Rafe ignored her. She was not a warrior. She could not understand the warrior way. His desire to shield Bunny had everything to do with duty and honor, and nothing to do with love.
He turned to the brothers. “You have some means of transport here?”
“I rode with the wife,” Cam said. “But Coop’s got his truck.”
Rafe held out his hand. “You will give me the keys to this vehicle.”
Coop eyed him with uncertainty. “Do you know how to drive a five-speed?”
“No, but that will not be a problem.”
Coop shook his head. “Damn straight it won’t be a problem, ’cause I ain’t giving you my truck.”
Something inside of Rafe snapped. He snarled and seized Coop by the throat, much to Cam’s apparent delight.
“But I’ll take you wherever you want to go,” Coop wheezed.
Rafe released him. “That is good. Where is this truck of yours?”
Rubbing his throat and glaring at his chortling brother, Coop pointed to the grassy field where the guests had parked their cars. “Over there, the red Ford with the big toolbox on the back.”
Coop gave a startled yelp as Rafe grabbed him by the arm and teleported them across the lot.
Coop swayed and grabbed the side of the truck for support. “Whoa, musta had more to drink than I thought. Thing is, I don’t remember drinking anything. Last thing I remember is leaving the church for the reception and the next thing I know I’m standing in the river naked as a jaybird.” He shook his head. “Man, I’m gonna catch hell from Audrey when she hears about this. Good thing she’s in Mobile at the hospital with her mama. I wouldn’t wish a heart attack on anyone, but if Audrey was here and caught me with my Johnson hanging out at my sister’s wedding, I’d be the one in the ICU.”
Rafe opened the door and climbed into the passenger side of the truck. “Do not trouble yourself. Your wife will not hear of this. Take me to your sister.”
“Take me to your sister.” Coop slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The truck engine rumbled to life. “You sound like a little green man from one of those cheesy science fiction movies.” He made a wide circle on the grass and pulled onto the narrow, winding dirt road that led from the church, through the woods to the highway beyond. “ ’Cept they say ‘take me to your leader,’ not ‘your sister.’ ”
“I am not green or little,” Rafe said.
“You can say that again. You and that brother of yours are big sonsabitches.” Coop’s belly jiggled as the truck bumped down the tree-lined road. “So are you, or aren’t you?”
“Am I what?”
“An alien.”
Rafe sighed mentally. He knew Cooper was joking, but he was in no mood for levity. He would tell him the truth and erase his memory later.
“I am not from Earth.”
Cooper slammed his palm on the steering wheel. “Not from Earth, that’s a good one. Do you lie to your mama out of that same mouth?”
“The Dalvahni do not have mothers. We are an immortal warrior race created some ten millennia ago by the god Kehvahn to keep the djegrali in check.”
“The what?”
“Demons, you humans call them.”
Coop chuckled. “Demons and a god named Kevin. Hoo boy, you’re a strange one. You know that?”
Rafe remained silent, his thoughts on Bunny. He stared out the windshield at the road, willing the truck to go faster. Bunny was somewhere up ahead. What if the djegrali had followed her?
He clenched his fists. No. He would find her first and slay the djegrali.
She would be safe.
He would destroy anyone or anything that tried to harm her.
Brand’s words floated through his mind. But who will protect Bunny from you?
What would Bunny do when he left her? She loved him. She had told him so many times in words and in a thousand other ways. It was in her beautiful eyes every time she looked at him, and in the way she came apart in his arms. In truth, his empty soul drank in the sweet words like a rainparched flower. She was so open and gentle and loving, so generous and giving. After he left, would she turn to another for comfort?
A tortuous image formed in his mind of Bunny in someone else’s arms, her white limbs wrapped around another man’s waist as he moved in and out of her . . .
A red haze seized his brain and his mind slammed shut. No, he would not think about that. Bunny was his . . . at least for now.
Emptiness loomed ahead of him at the thought of living without her. Absently, he rubbed his aching chest but the pain did not subside. The Dalvahni were immune to sickness and healed quickly. This hurt, whatever it was, would soon be gone.
He would not think about leaving Bunny. He would think about the hunt and keeping her safe.
