by Lexi George
“I am glad.”
His deep voice rumbled beneath her ear, and she thought she might die from the joy of it.
He wrapped his arms around her. “Tell me about the djegrali. How did you manage to defeat it if you were unarmed?”
He was patronizing her. She heard it in his tone. He didn’t really believe her. “I wasn’t unarmed. I had a hand mixer.”
“There is a device that mixes hands? To what purpose?”
“Not a hand mixer, Brand. That would be painful. I’m talking about something that mixes things by hand. You know, cakes and cookies and stuff.”
“You used a cooking device to defend yourself against the djegrali?”
“Yeah, and it worked, too. Maybe it isn’t flashy like a flaming sword, but it’s what the cosmos gave me.”
“Madness. Where is the djegrali now?”
“In the living room with Lenora, what’s left of it anyway.”
“What?”
He set her down and drew his sword. “Stay behind me,” he ordered, stalking out of the bedroom.
He looked around the living room, his green eyes ablaze and his beautiful face hard as stone. “Where is the djegrali?”
Addy trailed after him. “Relax, big guy. The demon is gone. Well, mostly.”
Mr. Fluffy saw Brand and sailed off the ceiling fan. Dooley leaped to her feet with a happy woof and galumphed across the room, tail wagging.
“Brand man? Dooley love Brand man.”
“Yes, yes, I am happy to see you, too.” Brand sheathed his sword and patted Dooley.
The cat flew in ecstatic circles around Brand’s head.
“Cat, Brand man, cat.”
“Yes, I see him, Dooley.” Brand looked up at the kitten hovering over his head. “Well met, my winged friend.”
Mr. Fluffy executed a double loop in the air. “Meow.”
“I think it’s time you two went outside.” Addy waved the dog and the cat out the French doors. “Be good, and you’ll both get treats in a little while.”
Crickets chirped and dusk painted the backyard in mysterious shades of silver, black, and muted green. Dooley and Mr. Fluffy romped on the lawn, enjoying a vigorous game of catch the flying cat.
Dooley was singing her favorite song, “Cat. Cat. Stupid Cat,” as she bounced stiff-legged around the yard in pursuit of Mr. Fluffy.
Addy closed the door. Brand stood in front of the couch glaring down at Lenora. Lenora was absorbed in her soap opera and did not seem to notice. She held a large white bowl that said POPCORN in red letters on it in her lap. Inside the bowl was a wiggling black mass that looked like scraps of crepe paper.
“Greetings, Sol’ Van.” Lenora did not look up from the television. “I thought I heard you.”
Addy rolled her eyes. A few minutes ago, Brand had been bellowing like an injured bull. People in Paulsberg probably heard him.
“Lenora,” Brand said in a dangerous voice. “What are you doing here?”
“I am having a snack and watching the device humans call ‘television.’ It is vastly entertaining.”
She dug her hand in the bowl and shoved a large handful of black scraps in her mouth.
“What are you eating?”
“Demon froth. Adara whipped it up.” Lenora held out the bowl to Brand. “Would you care for some?”
“No.”
Lenora shrugged and went back to her show.
Brand watched the thrall, an expression of sickly unease on his face.
“You had no idea she could do that, did you?” Addy asked, coming to stand beside him.
“No. It is . . . most unsettling.”
“I’ll bet it is. Maybe y’all had this thing bass-ackwards all along. Maybe you Dalvahni pretty boys should have stayed in the bedroom and let the thralls do the demon hunting. I mean look at her. She’s eaten the whole thing.”
Lenora set down the empty popcorn bowl with a loud burp.
“Why are you still here, Lenora?” Brand asked.
The thrall turned her fathomless gaze on Brand. “I like this place. I have decided to stay a while.”
“That is not possible.”
Lenora shrugged. “I have served the Dalvahni more than three thousand years. I need a respite. A . . . a . . . what is the word?”
“A vacation?” Addy said.
