by Lexi George
“No.” Sassy met his gaze. “But I’m not the teensiest bit sorry she’s dead. She wasn’t a nice person.”
The corners of Grim’s mouth tilted. “Damning words, indeed, if you knew my wife.”
“I’ll tell Eddie’s folks his murderer is dead,” Whitsun said. “Maybe it will give them some ease.”
He turned to go and snapped his fingers. “Almost forgot. Went by the Luker place earlier this morning and found something.”
“What?” Sassy asked.
“Charlie Skinner’s boots. They were lying on Ora Mae’s doorstep. Peculiar. They were covered in slime and catfish whiskers.”
“Catfish whiskers?” Sassy murmured. “Do tell.”
“Yep. Whiskers must have been thirty feet long,” Whitsun said. “That’s one catfish I wouldn’t want to meet in the dark.”
Sassy and Grim exchanged glances. Gilbert had eaten the witch and spat out her boots. Clever, clever Gilbert.
“It’s circumstantial evidence,” Whitsun continued, “but it makes Ora Mae a person of interest in the murder of Charlie Skinner. I have questions for her when she returns.”
“I doubt she’ll be back,” Sassy said. “I have a feeling Ora Mae’s sins finally caught up with her.”
“Maybe so.” The sheriff lifted his hand in farewell. “I’ll be moving along.”
Whitsun left.
Sassy closed the door and leaned back. “What do you think of my idea to open a Jerkins pickle plant in Hannah?”
“I think it an excellent notion,” Grim said. “The mill was making you ill, a circumstance I would not allow to continue indefinitely. What of your mother? Do you think she will agree?”
“She’ll be tickled pink,” Sassy said. “It will give her an excuse to visit us. Often. Are you okay with that?”
Grim crossed the foyer in two strides and pressed her against the door. “I can handle anything, so long as I have you.”
He bent his head and captured her mouth in a kiss. Things were getting interesting when the doorbell rang.
Again.
“Lollipop? Big ’Un? You in there? It’s me.”
Grim yanked the door open. “What do you want?”
Evan slid inside. He took in Sassy’s flushed cheeks and Grim’s scowl, and grinned. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Yes,” Grim said. “What do you want?”
“Came to see if Sassy’s all right. For some reason, I don’t remember much of what happened yesterday. I was hoping you’d fill me in.”
“You monstered out,” Sassy said.
“Thought so,” Evan said. “Came to in the woods naked as a yard dog. Is the witch dead?”
“Yes.”
Grim relayed the events of the day before in his concise way.
Evan chuckled when Grim had finished. “Eaten by the monster she created. That’s perfect.”
“It does have a certain irony,” Grim agreed.
“Ding dong, the wicked old witch is dead and you get your prince, huh, Sassafras?”
“Yes.” Sassy put her arms around Grim and smiled up at her husband. “Don’t you love happy endings?”
“Gag,” Evan said. “One last thing and I’ll leave you two lovebirds to coo each other to death. Have either of you heard from Dell?”
In a move too fast to follow, Grim picked up Evan and slammed him against the wall.
“What do you know of Dell?” Grim shook Evan. “Tell me at once.”
“You and the Lolly were wrapped up in one another.” Evan tugged at Grim’s hands. “Dell was lonely. We started talking and became pals.”
Grim dropped Evan like a hot potato. “That is how you attained such a large sum of money. You exploited Dell for your own greedy ends.”
“What do you mean?” Sassy looked from Grim to Evan. “What money?”
“Dell and I visited the casino.” Evan straightened his twisted shirt. “We won a little money. It was fun.”
Grim clenched his jaw. “Three million of your dollars is not a little bit of money.”
“Evan.” Sassy stared at him aghast. “That’s cheating. How could you take advantage of Dell like that? That’s why he left. He figured out you used him. He must be heartbroken.”
Evan sulked. “We had fun. I’m not the one who created the poor guy and left him out in the cold.”
Grim turned away, his expression stricken.
Sassy gave Evan the stink eye. “I could kick you.”
She went to Grim and put her hand on his muscular arm. “Ignore Evan. Sometimes he can’t help but say mean things. Dell will be back when he’s ready.”
The doorbell rang.
“Goodness gracious grandma,” Sassy said. “What now?”
She flung open the door. Grim moved behind her.
A man in work-stained jeans and a shirt stood on the porch. His black rubber boots were covered in grass and something that looked and smelled suspiciously like manure.
“Bob Schneider, ma’am.” The man removed his grimy farmer’s hat. “I run the dairy farm a few miles from here. I was on my way to the feed and seed when I come upon a young feller walking down the road. Dripping wet, he was, and not wearing a stitch. I gave him a pair of my oldest boy’s jeans. Asked him where he lived, and he directed me here.”