What she did after he returned to the Hall of Warriors . . .
He would not think about that either.
The two-lane highway cut through the gently rolling farmland of Behr County. Cattle grazed in open fields, and pines and hardwoods jostled with one another to reach the side of the road. Bunny usually enjoyed this drive but today she saw none of the pastoral beauty of South Alabama. Her beautiful wedding and her beautiful husband were the shattered dreams of a naïve fool. She alternated between tears and anger. All she could think about was getting away, driving faster. Drive fast enough and Audrey’s pink Cadillac would abandon the highway and soar into the clouds like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, taking her away from her life and her problems.
She was going eighty miles per hour when she crossed the line into Baldwin County. She barely noticed the gray trooper car parked at an abandoned gas station. The wail of the siren jerked her out of her misery. She looked in the rearview mirror and saw the blue light.
“Shoot, oh shoot,” she said, pulling onto the grassy berm.
The state trooper got out of his vehicle and walked up to her window.
“I clocked you doing 85 in a 55 mile per hour zone, ma’am. What’s the big hurry?”
Bunny dropped her head onto the steering wheel. “I—I’m a little upset, officer. I didn’t realize how fast I was going.”
“Uh huh. That’s no excuse to break the law. I’m going to have to write you a ticket.”
“Great,” Bunny mumbled.
“Just got married, huh?” The officer chuckled. “Most people take their husband along for the honeymoon. But I don’t see yours. Course, he could be buried under all that Charmin in the backseat.”
Oh, brother. Of all the troopers in Alabama, she got the funny guy. Bunny sighed and lifted her head.
“Darn.” Wiping her eyes, she looked up at the officer through the open window. “I knew I forgot something.”
He was younger than she expected, maybe in his mid-thirties, with warm brown skin, strong features and a wide, pleasant smile.
His friendly smile faded and his mouth fell open. What was the matter with him? She’d been crying but, jeez, she couldn’t look that bad. She felt a spasm of alarm. Oh good God, surely he wouldn’t arrest her?
“Is there a problem, Officer?”
“Duuuh,” he said.
She took a quick peek in the rearview mirror. Nope, her mascara was fine, though she did have a few spots of icing here and there.
“Pretty,” the trooper said, giving her a goofy grin.
“Look, Officer, I know I was speeding and I’m sorry. I promise to slow down. So if you’ll just write me a ticket, I’ll be on my way and—”
“Pretty,” he said again.
She waved her hand in his face. He looked back at her without blinking.
“Uh, thanks. Can I please have my ticket now? I’m kind of in a hurry.”
He shredded the ticket and handed it to her. “Wedding present. Pretty.”
Bunny felt certain he wasn’t supposed to do that, but she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“Gee, that’s awfully nice of you, Officer. Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll be going.” Giving him a bright s
mile and a wave, Bunny eased her car back onto the road. “Bye now,” she called out the open window. “I’ll watch my speed, I promise.”
As she drove off, she checked him in her rearview mirror. He stood by the side of the road gazing after her with a hangdog look on his face, his shoulders slumped in a mournful fashion.
“Like a kid at Christmas with a broken toy.” She shook her head. “Weird.”
Not so weird if you think about it, dummy, a voice inside her head said.
Bunny groaned aloud. She knew that voice, although she hadn’t listened to it much lately.
It was Smart Bunny. Smart Bunny kept her out of trouble. Smart Bunny was . . . well . . . smart.
Dumb Bunny . . . ? Eh, not so much. And Dumb Bunny had been running the show since she met Rafe.
Remember the gaggle of teenage boys that have been hanging around the library for the past few weeks? Smart Bunny asked. You wrote it off as boredom and interest in that cute little Betsy Phillips who’s been volunteering in the afternoons.
“She’s sixteen and homeschooled,” Bunny protested. “She’s a new girl for them to flirt with.”
Uh huh, and what about Horace Clement? He brought you all those roses.
“He grows roses. He had a bumper crop this year.”
