Demon Hunting In the Deep South (17 page)

Ansgar scowled. “You broke your fast not an hour past.”

Addy shrugged. “I’m hungry again. So sue me.”

Ding!
Evie rubbed her aching temples. There it was again, that dang annoying bell and that swimmy, disconcerting feeling in her stomach.

“I will accompany you, brother,” Brand said. “I feel the need to stretch my legs, and I am quite fond of Miss Vi’s victuals.” His gaze lingered on Frodo. “Unless you think I should remain here.”

“I appreciate your concern, brother,” Ansgar said. “But I do not believe the creature poses a threat to Addy or Evangeline.” He arched a brow at Nicole. “ ’Twould be a fair assessment to say his rancor is more readily aroused by the masculine presence than the feminine, would it not?”

Nicole gaped at him. “Huh?”

“He wants to know if it’s safe to leave us with the dog,” Evie said, interpreting for her.

“Oh.” Nicole’s brain kicked back into gear with an almost audible click. “Don’t you worry about Frodo. Your lady folks are safe with my lamb.”

“There, brother, you see?” Ansgar said. To Evie’s surprise, his gray eyes twinkled. “He is a lamb.”

Brand nodded. “Then let us depart.”

They walked out the door like ordinary folks, for which Evie was profoundly grateful. She didn’t think Nicole could handle it if Ansgar and Brand did their Dalvahni disappearing act.

“Wow.” Nicole shook her head. “Those guys are smoking hot.”

Addy snorted. “Noticed that, did yah?”

“They wouldn’t by any chance be related to a Rafe Dalvahni, would they?” Nicole asked. “Big, sexy redheaded feller married to a pretty little gal name of Bunny? They came into the gas station last month. Newlyweds.” Nicole’s expression grew wistful. “He was smoking hot, too.”

“Yep.” Addy put the finishing touches on the arrangement. “All the Dalvahnis are . . . related, and all of them are butt ugly, at least the ones I’ve met. It’s a real shame.”

Nicole chuckled. “Butt ugly. That’s funny.” She took a deep breath, which made the glowing jack-o’-lantern between her breasts do a happy little jig. “So, about that job,” she said to Addy. “I’m a hardworker and a real good driver. Never had a speeding ticket in my life.”

“The job’s still available. Evie says you just moved to Hannah?”

“Yep, three days ago. I’m renting a trailer in Froggy Bottom that belongs to my cousin Ick Lovelace. You know him?”

“No, I don’t believe I do. Look, Nicole, the job’s only part-time and doesn’t pay much.”

Evie heard the hesitation in Addy’s voice and threw her a pleading look. Nicole was good folks—a little rough around the edges maybe—but good folks, all the same.

Nicole must have heard the uncertainty in Addy’s voice, too, because she squeezed Frodo so hard the Chihuahua snarled. “Part-time’s fine for now,” she said. “Cousin Ick’s giving us a real good deal on the rent, and my truck’s paid for. Frodo and I don’t need much else.”

“Uh huh.” Addy eyed the Chihuahua. “I’m gonna be upfront with you, Nicole. Frodo is scary. Sort of like a barracuda with fur. You’ll have to leave him home. Can’t have him eating the customers.”

“I can’t leave Frodo alone. It’s not safe.”

“The dog stalker, Addy,” Evie said anxiously. “I told you about it, remember?”

Addy shook her head. “Look, Eves, I’m not sure I can—”

“Bitch alert,” Muddy announced abruptly. “Trish Russell and Blair Woodson are headed this way.”

Addy groaned. “The Twats are coming here? Somebody kill me, please.”

Chapter Sixteen

A
nsgar stalked down the sidewalk, heedless of the curious stares of passers-by. The town of Hannah was nestled in a clump of wooded hills. Tidy shops jockeyed for attention along the tree-lined avenue called Main Street. The streets were clean, the storefront windows polished, the people friendly. On the far side of the hill, the Devil River rumbled the bass notes of a never-ending song.

There was a hint of coolness in the air, a chill warning of winter that cleared his head. It was good to get out of doors and away from Evangeline, for her sake and his.

She was in danger. The thought repeated itself like the endless tumbling chorus of the river.

