Demon Hunting In Dixie

by Lexi George

  —reached out and touched his beautiful, archangel’s face with her fingertips, unable to resist, the moth to the flame, and smoothed the palms of her hands down his chest and arms. There it was, the familiar tingling, the building tension . . . the heat she felt at the slightest contact with him . . . and without it.

  “Stop me, Brand,” she whispered. “I can’t help myself.”

  He pulled her beneath him. “I don’t want you to stop.” He moved over her, in her. She cried out as he rocked his body within hers, driving, plunging. “Don’t stop,” he groaned. “Don’t ever stop.”

  Some time later, she rolled over and looked at the clock. Good grief, it was after eight. She’d overslept. She jumped out of bed and slipped on her housecoat.

  “Where are you going?” Brand said from the bed.

  “I’ve got to let the dog out.” She felt his gaze on her back like a physical touch. “Poor Dooley’s eyeballs are probably floating.”

  “A turn of phrase, I hope, and nothing more.” His deep voice sent a shiver of longing down her spine. Mercy, she had it bad. “I assume you mean the creature needs to empty her bladder?”

  “Uh, yeah, and I need to check on Mr. Fluffy.”

  She hurried toward the bedroom door.

  “Adara.”

  She slowed her steps, but did not turn.

  “Look at me,” he said softly.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not? Have I displeased you in some manner?”

  She laughed shakily. “Hardly. If I were any more pleased, I couldn’t stand it.”

  “Then why won’t you look at me?”

  She put one hand on the door frame for support. “Because if I look at you, I’ll come back to bed, and we’ll pick up where we left off. And one thing will lead to another, and then another, and before you know it hours, no days, will go by, maybe even weeks, and they’ll find the dead, desiccated husks of our bodies in the bed, and people will be mumbling over our corpses. ‘Ain’t it a shame?’ they will say, and ‘Reckon why they forgot to eat?’ and ‘Too bad they let the dog and cat starve, too,’ and Mama and Shep will be heartbroken and Aunt Muddy and Evie, too, all because I’m pitiful and weak and can’t resist you.”

  Suddenly, he was there behind her, his warm, hard, naked body pressed against hers. “If you are pitiful and weak, then what does that make me?” He slid his hands beneath the folds of her housecoat, his warm palms cupping her breasts. She sighed and leaned back, closing her eyes. A shiver of delight coursed through her as he laid a trail of hot kisses along her neck. “All I have to do is look at you, and I lose my mind. The mighty Dalvahni warrior brought to his knees by a woman. How much more pathetic a creature am I?”

  A soft, Southern drawl from the other part of the house interrupted them. “Addy, this is all very interesting, I’m sure, but I’m starting to feel like a pervert. Tell that young man of yours to put on some clothes and come on out here so I can meet him.”

  Addy’s eyes flew open. “Muddy?”

  Addy started out the bedroom door, and Brand stopped her.

  “Wait.” He stood still, his expression distant for a moment before he nodded. “It is safe. You may go. It is not the djegrali.”

  “Of course it’s not the djegrali. It’s Aunt Muddy.”

  Fumbling with the edges of her housecoat, Addy stepped into the kitchen and peered into the living room. Her great-aunt sat on the couch looking as cool and elegantly beautiful as ever, her stylishly cropped silver hair in place, her makeup flawless. She wore a black and white cotton skirt and a matching summer weight sweater set. Silver earrings dangled from the lobes of her delicately shaped ears, and a heavy, silver bracelet encircled one wrist. From all appearances, she was the quintessential Southern lady. But, Addy knew better. That demure, country-club chic exterior concealed a wild woman underneath. Aunt Muddy was, in the local vernacular, “a mess,” an affectionate term used to describe someone, usually female, whose character and personality defied succinct description. Someone who often set social and cultural dictates on their ear, like as not causing, in equal measure, chagrin and delight to those around them. She was funny and wise and interesting and unpredictable, and Addy loved her to distraction.

  Dooley pranced up. “Addy, cat bad—”

  “Shh! No talking. You want to freak Muddy out?”

  “Addy, cat—”

  “Not now, Dooley.”

  “Did you say something, Addy?” her aunt called from the next room.

