by Lexi George
Why, Grim, I am moved. The heart of a poet beats beneath your gruff exterior.
Heat prickled along the back of Grim’s neck and spread to his cheeks. He’d forgotten to break the link with the Provider.
He did so with alacrity and stepped closer, drawn to Sassy by a driving urge he did not understand and was helpless to resist. She murmured something in her sleep and stirred, her light floral scent filling his senses and making him dizzy with longing. As ever, his body responded to her nearness, especially his errant cock. He wanted to shuck his clothes and join her beneath the covers. He wanted to kiss her awake, to murmur his desire for her, his absolute, burning need, to trail his lips across her silken skin and memorize every delightful, womanly inch of her. And when she was soft and pliant in his arms, he wanted to slide between her firm thighs and enter her. The ride would be ecstasy for them both—he would make sure of that.
He shook himself from his reverie. The infernal female kept him confused and in a constant state of arousal, his feelings an unsettling welter of protectiveness, tenderness, and a craving no one but she could sate. What strange hold did she have over him? He should be running for the nearest portal, not mooning over her. She was not for him. She belonged to Wesley.
Wesley. That puling idiot did not appreciate the treasure within his grasp. When Grim recalled the denigrating tone the male had used with Sassy, he saw red. Wesley had as much as called Sassy a wanton. Only Grim’s respect for Sassy had leashed his fury at the insult. Barely.
Sir Wesley knew not how close he had come to a thrashing.
He should take Sassy for himself, Grim thought. Truthfully, he had been tempted to do so from the first. The sweet agony had heightened a hundredfold since that kiss in the river. ’Twould be the work of a moment to sweep her into his arms and away from Hannah, away from danger and her insipid betrothed. Take her captive as she had taken him. She would learn to love him. She would—
The bedroom door opened with a soft creak and Evan slipped inside. “Why are you hovering over Sassy like a vampire? Jesus, you’ll give the poor girl a heart attack.”
Grim straightened with a jerk. “I am not hovering.” He kept his voice low so as not to wake Sassy. “I am securing the house against intruders in our absence.”
“Uh-huh. You were creeping, Mr. Creeper McCreeper.”
Grim ignored this bit of incomprehensible nonsense and set to work weaving a protective web of magic around the structure, adding a buffer spell to ensure that Sassy’s sleep remained undisturbed. Satisfied the house was secure, he strode out of the bedroom.
Evan followed him out.
“Man, I feel sorry for you.” There was mockery in the demonoid’s tone. “You got it bad.”
“What are you babbling about?”
Evan’s satyr’s mouth curled in disdain. “Babes are soft. They smell nice and they’re fun to screw, but you never get your dick in a knot over one of them. Didn’t they teach you that in demon hunter school?”
Grim frowned. “I thought you cared for Sassy.”
“I like her a lot. She’s a good kid with a useful talent.”
“Sassy is a woman, not a ‘kid.’ What is more, she is not a commodity to be bought and sold.”
“Look, Big ’Un, here’s the reality. Every kith has talent, some more than others. Lolly? She’s one of a kind. She lures you in like an insect to a flower and wham.” Evan smacked his fist in the palm of his hand. “She hits you with her siren feel-good and you’re hooked. Got any idea what the right person could do with that kind of talent?”
“Let me hazard a guess.” Grim held on to his rising temper. “You are that person.”
“Why not? But I been thinking maybe we could work together. Our little gold mine needs to be protected. You be the muscle and I’ll be the manager.” Evan grinned. “What do you think?”
“I think you are a bigger simpleton than that piece of dung Wesley, and that is saying something.”
Wheeling about in disgust, Grim strode into the darkened foyer. “It is almost dawn.” He spoke into the gloom. “The wards have been set. We are ready to depart. ’Tis your watch.”
With a faint flickering, the shades of Junior Peterson and his canine companion appeared and solidified, shining with the light of a hundred candles.
Evan strolled in, squinting at the brightness. “Jeez, turn down the wattage, Casper. You’re blinding me.”
The Dalmatian barked.
“Trey says bite him,” Junior said.