But how could he protect her when his body and brain were befuddled with lust? He wanted her with an unceasing ferocity that amazed him. She was temptation itself with her fiery hair, soft, winsome mouth, and sumptuous curves. He was like a stag in rut in her presence. She made him forget duty, training . . .
everything
but being with her, sinking into her lush body and finding release after the endless months of deprivation.

He needed her. She shone like a candle in the dark well of his existence. How had he survived without her eon after eon, subsisting on a diet of violence and grim duty? No love, no laughter, no warmth, only the companionship of his brother warriors and the meaningless, perfunctory release in the arms of a thrall to sustain him through the blur of centuries.

He was a demon hunter. The hunt was all he knew, all he’d needed or wanted. He lived for the thrill and challenge of the chase and the adrenaline rush of battle. He was very good at his job. It was what he did, what he was.

Until Evangeline.

His first encounter with her had been a severe shock. She’d opened his eyes and made him realize he was a prisoner of the darkness just as surely as the djegrali he captured and imprisoned in the bottomless well of blackness known as the Pit.

His lips twisted in self-derision. Once, he’d derided Brand for having similar feelings for Addy. He thought Brand weak, a disgrace to the Dalvahni. How far the mighty Ansgar had fallen! Always, he’d prided himself on his discipline and imperturbability, his single-minded dedication to the hunt, even among a warrior race known for their restraint and devotion to duty.

Look at him now. He was as lovesick and randy as any callow human male, as weak as Brand.

Weaker, if the truth be known. Brand was the first of their kind to experience emotions other than rage and lust. Yet, he faced the bewildering onslaught of his passion for Addy head on. He did not run from it like a frightened youth on the eve of his first battle. The mighty Ansgar, however . . .

Cool, detached, unflappable warrior that he was, he had fled.

Not that it did him any good. Being away from Evangeline was anguish, as he quickly learned.

Being apart from her was misery. Being
with
her was a firestorm of temptation and unquenchable desire.

He was well and truly stretched upon a rack of his own making, he reflected wryly. He’d taken her memories of him, telling himself it was the right thing to do, the
kind
thing to do. The poor lass was in love with him, he’d reasoned. He was leaving and would not return. It would be cruel to leave her to suffer.

As for him, he would forget her readily enough, he’d told himself. She was a pleasant interlude, a delicious memory he would look back upon with fondness, if he remembered her at all.

He’d soon found he was sadly mistaken. He could no more forget Evangeline than he could still the rush of his blood through his veins or silence the beating of his heart. It did not take him long to admit his defeat and slink back to Hannah, staying in the shadows, haunting her every move like a pathetic, obsessed stripling in the grips of his first passion.

Brand caught up with him. “Is something amiss, Ansgar? You seem . . . restive of late.”

“You know very well what troubles me.” Ansgar did not look at him. If Brand’s expression matched the sly satisfaction he heard in his brother’s voice, he would hit him. “Or perchance ’twould be more accurate to say
who
troubles me. Go ahead, brother. Spit out your words of triumph else you choke on them.”

Brand chuckled. “Nay, I relish the taste of them. ’Twas not so long ago you chided me for my own peculiar affliction. Besides, ’twould be unkind when you are so obviously in distress.”

“Distress?” Ansgar slammed his fist into a metal lamppost, bending it in half. “I am as randy as a Gorthian bull.”

In the blink of an eye, Brand repaired the damage. “The Directive Against Conspicuousness,” he murmured in admonition. “You will startle the humans.”

“To the Pit with the Directive,” Ansgar said savagely.

“Restive, of a surety.” Ansgar heard the laughter in Brand’s voice. “Can you not prevail upon Evie to assuage your . . . er . . . problem?”

“I can hardly expect her to tumble me when she thinks we met but a day ago.”

He was trapped in a coil of his own making, and Evangeline with him. She’d been like a tender blossom eagerly unfolding in the warmth of the sun, and then he left her.

But no more; she did not remember him.

Worse, she did not remember herself. She was once again the shy dowd, retiring and ill at ease in her own skin.

This, too, he’d taken from her, her burgeoning confidence in her beauty and power.

“Then give her back her memories,” Brand said with a shrug.

“I do not know how.”

“I see your dilemma.” Brand’s lips twitched. “I remember your suggestion to me when I was struggling with my own . . . er . . . little problem. ‘Avail yourself of a thrall,’ you said. Perhaps you should heed your own advice.”