  “I said I’ll be there in a sec, as soon as I let Dooley out.”

  She opened the French doors and shooed Dooley into the backyard. Pasting a smile on her face, she turned around. “Aunt Muddy, what a wonderful surprise.”

  “You’re something of a surprise yourself. How splendid you look, child! Not many people could pull off that pale blond hair, but I must say, it suits you. Ravishing with those brown eyes of yours.”

  “Thanks. Have you been here long?”

  “Long enough.”

  Long enough, as in long enough to hear her and Brand in the next room? Had the bedroom door been open or closed? Open, Addy realized with dismay. She flushed.

  Brand, oh, Brand, oh . . .

  Oh, God, Muddy heard her wailing like an air raid siren. It was all Brand’s fault, she thought darkly. He turned her into some kind of uninhibited sex maniac. She was pretty sure she’d hit notes a lyric soprano would envy. Lord have mercy Jesus, she’d never be able to look her aunt in the face again. Look at her? She might have to move to another continent.

  “I got here about six o’clock,” Muddy said. “Let myself in with the spare key under the turtle in the flower bed. I would have called first if I’d dreamed you were entertaining a young man, but how was I to know? You’ve never done anything like this before.”

  “I am very glad to hear it,” Brand said, joining them. “Otherwise, I would have to kill someone.”

  He was dressed, and he looked downright perfect. His long hair was smooth and untangled, his slacks and shirt miraculously wrinkle-free. She, on the other hand, was a rumpled mess. How the heck did he do it? Dalvahni woo-woo, like with the shower head and the killer smiles, and the teleporting from place to place.

  Muddy looked Brand up and down, a calculating gleam in her eyes. “Addy, why don’t you introduce me to your young man?”

  “Uh, Brand, this is my great aunt, Edmuntina Fairfax,” Addy said.

  Her stomach fluttered. What if Muddy didn’t like him? He wasn’t Southern, and Muddy would probably hate the long hair. What if—

  Brand gave Muddy a slow smile. “I am honored to meet you, Edmuntina.”

  Thwack! The smile hit Muddy right between the eyes.

  To Muddy’s credit, she recovered quickly. “Granny Moses, what a smile! Like being hit upside the head with a two-by-four. Where on earth did you find him, Addy?”

  “Oh, you know, we kind of ran in to one another one night.”

  “I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, gal. You don’t run into a man like him, especially in Hannah.” Muddy gave Brand a measuring look. “You aren’t from around here, are you, Mr. . . . ?”

  “Dalvahni, Aunt Muddy. He’s in town for the Farris—”

  “It is no use, Adara,” Brand said. “Your aunt is much too perceptive to buy that feeble story about the Farris funeral. We had better tell her the truth.”

  “T-the truth?” Addy stuttered. She found it hard to believe the truth. How was she supposed to explain it to anybody else? Demons and talking dogs, and ghouls and—

  “Edmuntina from the Old English ‘Edmund,’ meaning ‘protector,’ is it not?” Brand continued smoothly. “It is a lovely name.”

  “It’s a god-awful name, so you can stop trying to butter me up. What brings you to Hannah and what are you up to with my niece?”

  Addy rolled her eyes. “I’m a grown woman, Muddy.”

  “Your aunt has a right to be concerned about you, Adara. She is your family.” He slipped his arm
around Addy’s waist. “I am in town on business, very important business. As for what I am ‘up to’ with your niece, as you so charmingly put it, I assure you my intentions are honorable. More than that, I cannot say.”

  “Honorable, huh?” Muddy sighed. “Shucks, and here I was hoping you were in it for the poontang. Nobody needs a good old-fashioned dose of balls-to-the-wall sex like our Addy.”

  “Muddy!” Addy thought her face might catch fire. “I am not having this conversation. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see about breakfast.”

  She flounced off, ignoring her aunt’s chuckles. She was almost to the kitchen when the doorbell rang.

  She started for the door, and Brand appeared at her side.

  “You will let me go first,” he said in a low voice. “By some lucky chance the djegrali did not attack last night. I was so bewitched by you that I forgot to put the customary protective spells in place, leaving us vulnerable. I have been remiss in my duty, but no more.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it, dude. After yesterday, I have a feeling Mr. Nasty went somewhere to lick his wounds. You scared the dickens out of him with that flamethrower routine of yours.”

