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Authors: Lexi George

BOOK: Demon Hunting In Dixie
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She circled him. The strands of her flowing gown curled around him, the scent of her hair and skin enfolding him in her spell. “Do not be ashamed.” He shivered as she ran her fingers lightly down his arm. “I find it delightful, intoxicating. A heady mixture of feelings I did not dream existed, so much more than blood lust and sexual excitement. Quite . . . irresistible.”
She paused in front of him and twined her arms around him. “Let me help you.” She pressed a trail of hot kisses down his throat. “Empty yourself into me.”
“Look, I don't—”
“Your wife left you for another man,” she said. The sensuous purr made his dick stand up and pay attention. “She has already filed some sort of document ending your union. You feel emasculated, bewildered. Anger, so much delicious anger. It makes me quite giddy. What did you do wrong? you wonder. Were you not lover enough for her? Did she find satisfaction in your arms?”
“How the hell did you—”
Her hands moved over him. Somehow, his shirt was gone and his pants and shoes. She caressed his chest. Her hands moved lower, and then her luscious mouth—
“You are concerned what others will think, that you will be an object of ridicule. Shame, sharp, stinging like a knife. Your offspring, too, you worry about. You have sent them away to protect them, but what heartache will they discover upon their return? They are young and will not understand. The anguish you feel on their behalf is . . . delectable.”
Half-heartedly, he tried to free himself. But, the relief of having it all out there, of being able to open up to another was impossible to resist. He'd bottled it up inside for so long, tried to be a good son, father, husband—
oh, God, Marilee, I tried
—done what was expected of him for so many years. Married the right girl, buried himself in a business he detested, become what others wanted. Not what he wanted. Never what he wanted.
She pulled him to the floor and somehow he was inside her, pouring himself into her.
Ah, the relief . . . the sweet, blessed relief.
Chapter Twenty-one
D
ooley nuzzled Addy's arm. She opened her eyes to find the Lab smiling at her.
“Addy up! Addy up!”
Dooley whined happily.
“In a minute, Doodle Bug. You know I'm not a morning person.”
Addy stretched and sat up. Brand sprawled face down on the bed beside her, one corner of the sheet thrown carelessly over his body. Lord, he was something else, golden skinned, sleek and smoothly muscled. She itched to touch him again. She'd been something else in the past few hours as well, a woman she hardly recognized. The things she'd done with him, the things she still wanted to do. She couldn't get enough of him, had lost track of the times they made love during the night.
And what a night, the best night of her life.
She'd been afraid of this, that being with Brand would become an obsession. The guy ought to come with a warning label.
Caution, this Brand may be habit-forming.
She slowly peeled the sheet back so she could admire his world-class ass. God, he was gorgeous. Like a child fascinated by the spinning blades of a fan, she reached out to touch him, knowing the danger and drawn to it all the same.
His deep, rumbling voice drew her up short.
“Woman, you are insatiable.”
He rolled over and gave her a lazy, heart-stopping grin.
Thwack
! The smile hit her right between the eyes. Her mouth dropped open. She knew she probably looked like a mooning idiot, gaping at him love struck and starry eyed and—
Wait a darn minute,
love struck
? No. No way. She would not have her heart broken. She was Super Slut Puppy, able to leap a guy's bones in a single bound. She would enjoy this thing while it lasted.
Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, what would she do when he left her?
She would be calm, cool, and collected. She could do this. She
would
do this. She—
—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.”

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