Smart Bunny made a rude noise. Bumper crop, my ass. He stripped his prize rosebushes down to the nub for you. And how do you explain Jackson Pritchard and the lemon meringue pie he’s left on your desk every Monday for . . . oh, let me see . . . THE LAST SIX WEEKS? Rat Godwin down at the garage, the druggist, the guys down at the hardware store—Smart Bunny’s list seemed to go on and on—your parents’ yardman, your brothers’ friends—their MARRIED friends—they’ve all been coming on to you.
Bunny shifted in her seat. Being a single female in a small town, she had her share of admirers. But lately she seemed to attract anyone with a moving part.
And a few without a moving part, as well, Smart Bunny said. Deanna Wilkerson down at the Kut ’N Kurl put the moves on you big time when you went for a pedicure. DEE! You’ve known Dee since kindergarten.
Smart Bunny was right. It was as though she’d morphed into some kind of sex goddess, shedding pheromones wherever she went, like a Lab blowing its coat. She hadn’t paid much attention to it. Too busy living in Dopeville strung out on a certain hunk.
A handsome hunk from another dimension who claimed to be a demon hunter.
A demon hunter who claimed to have changed her.
She could still hear him his words. I gave you a portion of my essence, Bunny. You are no longer human.
She began to shake.
Oh, God. She needed sugar. A buttload of it.
She swerved the car into the parking lot of a Gas ’N Gulp and rushed inside.
Chapter Six
Bunny threw the train of her wedding dress over one arm and cruised up and down the aisles of the Gas ’N Gulp. She stuck a two-liter bottle of Dr Pepper under each arm, grabbed several packages of powdered donuts, a large bag of Skittles, two boxes of Hot Tamales, a giant Sweet Tart and a PayDay, and hurried to the register. After plunking her items on the counter, she selected a giant-sized Butter-finger from the display rack, then put it back. The thought of eating chocolate made her queasy.
Strange. Usually she was all about the chocolate.
The row of Good & Plenty boxes caught her eye. She hated licorice. But for some reason it sounded good today. Better than good; essential. She added three boxes of Good & Plenty candies to her cache of sugar and threw in two bags of barbequed peanuts for good measure. A little salt to balance out the sugar, she rationalized.
The woman behind the counter sported a female mullet—buzzed, short hair in front and on the sides and long and scraggly hair in the back. She regarded Bunny with a curious expression over her double chins.
“Nice dress,” Mullet Woman said. “Getting married, huh?”
No, I wear this to clean the toilets, Bunny thought irritably, gazing longingly at the licorice candy at the top of the pile.
Oh, what the hell. If she didn’t have some sugar soon she’d go ballistic and twirl Mullet Woman around by the hair.
The hair in the back, of course. That fuzzy stuff in front would do a Marine proud.
Bunny picked up the nearest box, tore it open and dumped the contents in her mouth, chasing it with half a liter of Dr Pepper. She burped and smiled as the sugar euphoria took hold.
Her desire to throttle the woman behind the counter abruptly faded. She handed the cashier the empty candy box and the opened soda bottle. “You can ring me up now, please.”
The woman shook her head and started totaling the purchases. “Honey, you got man troubles if ever I seen ’em. Wuddee do, hitcha?”
“No, nothing like that. I found out he lied.” Bunny wrinkled her nose. “No, that’s not fair. He didn’t lie. He just didn’t tell me everything. Lots of things. Important things.”
“Deceive me not by omission, love,” Mullet Woman said. “The heart is pierced as deeply by silence as e’er by spoken lies.”
“Why, th-that’s beautiful,” Bunny said, fighting back tears. God, her hormones were all over the place. Homicidal to maudlin in a nanosecond.
“I write poetry sometimes. Keep one of them composition books by my bed.”
Bunny blinked in surprise. “You wrote that?”
“Yeah. Come up with it after I found out my second husband, Travis the Louse, had him another wife and kids in Loo-zee-anna.” She gave Bunny a narrow-eyed stare. “He was a truck driver, see. Traveled a lot. Your husband ain’t a truck driver, is he?”
“No.”
“Good. I was a prize idiot. Got stuck with the payments on Travis’s boat and truck when he left.”
“That’s awful,” Bunny said, tearing up again. Good grief, she couldn’t stop crying.
“Yeah, Brittany got Travis and I got the bills. That’s why I’m working here. Sucks, don’t it?”