The man motioned to someone behind him. “Come on. Don’t just stand there.”
A tall lad stepped into view wearing jeans and no shirt. He was lean to the point of skinniness, but his wide shoulders gave promise of future bulk.
Sassy was no expert on teenagers, but she judged the young man to be fourteen or fifteen years old. His pale blond hair was wet, and streamed past his shoulders. He was a good-looking kid, with a strong jaw and finely chiseled features. His eyes were downcast.
Sassy’s heart went out to the teen. He must be in some kind of trouble. Probably a runaway.
“Hello, I’m Sassy.” She kept her tone gentle and reassuring. “What’s your name?”
The boy raised his head. His eyes were blue, the brightest blue Sassy had ever seen.
“I am Dell.”
Sassy’s jaw dropped. “Dell?”
Evan let loose a stream of expletives that would peel the rust off a bridge, and Grim made a strangled noise.
“Dell?” Sassy flung her arms around the boy and hugged him. He stiffened, as though unaccustomed to contact.
Of course he wasn’t used to contact. He wasn’t used to a body. This was Dell.
Laughing and crying, Sassy pulled him into the house, and grabbed Grim by the hand.
“It’s Dell, Grim. He’s come home.”
Dell bowed. “Greetings, honored father.”
“Did you hear that, Grim?” Sassy thought her heart would burst with joy. “You’re a daddy.”
“Mother-of-pearl,” said Grim.
Read more about the Dalvahni in
Demon Hunting in a Dive Bar by Lexi George, available now!
Chapter One
She was wiping down the bar when she saw him, sitting in his usual spot at a table in the corner, surrounded by shadows. Shadows that he brought with him, Beck thought with a surge of annoyance. Conall Dalvahni carried his own black hole of gloom wherever he went. With his dark hair and eyes, and his brooding expression, he was the freaking Grim Reaper, if Death were a demon hunter.
Beck couldn’t stand the guy, and the feeling was mutual. So why was he back? He’d made it clear he thought she was pond scum, an insult to decent, right-thinking creatures everywhere.
He was a demon slayer and she was a demonoid. Polar opposites. Oil and vinegar. TNT and a lit match.
It had been nearly a month since she’d last seen him. Twenty-one days, to be exact; three whole weeks without Mr. Dark and Gloomy, and good riddance. She should have shrugged off his icy disdain by now, forgotten about him and moved on. But his obvious contempt for her had stuck in her craw. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, and that pissed her off.
Everything about him pissed her off.
His forbidding, humorless demeanor and his arrogant, holier-than-thou attitude.
And now he was back. Not for long, though. This was her place. She’d kicked him out once and she’d do it again.
Hefting a liquor bottle with a metal pour spout in one hand, she stalked over to his table.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
“That depends.” His deep, rough voice grated on her nerves and made her stomach knot. “What have you to offer?”
“Nothing you’re interested in.”
His dark gaze raked her up and down, casual and insolent. Infuriating. Beck’s grip tightened on the bottle.
“You are mistaken,” he said. “You have information about the demon activity in this area, information that I require.”
“Get your information someplace else, mister.”
“I am more than willing to recompense you for your trouble.”
A flat leather pouch appeared in his hand. Opening it, he tossed a thick wad of hundred dollar bills on the table between them. Beck stared at the pile of bills. It was a lot of money, several thousand dollars at least.
“There is more where that came from, Rebekah.”
Something hot and hurt flared inside her. On top of being lower than dirt, he thought she was for sale. She pushed the feeling aside. It didn’t matter what he thought. She was an idiot for letting the guy get under her skin.
“The name’s Beck and I don’t need your money.”
“Your name is not Beck. It is Rebekah Damian.”
“Who told you my—”
“You are thirty-one years old,” he continued, as though reciting a series of memorized facts. “Although you appear much younger, no doubt due to the demon blood flowing in your veins. Your father is Jason Beck Damian, a nice enough fellow, but otherwise a quite unremarkable human. This bar belonged to him—thus the name—until he married and started another family. His wife does not drink and disapproved of her husband running a tavern. At her encouragement, he sold the place.”
“Encouragement?” Beck made a rude noise. “Brenda nagged his ass until he caved.”
“At eighteen, you were too young to purchase Beck’s on your own,” Conall said. “So you bought the place with the help of your partner, Tobias James Littleton, and turned it into a bar that caters to your kind. The name you kept.”
“My goodness, Daddy’s been running his mouth, hasn’t he?” Beck drawled. She clamped down on her rising temper. “At his age, you’d think he’d know better than to talk to strangers.”
