” Duncan’s chest burned with the old, familiar ache. “I will not hurt her again. You have my word.”

  “See that you don’t. How long you plan on hanging around this time?”

  “For so long as Cassandra allows.”

  “And afterward?”

  “Afterward?” Cassandra would tire of him, eventually, and he would be forced to leave. Duncan’s mind shied away from the dreadful thought. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to consider it. “Afterward, I will step aside and let her go.”

  Though without her, there would be nothing left for him but to wander the darkness in search of the djegrali until luck favored the demons and he was slain. Gods, he was a wretched creature.

  Toby slipped on the shirt Cassandra had unearthed from a closet somewhere in the house. This was not the shifter’s first sojourn in Cassandra’s abode. The discovery came as a nasty shock to Duncan.

  I like men and I like sex, Cassandra had said. Had she and Toby coupled? The green monster roared to life.

  “What of you?” Duncan demanded. “What are your intentions toward Cassandra?”

  “Same as they ever was, I reckon.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that’s my business.” Toby raked his dark hair out of his face. “Tell you what. I’ll take Verbena home with me. Give you two some privacy.”

  “Is that wise? The Skinners—”

  “I can handle the Skinners. ’Sides, they won’t know she’s with me.”

  “You have my thanks.”

  “Ain’t doing it for you. Doing it for Cassie. See I don’t regret it.”

  Toby turned and left the room. In a seething temper, Duncan dematerialized at the edge of the woods. He reinforced the wards around Cassandra’s property, and then, after a brief struggle with his temper and unreasoning jealousy, he added a recognition spell to allow Toby and Verbena to pass through the spell wall unmolested. He would dearly have loved to bar the shifter from the place, but he would not do that to Verbena.

  Satisfied that Cassandra would be safe in his absence, he reappeared outside Chez Beck’s. Welcoming light poured out of the main building’s windows, and the gazebo on the river was bright with lanterns. Music drifted over the water from the pavilion. Someone had booked a private party, and people were dancing. The restaurant had, by virtue of Conall’s presence, become a combination watering hole and meeting place for the Dalvahni.

  Duncan watched the twirling figures on the floating dock. He imagined a smiling Cassandra in his arms as he spun her around the floor. Such a thing would never be. She trusted him with her body and her pleasure, but not her laughter or her tears. The thought made him want to rend something.

  Turning, he made his way down the smooth path leading to the back of the eatery. He approached an unmarked door and placed his palm against the metal surface. Tendrils of smoke curled from the lock and dispersed, and the door swung open. Duncan stepped inside, and the portal closed soundlessly behind him. This was Conall’s war room, the space where Duncan and his brothers conferred with the captain on matters of moment.

  The room was large, consisting of the entire bottom floor of the restaurant, and shielded by powerful wards. No careless norm or snooping supernatural creature would encroach here undetected. The design was simple and without ornamentation, a warrior’s digs, comfortable and utilitarian. Large chairs and tables built to accommodate the Dalvahni frame were scattered around the room. On one wall was a handsome bar and larder kept stocked with food and drink. The Dalvahni had prodigious appetites.

  And not just for victuals, Duncan thought, his body tightening. He was keen to settle this business and return to Cassandra. His hunger for her was a restless, seething thing inside him. She would not be his in truth, but a sip was better than a dry cup.

  On another wall sat Conall’s desk. Behind the desk, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were heaped with scrolls. The stone fire pit in the center of the room lay empty and cold, a concession to the blistering Alabama heat that leached into fall.

  Duncan filled a tankard with ale, loaded a plate with cold meat and cheese, and sat down to eat. He was finishing his repast when the door opened and Conall and Grim strode in.

  “Duncan,” Conall said.

  Duncan set down his tankard and rose. “Captain,” he said, and added a nod to Grim. “Brother.”

  The air hummed, and Arta materialized. The High Huntress was a tall, cool blonde with eyes the color of spring leaves. She was dressed in silvery gray doeskin hunting garb and carried a bow and a quiver of arrows on one shoulder. No knives were visible on her person, but Duncan did not doubt for a moment that she was armed to the teeth. A Kirvahni huntress could take the eye from a sparrow on the wing, and Arta was their leader. Her skills would be unrivaled.