“Sucks the big one,” Bunny agreed. She grabbed a napkin off the deli counter and blew her nose.
“Haven’t been able to stand the name Brittany ever since.” Mullet Woman gave Bunny another hard look. “Your name ain’t Brittany, is it?”
“No, my name’s Bunny.”
“Bunny? What kind of name is that?
“Mine, I’m afraid.”
“Is it a nickname?”
“Unfortunately, no. I was born on Easter.”
“Huh,” Mullet Woman said. “You don’t look like a Bunny. Look more like an Emma or an Olivia, to me. No disrespect, but your parents screwed the pooch on the name thing.”
Bunny slapped her hand down on the counter. “I know. I could have been Elisabeth or Jane or Grace.” She made a face. “Instead, I get stuck with Bunny. And if that isn’t bad enough my middle name is Nicole.” She shuddered. “Isn’t it awful? Bunny Nicole. Sounds like a pole dancer.”
“My name’s Nicole.”
Bunny gaped at her. It felt like all the blood in her body rushed to her head. “Uh . . . yeah . . . well . . . um . . . you don’t look like a pole dancer either.”
“I worked at Bobby’s Booby Trap in Pensacola for three years. That’s where I met Travis.”
Mullet Woman the poetry-writing pole dancer. Huh.
Bunny gave her a weak smile. “Your name’s Nicole. Isn’t that the funniest thing?”
“Yeah, a real stitch.” Mullet Woman shoved the bag of junk food at Bunny. “That’ll be $18.29.”
That’s when it hit Bunny. She didn’t have any money. Or a purse.
“My purse,” she cried. “I forgot my purse! Oh, my goodness, I’ve been driving without a license.”
“You ain’t got no money?” Mullet Woman pulled the bag back across the counter. “I’ll put these things back then.”
Bunny grabbed the other end of the sack and held on. “Wait. You don’t understand. I need this stuff.”
“I need a lot of things, sugar, including $18.29 from you. You can’t pay, you don
’t get the goods. This is a gas station, not the Salvation Army. You’d best be worrying about how you’re gonna pay for the candy you ate and the half a bottle of Dr Pepper you drank. I can’t put that soda bottle back on the shelf. It ’ud be unhygienic.”
“But . . . but,” Bunny stuttered.
“Bunny Raines, is that you?”
Bunny whirled around. A woman wearing skintight jeans, a camisole that exposed her golden cleavage, a bright orange cropped jacket and high-heeled sandals stood in the doorway. She regarded Bunny from behind a pair of Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses.
“Trish Russell,” Bunny said, her heart sinking.
Great, just what she needed. Trish and Meredith Peterson had run around together in high school. They made fun of everybody who wasn’t in their clique, snaked other girls’ boyfriends just ’cause they could, flirted with the male teachers—and slept with some of them, according to rumor—and generally made life miserable for the uncool kids at Hannah High, a number that had included Bunny.
“In the flesh.” Trish clicked over to the register on her high heels. “Only it’s Trish Baughman now. I married an orthopedic surgeon five years ago with a practice in Fairhope. Maybe you heard about it? It was in all the society papers.”
Oh, yeah, she heard about it. Trish was a receptionist at the doctor’s office until the first Mrs. Baughman caught Trish and her husband making the beast with two backs in one of the examining rooms. Gave a whole new meaning to the term “bone doctor.” One nasty divorce later and Trish Trash Russell was the second Mrs. Baughman.
Trish twirled a lock of her honey blond hair. “My Jimmy Wimmy is crazy about me. Spoils me something rotten.” She looked Bunny up and down. “So, what’s with the getup? You finally get married or is this what passes for plumber chic in Hannah?”
Still with the cracks about her dad being a plumber. Bunny refused to take to the bait. She caught a whiff of something unpleasant and looked around. “Is something burning?”
“I don’t smell anything.” Trish examined her painted nails. “You headed for the beach?”
“Yes,” Bunny said.
“Awesome. My Mercedes broke down. You know how it is with these expensive luxury cars. They are soooo temperamental. Would you be a doll and give me a ride to Foley?”
So I Married A Demon Slayer Page 20