The Dalmatian woofed something else.
“Trey says—”
“Oh, shut up, for Christ’s sake.” Evan looked at Grim. “What are they doing here?”
“The witch is still out there. I have tasked the shades to stand guard in our absence.”
“You are such a mother hen. Personally, I’d pick Shrewzilla over Fido and Pops any day.”
Meredith materialized on a sickening wave of scent. “Why, thank you.” She fluffed her hair. “You boys can be on your way. Mer-Mer’s here. I’ll make sure these two losers toe the line.”
Trey snarled and disappeared.
Meredith looked innocent. “Was it something I said?”
“It’s always something you say, Meredith,” Junior said. “You could slice a bowling ball with that tongue of yours.”
Leaving the two ghosts to their bickering, Grim strode out the front door and down the steps. Perhaps some air would clear his head and cool his heated blood. He needed his wits about him for the meeting with Conall. The captain had seen him in his cups, a fact that made Grim squirm.
And then there was the huntress. What business did the Kir have with the captain of the Dalvahni? The Kir and the Dal were entities unto themselves. Two races devoted to the same cause but indifferent to one another, if not hostile.
As curious as Grim was about the matter, he was eager to be done with the meeting and return to Sassy. The realization made him grimace. By the sword, Evan was right. He was a mother hen.
More like a randy rooster, he thought, adjusting his still-aching cock. Dear gods, he was pathetic, wanting what he could not have.
Perhaps that was the sum of it, a longing for greener pastures, something untried. If so, there were many thralls in the House of Bliss yet to sample. A session or three should ease his hunger. As soon as the witch was dealt with and Sassy was safe.
He considered the notion and rejected it. There was but one cure for his affliction, and it lay not with the thralls.
He turned at a loud crash and saw two blazing eyes bearing down on him. With a startled curse, he produced his sword to dispatch the monster, relaxing when he realized that his ‘attack’ was the motorized carriage with Taryn behind the wheel.
Evan burst out onto the porch and halted at the top of the brick steps.
“Are you crazy?” Evan stared at the large hole in the garage door. “You’re supposed to open the damn thing, not drive through it.”
“Really?” Taryn’s serene expression did not change. “I shall strive to remember that in future. Shall we be off?”
“You’re a menace.” Evan looked ready to explode. “You shouldn’t be allowed to drive.”
Taryn arched a brow. “Worry not, little billy goat. The door shall be repaired. Do you accompany us or not?”
Muttering to himself, Evan climbed in the backseat. Their journey to the appointed meeting place passed without further incident . . . aside from a minor brush or two with other carriages. However, once Taryn got it firmly fixed in her mind which side of the road she was supposed to drive on, the remainder of the trip was uneventful.
The quarry was located on the river some two leagues outside of town. It had once been a thriving business, Evan explained after some prodding, until rising costs and government rules had closed it down. It was a favorite haunt for local teens, who enjoyed running their vehicles up and down the sandy hills, an activity they called “duning.”
“But nobody hangs around at night,” Evan said. “Pla
ce is supposed to be haunted.”
A grass-choked dirt road led from the paved highway to the quarry. A pair of rusted metal gates stood ajar, mired in deep banks of sand. Beyond the gates the dunes waited, pale, silent giants with their backs to the river. Grim had the fanciful notion that, given a call to arms, the dunes would rise up against some long-expected enemy.
Nonsense, of course. Yet there was a still quality about the place that inspired unease and wanderings of the imagination. Perhaps it was the eerie quiet, unbroken save for the muted slosh of the river and the soft moan of the wind among the caramel hills.
The car nosed past the entrance and stopped. Taryn tapped her boot against the pedal, but the car did not budge.
She tapped the pedal again. “What is the matter with it? Is the machine not supposed to go forward when I push the lever?”
“Maybe Mea doesn’t like sand.” Evan hunched his shoulders. “Or maybe this joint gives her the creeps, like me.”
Grim got out of the car. “I do not see Conall. Are you sure this is the right place?”
“Yeah. Only quarry around.”