“Yes, that is it! I need a vacation.” She tilted her head, surveying Brand with a speculative gleam in her slanted blue eyes. “What about you, Sol’ Van? I felt you depart with the other Dalvahni. Why have you returned?”
Brand raised his brows. “Unlike you, Lenora, I have permission to remain here.”
Hope grew in Addy’s heart, fragile and tender. “Whoa, back up.” She felt breathless and shaky. “What did you say?”
“Ansgar and I told Conall about the unusual demonic disturbances in this place. He has ordered further investigation. I have been placed on permanent assignment here.”
Addy’s heart soared. “Here, as in Hannah? For good?”
“For the foreseeable future. Conall wants regular reports on the demon activity in Hannah. He is most curious about this place and about the demonoids.”
He was going to stay? It was too good to be true. “But how in the world did you convince him?”
He jerked her into his arms and kissed her until her head spun. “I told him that I love you.” He dragged his lips down her throat in a hot, lingering kiss that sent a thrill of longing down her spine. Magic man, she thought, dazed by a heady mixture of joy and desire. “That I cannot live without you, and have no intention of trying. I informed Conall that he could lock me in the bottommost dungeon of the Pit and place a thousand armed guards to keep me there, and still I would fight my way back to you.”
“Fascinating.” The thrall watched them with the same intensity she reserved for her soap opera. “What did Conall say?”
“I fear he does not understand.” Brand shook his head. “In truth, I do not understand it myself, only that it is.”
“If you love the human, you should ask her to marry you,” Lenora said matter-of-factly. “That is what they do on television.”
Brand tightened his arms around Addy and smiled at her, love and laughter in his eyes.
“I think she is right,” he said. “Will you marry me, Adara? I love you. I want to bind you to me with the human ritual called marriage, and then I want to take you to the Hall of Warriors and write your name in the Great Book, proclaiming you as my life mate and my woman.”
“Oh, this is better than Loins of Lust,” Lenora said. She frowned down at the empty popcorn bowl. All that was left of the djegrali was a greasy black smear. “Strange, the demon should have sated my appetite, but I feel hungry and dissatisfied. If you will excuse me, I think I will go see Shep.”
She vanished.
“Adara,” Brand said between kisses that left Addy panting and dizzy with lust. “I would have my answer. Will you marry me?”
As if on cue, the front door bell rang and Bitsy buzzed into the house. “Who’s getting married?”
Brand straightened with his arm around Addy’s waist.
Addy took a deep breath. This was going to be seismic. “Mama.”
“Yes, dear?”
“Brand has asked me to marry him.”
Bitsy clasped her hands together. “Oh, this is so exciting! I have two weddings to plan. We’ll have the ceremony at Trinity, of course, followed by a reception at the club. It will be the biggest party this town has seen in an age. I’ll have to call that caterer in Paulsberg, and we’ll go to Mobile to look for a wedding dress. You and Muddy can go together. It’ll be fun. And then we’ll have to decide on the cake—you know, three tiers or four and whether you want buttercream icing or the fondant, and—”
“Mama.”
Mama blinked. “Yes, dear?”
“I haven’t given Brand an answer yet. You want me to give him an answer, don’t you?”
“Of course, dear! Color me gone.” Mama trotted i
nto the foyer, fluttering with excitement. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ve been dreaming about this day since you were born. Oh, Addy, it’s going to be wonderful! But there’s so much to do! Flowers and invitations and how many attendants you’ll have. Oh and a date, of course, and a color scheme and music and—”
Addy pushed Mama out the door. “Goodnight, Mama. Talk to you tomorrow.”
Mama paused on the front porch, her eyes bright with tears. “Love you, Pookie.”
“Love you, too, Mama.”
“He’s the one, isn’t he baby? You love him?”
“So much, Mama. More than I can say.”
“To the universe and beyond?”
“Squared and cubed, Mama.”
Mama gave a sigh of happiness. “I’m so glad, Pookie. That’s what I always wanted for you.”