“I have supped at his eatery several times in the past few weeks,” Conall said with a shrug. “The name of the place eludes me.”
“Beck’s Burger Doodle,” Beck ground out.
“Ah, yes. The Party Burger is a favorite of mine.”
“Daddy makes a good hamburger. So what?”
“Your father has told me much about you.” Conall reached across the table and toyed with the salt shaker. The sleeves of his Henley sweater were pushed back, exposing his strong forearms. His shoulders were broad and heavily corded with muscle. He had beautiful hands, strong and bronzed; the hands of a warrior. And not just any old warrior, Beck reminded herself; a demon killer. “He confided, for instance, that he had a three-day dalliance as a young man with a woman named Helene.”
Her mother? Daddy had told Conall about her mother? Beck stared at him in disbelief.
“She was a dark-haired beauty like you,” Conall said, his gaze on her face. “He did not know it at the time, but she was demon possessed. Some months later, Helene returned, changed almost beyond recognition from the excesses of the demon. She had a child with her, an infant girl with a strawberry blotch on one shoulder, a birthmark common in the Damian family. That baby was you. She shoved you into your father’s arms and left, never to be seen again.”
“Daddy told you all this?”
“Yes.”
“Bullshit. My father never talks about his freak of a daughter. He’s an upstanding citizen now, a member of the Civitan Club and a good Baptist. What did you do to get him to spill the beans, put the whammy on him?”
“Whammy?” Conall sat back in his chair. “You think I wrested the information from your parental unit by supernatural force?”
“Figured that out by yourself, did ya? My, you are the bright one.”
“You do not like me.”
“Ding, ding, ding,” Beck said, tapping her forefinger in the air. “Right again.”
Conall’s black gaze slid from her face to the bottle in her hand. “I see. And what do you plan to do with that flask?”
“I was thinking of bashing you over the head with it if you don’t leave.”
His black brows rose. “You wish to hit me? Why?”
“Mister, the last time you were here, you all but said you think the kith are nothing but vermin to be exterminated, and now you’re back. Seeing as how I’m kith and you’re a demon hunter, I take your presence here as a threat.”
“Kith? This is the term for your kind?”
“It’s our term,” Beck said. “For some reason, we like it better than scum-sucking demon spawn.”
“Are you always so sarcastic?”
“Only when I’m awake.”
He regarded her without expression. Nothing unusual about that; the guy had about as much expression as a two-by-four. “You think I came here to kill you.”
“It crossed my mind.”
“And yet you confront me with nothing but a bottle in your hand, and I a demon slayer.”
“I can take care of myself,” Beck said. “I’ve been doing it a long time.”
Conall sprang at her in a blur of movement. The bottle in Beck’s hand clattered to the floor as she was swept up and pinned against the nearest wall by more than six feet of hard-muscled male.
“You fascinate me,” Conall said. His voice was dark and rough. “I cannot decide whether you are brave or foolish. Perhaps both.”
Beck went still. The heat from his big body and his crisp, woodsy scent surrounded her. He smelled like a little bit of heaven, she’d give him that.
“Let go of me.” She felt the weight of his stare, but kept her gaze fastened on his wide chest. He was too close. He was too big, too everything.
The alpha male jackass ignored her and bent closer. The air froze in her lungs.
“You smell of jasmine and spices. Sweet and exotic,” he murmured. His warm breath whispered across her skin. To Beck’s horror and chagrin, she began to tremble. “How . . . interesting. I expected the stench of demon to be upon you.”
His last words hit her like a slap in the face. Anger washed over her, bright and hot, followed by an overwhelming urge to escape. Shifting into a column of water, she flowed from his grasp. It was easy, this close to the river. Water strengthened her powers. It was one reason she hadn’t wanted to sell the bar and move into town.
The stunned look on Conall’s face as she poured out of his arms was priceless, almost worth the aggravation of being around him.
Almost.
She glided across the wooden floor and resumed her former shape, taking care to place the table between them before she reshifted.
“Out.” She pointed to the door. Her chest heaved and angry tears burned the back of her eyes. She would not let him see her cry. She refused. “And this time don’t come back.”
An attorney by day, LEXI GEORGE writes laugh-out-loud paranormal romance by night. She lives in Alabama, and readers can visit her at www.LexiGeorge.com.
LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2016 by Lexi George
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Lyrical Press and Lyrical Press logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
First Electroni
c Edition: May 2016
ISBN: 978-1-6018-3177-4
eISBN-10: 1-60183-177-3
ISBN-13: 978-1-60183-178-1
ISBN-10: 1-60183-178-1