Taryn bounded from the carriage with the lithe grace of her kind. “Perhaps Conall waits within. What say we stretch our legs?”
Shaking his head, Evan joined them. “Not a good idea. I think we should wait till the sun comes up. Something tells me whatever’s in there is less active in daylight.”
“Stay here, if you will,” Grim said. “I am going in.”
“I will go with you,” said Taryn.
Evan sighed. “I thought you bozos would say that. You heroic types give me a pain.”
They went through the gates together, two warriors matching stride for stride with the rangy demonoid. They passed through the entryway, and the wind ceased. Silence settled around them, heavy and unbroken, save for the squelch of their feet in the sand. The odd trio trudged between looming mountains of sand to the river, where the scent of sunbaked sand mingled with the damp, muddy perfume of the watercourse known as the Devil.
No sign of Conall. They waited for a while and began the trek back to the entrance.
“This place is spooky, and I’m half demon,” Evan complained. “I don’t blame the norms for staying clear after sunset.”
The hair prickled on the back of Grim’s neck and arms. “I, too, have misgivings.” Instinct kept his voice low. “Methinks whatever dwells here does not look kindly upon outsiders.”
“If that’s a fancy way of saying we ain’t welcome, I tried to tell you. You wouldn’t listen.”
“The gate, Grim.” Taryn spoke quietly. “We are not alone.”
Evan skidded to a halt. “Aw, hell. Aw hell-o-hell-o-hell, what is that?”
Massive legs akimbo, a pair of sand giants some thirty feet tall blocked the exit. On either side of the behemoths, a line of sandy soldiers stretched in a long formation that disappeared into the gloom.
Weapons drawn, the strange army formed an unmoving wall, but Grim had no doubt they would spring into action if challenged.
They were trapped. They would not leave without a fight. Grim drew his sword, his warrior’s heart exulting. The witch had gone into hiding, but the fates had given him a foe to vanquish through strength of arms. This was good. This was what he knew. What he needed.
In his mind, the blurred features of the infantrymen shifted and reformed into the aspect of Sassy’s betrothed.
An army of Wesleys to vent his spleen upon? The gods were gracious.
Blood singing, Grim charged. Without warning, Conall and Duncan materialized between him and the adversary.
“To your weapons, brothers,” Grim shouted as he thundered past. “We are under attack.”
In a blur of movement, Conall got between Grim and the gate. “Be at ease, brother. The sand people are not your enemy.”
Grim slid to a stop in a shower of sand. “But. Captain—”
“They are, I believe, guardians born of magic special to this place,” Conall said. “I asked them to stand watch whilst we confer. Djegrali spies are everywhere.”
Grim swallowed his disappointment. “They are friendly?”
“Aye.”
“Give me leave to test their intent upon mine sword,” Grim begged. “To be certain.”
Conall and Duncan exchanged glances.
“I see what you mean.” Duncan’s deep voice rippled with amusement. “He has the signs.”
Grim scowled. “I am in no mood for your wit, Duncan. Signs of what?”
“Never mind.” Conall clapped Grim on the shoulder. “Your thirst for battle does you credit, but save your valor for another day.”
Grim put his sword away with reluctance.
“Captain.” Taryn strode up to Conall in her confident manner. “I bring you greetings from Arta, the High Huntress.”
“Greetings, little sister. How can I be of service to the Kir?”
Taryn’s mouth tightened. ’Twas a source of irritation to the Kirvahni that Kehvahn had created the Dalvahni first. Grim doubted not that Conall had used the diminutive a-purpose.
The huntress whistled. A golden hawk floated out of the darkness and landed on her gloved hand. “Arta sends news of grave import.”
Conall looked bored. “Indeed? Do these tidings concern the djegrali?”
“Aye, and the Dalvahni as well.”
Grim sneered. Arta had somehow learned of the existence of the djegrali’s supposed secret weapon and thought to school the captain of the Dalvahni? What impudence.
Taryn lifted her hand and spoke to the hawk. “Merta, the scroll.”
The hawk shrieked and flew at the leader of the Dalvahni, dropping something as she soared past. Conall plucked the tiny roll of parchment out of the air as it fell. Unrolling the message, he scanned the contents.