Addy shut the door. There was an ear-shattering yell from the front porch.
“I think she’s happy,” Addy said, walking into Brand’s arms.
He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. He stripped her clothes off her in seconds and dropped her lightly on the bed. His own clothes disappeared. Bloop, one second he was fully dressed, the next he was gloriously naked.
“You know, one of these days you’re going to have to show me how you do that. Do you keep a whole wardrobe in that invisible closet of yours, or one or two outfits?”
He stretched out on the bed beside her. “If I tell you all my secrets you might become bored with me.”
“Ha, fat chance. You’re the one who’s likely to get bored with me. You’ve probably seen more coochie than a herd of gynecologists.”
“Am I to surmise from that confusing remark that you are insecure?” He ran his fingertips lightly over her breasts and blew on the sensitive tips. His hair brushed her belly and his spicy masculine scent filled her senses. Raising his head, he smiled down at her. She blinked up at him, dazed by desire and the sheer masculine beauty of him. “I am the one who should be feeling uncertain,” he said. “I bare my heart and beg you to marry me, something no Dalvahni warrior has ever done, and you leave me wandering in a wilderness of despair awaiting your answer.”
She gasped as he settled between her legs and pushed inside her. Little pulsing shimmers of delight shot up from the place where they were joined, making her dizzy with need. She clenched around him.
He withdrew slowly and entered her again, slow, exquisite torture. “A warrior only has so much patience, Adara. I would have your answer. I love you. You are life and breath and heart’s blood to me. Will you marry me or not?”
She wrapped her legs around him and arched her back, taking him deeper. “Well, when you put it like that, how can I resist? Yes, Brand, I will marry you. I love you, too, you know.”
“Say it again.”
The husky command sent a thrill through her.
She tangled her hands in his silky hair and kissed his wicked, sexy mouth. “I love you, Brand. I love you . . . love you . . . love you.”
“Adara.”
He told her then without words how he felt, although the words had been fine, too, heart’s blood and all of that. He poured himself into her, and she shuddered around him, and all was right with the world.
Some time later, she floated back down in his arms. She was so happy. She couldn’t wait to tell Evie. She frowned, realizing something.
“Brand, where is Ansgar?”
“He stayed in the Hall of Warriors.”
“But he’s coming back, isn’t he?”
“I do not think so.”
“What about Evie?”
“She does not remember him. In his estimation, it is better this way.”
“Better for whom, him or her? ’Cause it sure isn’t better for her. She loves him! She was finally coming out of her shell.”
“I think Ansgar cares for Evie, but I do not think he is ready for this.”
“This? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Brand sighed. “Love is a most unsettling thing for a Dalvahni warrior. Give him time. If he loves her, he will not be able to stay away, any more than I could stay away from you.”
“Okay, I’ll give him time. But he better not wait too long, or I’m gonna kick his butt, even if I have to climb a stepladder to do it.”
“A terrifying prospect, to be sure.” He stroked her stomach and the underside of her breasts. “Tell me, what is the meaning of this ‘Pookie’?”
She made a face. “Oh, that. That’s Mama’s pet name for me. You know how it is.”
“No, I do not.”
Pushing herself up on one elbow, she stared at him in disbelief. “You mean, you’ve never had a nickname in ten thousand years?”
“No.”
“Well, we’ve got to do something about that. Let’s see.” She tapped her chin as though in thought. “You could be Brandykins or my Widdle Stud Muffin or Sweet Cheeks. No, that’s what Pauline calls you.” She snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it. Sugar Scrotum.”
“Sugar Scrotum?” He pounced on her, his dark hair streaming down his broad shoulders and muscled chest. He looked wild and dangerous, forbidding, an untamed warrior out of some fantasy. Her fantasy. “I love you madly, Adara Jean Corwin, more than I can say, but this I cannot allow.”
Ansgar stood in the darkness outside the house listening to the happy sound of their laughter. What ailed him? Why the heavy sense of gloom and oppression that weighed him down, as if he carried all the vast, unending blackness of the Pit within his aching chest?