Ansgar snorted. “I would hardly call Addy Corwin ‘a little problem.’ ”

“No, she most certainly is not.”

There was a wealth of satisfaction in Brand’s voice. Brand adored his little problem. Worshipped it, in fact.

As did he, Ansgar reflected glumly, thinking of Evangeline. He loved her to the point of madness. He’d run from that knowledge once. No more.

“A thrall would not have eased your suffering, nor did it mine,” Ansgar said. “I share your plight, I am afraid. It is Evie for me, and no other.”

Thoughts of lying with her again consumed him. He could feel his iron control, forged in the heat of a thousand battles, slipping away, like sun-dried sand between his fingers. A few moments ago, he’d come perilously close to dragging her into a back room of the shop, tossing up that rag of a dress she wore, and having his way with her. Right then and there, and the others be damned.

And the hell of it was she would have let him. Her mind might not remember him, but her body did. The knowledge that she wanted him, was his for the taking, was fuel tossed upon the fire of his already enflamed senses. Honor compelled him to resist her. She would not thank him for his selfish indulgence if she regained her memory. But he did not know how much longer the fractured joints of his already weakened willpower could last.

And ’twas Evie’s hand on the handle that tightened the rollers.

Brand’s expression grew serious. “ ’Tis not in the nature of the Dalvahni to lie, but I would caution you not to tell Evie you have been with a thrall.” He held up his hand as Ansgar started to speak. “Hear me out. I have come to know Evie in your absence, and I am quite fond of her. She is a gentle, loving soul, but this she would not understand. No more, I think, than you would had she dallied with another male in your absence.”

The thought of Evie with someone else made something hot and ugly rise up inside Ansgar. She had no notion of her effect on him, or of her effect on human males. The Peterson human wanted her, for one. He’d noted Trey’s interest in Evie in the past few months, the way the man watched her with hunger and yearning in his gaze. It made him want to tear the man’s eyes from his head. His restraint stemmed from practicality, not from lack of jealousy. He could not remove the eyes of every man who cast admiring glances Evie’s way. To do so would be to blind the entire male population of Hannah.

“The very thought puts me in a killing rage,” he admitted. “She is a fever in my blood. But were the cure offered me, I would shun it.”

“As would I.” Brand clapped him on the shoulder. “Do not look so glum, brother. A solution will present itself. What of the killer? Have you any notion who murdered the Peterson woman?”

“Not a human, I think,” Ansgar said, “nor a demon. I felt the creature’s presence. It was . . . something else.”

“A mutant perhaps, one of the foul offspring of human and djegrali?”

Ansgar nodded. “Aye, that is my suspicion.”

“The town is rife with them. How do you propose to ferret out the murderer?”

“I have given the matter some consideration. There is a rout of some sort tonight at a local hall, a celebration linked to the Celtic Samhain. I would like to attend, but only if I can persuade Evangeline to go with me. She has already been attacked once, and I will not leave her alone.” He quickly told Brand of the djegrali attack at Evie’s home. Her brush with death the day before still made him shudder. “She would have died, I think, if not for the intervention of the fae.”

“This is serious indeed. Do you think the attack is related to the Peterson woman’s murder?”

“I do not know,” Ansgar said. “It is a puzzle.”

“I would offer to stay with Evie whilst you investigate the matter,” Brand said, “but Adara and I already have plans to attend this dance. It is a masquerade, I believe. Edmuntina is most insistent we be there.”

“I am glad to hear it. I will need your eyes and ears and perhaps your sword arm, should the need arise.”

“You have it,” Brand said.

“My thanks. Now all that remains is to convince Evangeline to go to the dance.”

“I will ask Adara to use her influence, and Edmuntina.”

“Good,” Ansgar said. “She is shy and will be most reluctant, especially in light of what has happened. I will have Meredith speak with her as well.”

Brand’s brows rose in surprise. “Meredith? The dead woman?”

“The very same. Her shade appeared to us last eve in the gaol.”

“Then your quandary is solved! Have the shade name her killer, bring the fiend to justice, and be done with it.”

“The shock of Meredith’s demise has wiped the events from her mind. She is working with some sort of guide in the afterlife to restore her memory, a shade named Swink. We met him, also.”

“By the sword, this is a strange place.”

“I concur, brother,” Ansgar said. “A very strange place, indeed.”