  “Who is Mr. Nasty?”

  “The demon.”

  “There is more than one demon in Hannah, Adara.”

  “Yeah, but they can’t all want a date with me.”

  She reached for the doorknob, but he got there first.

  “You are a remarkably stubborn woman,” he said. “Stay behind me in case there is trouble.”

  “This is silly. Like a demon’s going to ring the doorbell.”

  “It might if it has possessed a human. Someone you know and trust, perhaps.”

  “Oh, I didn’t think of that.”

  The doorbell rang again.

  “What are you two whispering about?” Muddy hollered from the couch. “Answer the door. It’s Amasa Collier and the chief of police.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Addy said. “Hey, wait a minute, how do you know who’s—”

  Brand opened the door. Amasa Collier and Chief Davis stood on the doorstep.

  “Your aunt is a perceptive woman.” Brand looked at the two men without smiling. “Gentlemen.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t stand there glowering at them, Mr. Grumpy Pants. Ask them in.” Addy gave them a bright smile. “Good morning, Mr. Collier, Chief. I was about to put on a pot of coffee.”

  Mr. Collier stepped inside. “Sorry to bother you so early, Addy. But I need to talk to Mr. Dalvahni.” He glanced at the chief. “A little birdy told me he was here.”

  Chief Davis stayed on the porch. “I can’t stay. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stick my head in and give you the latest on Mr. Farris. Your brother called last night and said somebody brought the body back. Visitation is this afternoon, and the funeral will be first thing in the morning.”

  “Oh, good,” Addy said, not meeting his eyes. “I know Shep is relieved. He was so upset.”

  The chief frowned. “I’d still like to know who took that body. I don’t like that kind of prank.”

  “Addy, have them come in,” Muddy called. “Tell the chief there’s pound cake to go with that coffee. I’ll get it out of the freezer, and we can toast it with a little butter. It’ll be yummy.”

  Mr. Collier’s face lit up. “That you, Edmuntina? I thought you were still scooter-pooting around the world. I had no idea you were back.”

  “I’m back.”

  The chief removed his hat and came inside. “I am a sucker for sweets. Maybe I will stay for a minute.”

  Addy heard her aunt puttering around in the kitchen. “How did she know I have a pound cake in the freezer?” she muttered, hurrying to help. “Here, Muddy, let me do that. You go talk to Mr. Collier and the chief, tell them all about your world travels while I fix the coffee.”

  “If you insist, dear.”

  Muddy glided into the living room to greet the two men. Satisfied her aunt had things under control, Addy put on the coffee and sliced and arranged the pound cake on a cookie sheet.

  “All I have to do is slather a little butter on the cake,” she said, getting a table knife from the drawer.

  Brand took the knife from her. “I will do that. You go and get dressed. I find it too distracting knowing you are naked under that robe.”

  “Think you can handle it?”

  “I think I have handled it. Several times, as I recall.”

  Addy blushed. “Not that, the cake.”

  “Adara, I am ten thousand years old. In all that time, do you think I never learned to cook?”

  She fluttered her lashes at him. “Eye candy and the man knows his way around a kitchen. Be still my beating heart.”

  Brand pointed the knife at the bedroom door. “Out.”

  She flew into the bedroom to dress. Casting a longing look in the direction of the bathroom—she’d dearly love a shower, but that would have to wait—she threw on panties and a bra, a pair of jean capris and a linen top, and slipped a pair of polkadot canvas flip-flops on her feet. She dashed into the bathroom to brush her hair and halted in front of the mirror. Good grief, her hair was a disaster. It had grown another two inches overnight and hung below her shoulders in loose platinum curls. At the rate it was growing, she’d have to cut it every two weeks or she’d be sitting on it. She secured it at the nape of her neck and quickly washed her face and brushed her teeth.

  She scrutinized her reflection in the mirror. One good thing about Dalvahni DNA, makeup was superfluous. Her skin glowed, and her cheeks and lips were bright with color. The hair was a mess, though. She had no idea what to do with it. She ran a brush through her curls and wadded them on top of her head in a loose knot. A few stray tendrils dangled around her face. A couple of swipes of mascara and she was done. Primped and dressed in under five minutes. Not bad.