  To Duncan’s surprise, the air rippled and warped, and Kehvahn appeared. The god wore a brown robe that was badly in need of pressing. A pair of bent glasses sat on the bridge of his rather pointed nose, and his brown, feathery hair stood on end. He wore the abstracted expression of a monk or scholar, but his eyes were kind, and his mouth curved in a humorous smile. A large white bird with jeweled eyes sat atop one of the god’s shoulders, its extravagant tail feathers brushing the back of Kehvahn’s knees.

  Duncan felt a sudden swell of affection. “Master,” he murmured with a bow of respect. “You have a bird.”

  Kehvahn reached up to stroke the fowl’s sleek head. “Her name is Shirra. Grim made her and gave her into my keeping. Is she not lovely?”

  “Made?” Duncan glanced at Grim, but the big warrior appeared to be fascinated with the wall.

  “Much as he brought Dell into existence.” Kehvahn gave Duncan a measuring look. “My children are a constant delight.”

  It was Duncan’s turn to squirm. “I take it you know of Toby?”

  “A change that remarkable makes a great deal of noise, and I am not deaf.”

  “What is this?” Conall turned his cold, black stare on Duncan. “Has something befallen Toby? My wife has a great deal of fondness for the shifter.”

  “Toby was savaged by the Randall pack unto death, and I healed him.” Duncan rubbed the back of his neck. “Unbeknownst to me, my . . . er . . . talents have been altered, thanks to Cassandra’s magic and Verbena’s talent as an enhancer.”

  “And Toby?” Conall demanded.

  “Toby has been restored to youth and vigor,” Kehvahn said. “What is more, he is now part Dalvahni.”

  Conall regarded Duncan askance. “Brother, you never cease to surprise me.”

  “I surprised myself,” Duncan admitted. “The change in Toby was an accident.”

  “Then I would advise you to be more careful in the future. You bring tidings?”

  “Aye, of the
rogue and a strange stone called the orb.” Quickly, Duncan relayed what he had learned, describing Gryff’s condition, the slaughter in the woods, the alpha’s madness, and Pratt’s consuming interest in the orb. “’Tis plain and unremarkable, by all accounts,” he said of the orb. “Brown in color with a yellow streak and devoid of beauty. Yet for some reason, Pratt desires it.”

  “Why?” asked Arta. “It is powerful, this orb?”

  “Beyond measure,” Kehvahn said. “The Heart, it is named, and ’twas fashioned by He-Who-Made-All-Things, ere Pratt and I came into existence. To possess it is forbidden.” His expression saddened. “Which is, doubtless, the reason my brother covets it. He has never been one to brook opposition, and he delights in mischief. No sooner is he forbidden something than he must have it at any cost. Pratt stole the Heart eons ago and used it to tear the veil, releasing the djegrali to wreak havoc.”

  “Then why did he not keep it?” asked Arta.

  “Oh, I think he has . . . until recently,” Kehvahn said with a wave of one thin hand. “Only one who is pure of heart can touch the orb, and the Heart rejected Pratt when he misused its power, wounding him sorely. He dared not touch it again, lest it destroy him utterly. Yet he could not part with it, either, and so he devised a plan.” He turned his gentle smile on Grim. “Can you guess how he resolved his difficulty?”

  “Nay, Master,” said Grim.

  “Our best and our brightest,” Duncan blurted. He turned to Conall. “That is how you described Gryffin. Methinks Pratt has been using Gryff to carry the orb.”

  “Exactly.” Kehvahn looked pleased. “Nicely done, Duncan.”

  “What is this?” Grim demanded.

  “I fear we have misjudged our brother,” Duncan said. “Gryff is no true rogue. He is a pawn.”

  “The markings.” Grim’s voice was strained. “What Cassie said is true, then? Gryff is a prisoner?”

  “Aye,” said Duncan. “’Tis my belief that Pratt faked Gryff’s death and enslaved him with some loathsome magic. He is a tool used by the god to keep the orb within his grasp.” He met Conall’s gaze. “Just as Evan was bound and used by the demons that gained mastery over him. Gryff had no choice, and neither did Evan.”