Demon Hunting In the Deep South (8 page)

“It is of no moment. Go and take your bath. That always improves your spirits.”

“How do you—”

She gave a startled squeak as he streaked across the room in a blur of movement and lifted her into his arms.

“Addy told me.” He smiled down at her. “How else?”

Evie’s brain went mushy. He was strength and calm and steadiness, an unyielding rock in a sea of chaos. For the first time today, she began to relax. She was safe. Nothing bad could happen to her, not with Ansgar around.

She came to her senses as he strode out of the kitchen. “Ansgar, put me down!” Her face burned with mortification. She was no tiny miss like Meredith. “You can’t carry me.”

“I cannot?”

“No. I’m too big. You’ll pull a muscle or something.”

He chuckled. “Do not be absurd. You are light as thistledown.”

“A silo full of thistledown, maybe,” she muttered.

He stopped abruptly and looked down at her, his eyes gleaming in the dark hallway.

“You are all woman, Evangeline, not the anemic version of what passes for feminine beauty in this reality. You have curving hips and plump breasts that make a man itch to test the weight of them with his hands and his cock sit up and pay attention. You are many things, including delectable and succulent as a ripe peach. But you are not—I repeat
not
—fat. And if you say so again in my hearing, I will turn you over my knee and spank your luscious little bottom
.
Is that understood?”

“Oh.” Evie stared at him in shock. No one had ever described her bottom as
little
. It was by far the nicest compliment she’d ever received. “You mustn’t say c-o-c-k. It’s not nice.”

He kicked open the bathroom door and set her down on the tile floor. “I am a demon hunter. I was created to hunt and kill. I am not ‘nice.’ Take your bath. When you finish, we will eat.”

“Wait,” she said as he turned to leave. “There’s something I need to know.”

“Yes?”

Her heart thundered in her ears. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. But today seemed to have cracked open a hidden reservoir of boldness she never knew existed.

“That thing you said about me being a . . . a peach.” Taking a deep breath, she blurted out the question foremost in her mind. “Do you eat peaches?”

“Yes, I do,” he said from the doorway. The look in his eyes made her feel hot and shaky. “And once I start eating them, I find it difficult to stop.”

Chapter Eight

D
o you eat peaches?

Evie groaned and slid deeper into the clawfoot tub, letting the scented water lap at her chin. Did she really ask him that?

Did she?

Yep, bold as you please. It was like somebody took over her body, some brazen hussy she didn’t recognize.

What must he think of her? She practically
threw
herself at the guy, for heaven’s sake. She’d never been so bold with a man.

Her daily soak usually soothed her, but not today. Today, everything in her was coiled tight.
Aware.
She couldn’t relax, not with
him
around. Heck, she couldn’t relax knowing the guy was on the same planet, much less in the same house.

He made her jittery and on edge, filled her with anticipation and excitement. After months of living under a dull cloud of despair, she felt alive. Like she was stretching and waking from a long sleep, shedding the husk of her former self and becoming someone else.

Thank goodness. She was sick to death of being a good little doormat. She’d been a doormat all her life and look where it got her. A big, fat nowhere.

She wanted to be bad. With Ansgar.

So be bad already,
her willful self said.
There’s nobody to stop you. Your parents are dead. Your sister’s dead. It’s not like there’s anybody around to shake a finger if you have a little fun.

Except for Addy and Bitsy, of course. But Bitsy wasn’t here and Addy wouldn’t mind. Addy was always after her to cut loose and live a little.

But after a lifetime of being a stick in the mud, old habits were hard to break.

“Besides,” she muttered out loud, “in what reality do you think you’d have a chance with him?”

She replayed the moment in her mind.
You are many things, including as delectable and succulent as a ripe peach.

Wow.

She hugged the words close, savoring them. Wicked, sexy words that made her quiver with longing. No one ever said anything like that to her, especially someone like Ansgar. Who was she kidding? She’d never met anyone like Ansgar, with his big, hard body and his mouth made for sin.

That sensuous mouth promised untold pleasures. Set above a stubborn chin and unyielding jaw, it was the crown jewel set in a face so handsome it was like something straight out of a fairy tale.