  In the kitchen, she found Brand putting the finishing touches on the slices of pound cake. The rich aroma of coffee filled the air.

  “Thanks.” She took the loaded cookie sheet from the counter. “I’ll stick this under the broiler. It’ll be ready in a jiffy.”

  She put the pan in the oven and turned on the broiler. She was reaching into the cabinet for the coffee cups and plates when she felt Brand come up behind her. A warm shiver went through her that had nothing to do with the heat from the oven.

  “I thought you were going to get dressed,” he murmured, caressing her bottom.

  “What are you talking about? I am dressed.”

  He caught her earlobe in his teeth. “This garment you wear shows the delectable curves of your, of your, oh-so-delectable rump. It makes me want to undress you.”

  She turned and thumped him playfully on the chest. “Down, boy, I am not having hot monkey sex with you in the kitchen. There are people in the next room.”

  He nuzzled her neck. “We could repair to that smallish space over there.”

  “You mean the pantry? You want to have sex in the pantry?”

  “It has a door that closes.” He lifted his head. The look in his eyes made her breathless. “We could be very quiet.”

  She pictured them, grappling in the dark, her legs around his waist as he moved inside her, taking her with him to—

  No, not going to happen. He’d have her screeching like a flock of toucans. Still, the idea was tempting. Maybe if she . . .

  The smell of melted butter and toasted sugar brought her to her senses.

  “Forget it.” She pushed him away. “I’m not having sex with you in the pantry.”

  Brand sighed. “I suppose I will have to console myself with food instead.” He sniffed appreciatively as she set the cookie sheet on top of the stove. “That smells good.”

  “It is good. It’s an old family recipe, butter, sugar, flour, eggs, and vanilla extract. You start the cake off in a cold oven. That’s what makes it crusty and delicious.” As she reached into the cabinet for a cake plate, she noticed the top was off one of her canisters. Sugar was all o
ver the counter.

  “What in the world?” She ran the tip of her finger through the spilled granules. “Muddy must have knocked over the sugar jar when she was looking for the coffee.” She shook her head. “It’s not like her to leave a mess. Oh, well, I’ll clean it up later. Let’s get this coffee and cake out there while they’re hot.”

  Twenty minutes later, the pot of coffee was gone and all that remained of the pound cake was a few crumbs.

  Chief Davis put down his cup and stood up. “Thank you, ladies, for the cake and coffee, but I reckon I’d better be off if I hope to make church.”

  “My stars, I forgot today is Sunday,” Addy said. “Looks like I’ll miss church.”

  “I think God will understand, my dear.” Mischief gleamed in Muddy’s eyes. “You’ve had a busy weekend.”

  Addy’s cheeks burned. “Yes, well, I’ll see you to the door, Chief.”

  The doorbell chimed.

  “Don’t get up, Addy.” Chief Davis started for the door. “Let me get that for you on my way out.”

  “Thanks, Chief,” Addy said. “I’ll bet that’s Shep come to tell me about Mr. Farris,” she told Muddy. “I’m surprised I haven’t heard from him by now.”

  “What the hell?” the chief bellowed.

  Addy jumped up. “What is it?”

  Somehow, Brand was at her side by the time she reached the door and looked outside.

  “Holy happy horse shit!” she squeaked, forgetting that a lady doesn’t cuss and never refers to a body function, thereby committing a double violation of the Rules of Lady-tude that Bitsy had drummed into her head since infancy.

  Fortunately, Bitsy wasn’t here. But Addy felt sure even Mama would cut her a little slack under the circumstances. She was looking at the four-ton bronze statue of Jebediah Gordon Hannah, Spanish-American War hero, champion of the lowly peanut as the cash crop that saved Behr County farmers during the devastating cotton blight of 1915, and all-round swell guy.

  For more than eighty years, Jeb had held his two-foot-high peanut aloft in the town square, a symbol of the enduring spirit of the American farmer and a beacon to peanut butter lovers everywhere.

  But not anymore. Somebody had planted Jeb and his giant peanut on Muddy’s front lawn. Somebody had also decapitated poor Jeb and left the severed head at the statue’s feet.