Lonely. The word drifted from the deep recesses of his mind. He pushed the notion aside. Ridiculous. His brief, but admittedly pleasant, interlude with the woman had made him soft. He was right to walk away. Stay and he would soon be as pathetic and hag-ridden as Brand.
Unthinkable.
He would lose himself in the hunt. He would not remember the woman or her sweetness.
She did not remember him. It was better this way.
As for her . . . She was already forgotten.
There’s nothing sexier than a
BIG BAD BEAST.
Keep an eye out for Shelly Laurenston’s latest, out now!
Ulrich Van Holtz turned over and snuggled closer to the denim-clad thigh resting by his head. Then he remembered that he’d gone to bed alone last night.
Forcing one eye open, he gazed at the face grinning down at him.
“Mornin’, supermodel.”
He hated when she called him that. The dismissive tone of it grated on his nerves. Especially his sensitive morning nerves. She might as well say, “Mornin’, you who serve no purpose.”
“Dee-Ann.” He glanced around, trying to figure out what was going on. “What time is it?”
“Dawn-ish.”
“Dawn-ish ?”
“Not quite dawn, no longer night.”
“And is there a reason you’re in my bed at dawn-ish . . . fully clothed? Because I’m pretty sure you’d be much more comfortable naked.”
Her lips curved slightly. “Look at you, Van Holtz. Trying to sweet talk me.”
“If it’ll get you naked . . .”
“You’re my boss.”
“I’m your supervisor.”
“If you can fire me, you’re my boss. Didn’t they teach you that in your fancy college?”
“My fancy college was a culinary school and I spent most of my classes trying to understand my French instructors. So if they mentioned that boss-supervisor distinction, I probably missed it.”
“You’re still holding my thigh, hoss.”
“You’re still in my bed. And you’re still not naked.”
“Me naked is like me dressed. Still covered in scars and willing to kill.”
“Now you’re just trying to turn me on.” Ric yawned, reluctantly unwrapping his arms from Dee’s scrumptious thigh and using the move to get a good look at her.
She’d let her dark brown hair grow out a bit in recent months so that the heavy, wavy strands rested below her ears
, framing a square jaw that sported a five-inch scar from her military days and a more recent bruise he was guessing had happened last night. She had a typical Smith nose—a bit long and rather wide at the tip—and the proud, high forehead. But it was those eyes that disturbed most of the populace because they were the one part of her that never shifted. They stayed the same color and shape no matter what form she was in. Many people called the color “dog yellow” but Ric thought of it as a canine gold. And Ric didn’t find those eyes off-putting. No, he found them entrancing. Just like the woman.
Ric had only known the She-wolf about seven months but since the first time he’d laid eyes on her, he’d been madly, deeply in lust. Then, over time, he’d gotten to know her, and he’d come to fall madly, deeply in love. There was just one problem with them becoming mates and living happily ever after—and that problem’s name was Dee-Ann Smith.
“So is there a reason you’re here, in my bed, not naked, around dawn-ish that doesn’t involve us forgetting the idiotic limits of business protocol so that you can ravish my morethan-willing body?”
“Yep.”
When she said nothing else, Ric sat up and offered, “Let me guess. The tellin’ will be easier if it’s around some waffles and bacon.”
“Those words are true, but faking that accent ain’t endearing you to my Confederate heart.”
“I bet adding blueberries to those waffles will.”
“Canned or fresh?”
Mouth open, Ric glared at her over his shoulder.
“It’s a fair question.”
“Out.” He pointed at his bedroom door. “If you’re going to question whether I’d use canned anything in my food while sitting on my bed not naked, then you can just get the hell out of my bedroom . . . and sit in my kitchen, quietly, until I arrive.”
“Will you be in a better mood?”
“Will you be naked?”
“Like a wolf with a bone,” she muttered, and told him, “Not likely.”
“Then I guess you have your answer.”