Prince Charming, eat your heart out. Ansgar the Magnificent makes you look like dog poop.
She giggled to herself at the thought.

Smiling, she closed her eyes and imagined his mouth on her, kissing her, nibbling her. Her heartbeat sped up. The fantasy was so real she could almost feel his hands lifting her breasts, the satin stroke of his tongue on her nipples.

She shifted in the tub, aroused and embarrassed by the direction of her thoughts. A fragment of memory stirred of a man moving over her, of the exquisite pressure and slide as he drove his body into hers, his deep, smoky voice urging her on.

Let go, Evangeline. Let me pleasure you.

She sat up so fast water sloshed over the edge of the bathtub and onto the black and white tile floor. Ansgar. She’d know that seductive whisper anywhere.

But that was impossible. She couldn’t have memories of Ansgar. It was wishful thinking, her imagination working overtime.

She leaned back. So she had fantasies about Ansgar? Who could blame her? The guy was off-the-charts sexy. Totally understandable, but she needed to get a grip.

The jangle of metal on metal drew her gaze to the bathroom window. The wind chime hanging from the dogwood branch swayed violently, though not a leaf on the tree stirred.

Fear trickled down her spine. The fairies were trying to warn her about something?

Dark smoke swirled against the outside of the drafty window, pushing and nudging against the glass as if seeking entrance. A searching finger of mist found the crack at the base of the warped sash and seeped into the room, solidifying into a hideous nightmare creature of claw and fang.

The temperature in the room plummeted, and ice frosted the water in the tub and the puddle of water on the floor. A suffocating sense of malevolence pervaded the tiny space. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. As she watched in helpless terror, the demon reached for her with clawed hands.

The wind chime clanged again, breaking the evil spell.

Evie screamed.

Ansgar closed his eyes. Leaving Evie to her ablutions, he’d retreated to the kitchen, but he could not escape the sounds from down the hall. The Dalvahni had excellent hearing. The gentle slosh as Evie eased into the tub, the splash and trickle of the heated water caressing her skin, swirling over her beautiful breasts and thighs—he heard it all.

Sweet torment.

He cursed himself and his weakness. He was not good enough for her. She deserved better. He’d deluded himself in thinking he could resist her. She was a flame-haired enchantress, and he was her helpless captive.

A sharp sound, like the tinkle of breaking glass, made him open his eyes. A wiggin hovered at the end of his nose; a fairy gardener, caretaker of root, moss, bracken, and bramble. No bigger than the palm of his hand, the wiggin was naked but for a few strands of cobweb. It had skin the color of old leaves. Brown, lacy wings delicately veined with streaks of silver-green fluttered rapidly from the fairy’s slender shoulders. The tiny creature regarded Ansgar with hard, dark eyes from a face like carved bark. Having gained Ansgar’s attention, the fairy flitted in agitated circles around his head, a stream of high-pitched, frantic chatter issuing from its tiny mouth.

“You must speak more slowly, little one,” Ansgar said. “I cannot understand you.”

With an impatient huff, the fairy flew closer.
“Danger!”
the wiggin chirped in his ear.

At the same time, the wind chimes in the garden rang in discordant warning. Ansgar opened his mind and located the threat, seeing with his inner eye the malignant shadow on the other side of the house. The patch of darkness oozed up the wall and through the bathroom window.

Evangeline; the djegrali had found her. And he, blinded by misery and unthinking lust, had neglected to strengthen the shield spells around the house, leaving her vulnerable.

Evie screamed. Quicker than thought, the fairy darted across the room and down the hall. Ansgar was faster. Lifting his hand, he burst the door off the hinges and streaked into the bathroom. Evie sat in the tub, encased in a solid sheet of black ice. Jagged icicles rimed the walls and window casing, and sprang like glittering knives from the chamber floor. A barrier of greenish-gold light separated her from the furious demon. Fairy magic, no doubt. Poisonous spells hung in the air, detritus from the djegrali’s frustrated attempts to break through the shield.

“Ilsann,”
Ansgar said.