He looked up, his black eyes icy with rage. “Tripe. If Arta seeks an internecine feud between us, she has made an excellent start.”
Taryn met Conall’s fury without flinching. “She seeks to warn you, sir. A Dalvahni warrior has gone rogue and consorts with the enemy. Beware, Captain. You have a traitor in your midst.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Wednesday morning
The sales clerk waited on the curb while Sassy and Taryn loaded their purchases into the trunk of the Maserati.
“Here you go.” The young woman handed Sassy the last four shopping bags. “That’s all of them.”
Sassy smiled her thanks at the clerk. Latrisse Jackson was an exotic beauty with creamy brown skin, wavy black hair, and tilted dark eyes. And, boy, did she know how to dress. She rocked a leopard patch cap-sleeve dress with a boat neckline and an asymmetric hem. Splashes of brilliant turquoise brightened the animal print and drew the eye to Latrisse’s tight curves. Black calfskin ankle strap sandals with three-inch heels and metallic silver trim on the midsoles completed her stylish ensemble.
Sassy crammed the rest of the bags in the overflowing trunk. “Thanks for your help, Latrisse. Mrs. Smith’s a sweetheart, but she doesn’t have your fashion flair.”
“Are you kidding?” Latrisse said. “I’ve had a blast. And I’ve racked up some major brownie points with the boss.”
Sassy giggled. “We did some serious damage to my credit card. Taryn and I needed everything.”
“We did not ‘need’ everything. You bought everything.” There was more than a hint of disapproval in Taryn’s tone. “There is a vast deal of difference.”
“Oh, pooh, it was fun. Admit it.”
“The breeches are passable.”
Passable? Taryn was stunning in form-fitting jeans and a loose, sleeveless top. Too bad the huntress had insisted on buying a pair of black lace-up combat boots.
“Don’t buy those,” Sassy had protested. “They’re hid-jus.”
“They are not hideous. They are comfortable and sturdy. More importantly, I can fight in them.” Taryn demonstrated a flying roundhouse kick to prove her point. “If you prefer I can wear my doeskins.”
&n
bsp; Sassy had given up on the boots.
She slammed the lid of the trunk and turned to Taryn. “Are you sure you don’t want to get that dress before we leave?”
“Thank you, but no. I am in your debt already. Rest assured you will be fully recompensed as soon as I obtain proper currency.”
“I’m not worried about it,” Sassy said. “I wish you’d change your mind and get the dress. It looked three kinds of darling on you.”
“A Kirvahni warrior does not run around in a shift.”
Even a peppy perkster knew when she was licked. With a sigh, Sassy admitted defeat and smoothed the pleats of her black-on-ivory fit and flare “shift.” The dress hit her right above the knees—very professional, she thought. A pair of bright red ankle harness pumps and a matching handbag added some pizzazz to the outfit.
A girl had her standards, after all.
She glanced at her watch. “Goodness, look at the time. It’s almost ten. We have to scoot.”
She hugged Latrisse good-bye. “I’ve found my fashion soul mate in Hannah. Isn’t that creamy?”
“Totally smooth,” Latrisse agreed. “You need anything else, give me a holler.”
“I will. Tell Mrs. Smith I said thanks again for letting me use her office phone.”
Sassy had called Wes several times from the house that morning with no luck. She’d left messages on his work phone and his cell. So far, there had been no response.
“Not a problem,” Latrisse said. “It’s hard to get cell service in Hannah. Were you able to reach your party?”
Sassy shook her head. “It rolled straight to voice mail.” For like the umpteenth time. At least she knew the landline at the house wasn’t the problem. “I left a message.”
Wes must have gone home. He had no relatives in town, and Hannah’s solitary motel was a dump. Leaving town in a snit was one thing, but he wasn’t taking her calls, which told Sassy he was mad as fire. Really, Wes’s continued refusal to communicate was the teensiest bit annoying, because it meant Sassy would have to go to Fairhope. A girl didn’t break up with her fiancé over the phone. A thing like that should be done face-to-face.