His bow of Gorthian yew appeared in his hands. He nocked an arrow and fired. With a venomous hiss, the djegrali fled, shattering the window in its haste to escape, and Ansgar’s arrow hit the wall in a shower of harmless sparks.

Dropping his bow, Ansgar kicked a path through the ice daggers and bent over Evie. She cried out and shrank back.

“Easy, sweetling,” he said. “You are safe.”

With a blow of his fist, he shattered the ice surrounding her.

“D-demon.” She was shaking with cold. “T-through the window.”

“Shh.” He lifted her out of the tub. “The djegrali is gone.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and let her head droop against his shoulder. Something twisted inside him at the gesture of helpless trust. He closed his eyes, shaking with relief. He had failed her again. If something had happened to her, if the fairies had not protected her . . .

The very thought drained the strength from his limbs. He was a warrior, accustomed to combat and strife, danger and pain. Thousands of years of battle, injuries beyond counting, and never had he reacted like this. Never had he needed anyone like this.

He was becoming as weak as an old woman because of her. This is what he had feared. This is why he’d left, this uncontrollable need for her.

But leaving had made no difference, had done nothing to lessen his need. Indeed, absence made him crave her more.

The detached warrior of old was gone. He had changed. Briefly, he contemplated this new reality.

So be it.

He pressed her closer to his chest, trying to infuse her quaking flesh with his warmth. A human would have suffered frostbite or worse from the demon’s attack. But she was Dalvahni now, thanks to him, and already recovering. Beneath his watchful gaze, her shivering lessened and the smooth skin of her thighs grew warm against his palms. He carried her out of the bathroom and into the living room. He started to lower her feet to the floor, and she tightened her arms around his neck.

“No,” she said, burrowing her face against his neck. “Warm.”

“ ’Twill be but a moment, sweetling. Just long enough for me to wrap you in a blanket. You are unclothed.”

She stiffened against him. “Unclothed? Granny Moses, you mean I’m
naked
?”

“Evangeline, wait,” he said as she tried to fling herself from his grasp.

Once, in a distant place and time, Ansgar had gone into a bog after a young shoat. Rescuing the frantic animal had been a slippery business, but holding on to an armful of wet, humiliated woman proved far more challenging. And infinitely more interesting, Ansgar thought, suppressing a groan as Evie twisted in his grasp, her breasts grazing his chest as she slid to the floor.

Plucking a blanket off one end of the couch, Evie scampered away from him in a tantalizing dance of womanly flesh. She grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around her.

He swallowed a smile. She thought to hide her lush form from him with a meager scrap of cloth. Not knowing, never dreaming he already knew her body, had committed each curve and hollow to memory. Knew the taste and scent of her, the measure and weight of each high, full breast, had traced every inch of her satin skin with his lips and tongue.

“Ohmygoodness,” she said. The words came out in a rush, interrupting his lascivious thoughts. Her face and the upper swell of her bosom bloomed with color. “I am
so
sorry. In a lifetime of embarrassing moments, this one takes the cake. I don’t know what to say.”

“Why do you apologize?”

“For
this
.” Tucking the edge of the blanket in the deep cleft between her breasts, she waved her free hand to indicate her state of undress. “You think I parade around naked as a jaybird in front of strangers every day of the week?”

“I should hope not. At any rate, I am not a stranger.” He took a step toward her, and she sidled farther away. “And I like you naked. If I had my way, you would be in a permanent state of undress.”

Her lovely mouth sagged in shock. “Oh! You mustn’t say such things.”

He stalked closer. “Why not?”

She edged away from him. “Because you don’t mean them. You can’t. And it’s cruel of you to tease me.”

She came up against the front door and stopped, squeaking in surprise as he caged her between his arms. Wide eyed, she gazed up at him.

“I am not teasing you,” he said.

Her pulse fluttered in her throat. He wanted to kiss her there, to taste her petal-soft skin and feel the throb of her heartbeat beneath his tongue. Her scent was intoxicating, an ever-changing delight, sometimes lavender, sometimes lilac, wisteria, or tuberose. Today, she smelled of something dreamy and sweet, like ripe grapes. He wanted to ravish her, to gorge himself on her innocence, to make her remember, though he’d sworn not to, though she would hate him for it.