by Lexi George
“Lower your voice. You’ll hurt Tommy’s feelings.”
“He is dead. He does not have feelings. He is a soulless minion of evil.”
“He does, too, have a soul,” Beck argued. “You can see it in his eyes, in his expression.”
“You are mistaken.”
God, he was arrogant.
“Maybe he died suddenly and didn’t go to that big Happy Meal in the sky,” she said. “Maybe he got stuck, somehow. Ever think of that?”
“Highly unlikely. Necromancers raise the dead after the soul has departed.”
“So now you’re a zombie expert?”
“I do not have to be versed in the ways of the undead to know that the arrival of such a creature bodes no good. In all likelihood, he is a fiend garbed in human flesh.”
“A real glass half full kind of guy, aren’t you?” Beck said. She tapped her chest. “If he had a demon in him, I’d know.”
He gave her one of his superior I’m-a-demon-hunter-and-you’re-so- not looks. “How?”
“The same way I can see the zombie maker’s spell. Demons are like a dark spot, a cancer inside a person.”
To her satisfaction, his condescending expression faded, replaced by curiosity. “Interesting,” he said. “Do all the kith have this talent?”
“I have no idea. Take a poll, why don’t you?”
He grabbed her by the arm as she started to turn away. “You cannot allow the zombie to stay here. ’Twould be foolishness in the extreme.”
She jerked away from him. “Yeah, well lucky for you, it’s not your problem. Besides, the cat trusts Tommy. Animals can sense things about people.”
“You would make a decision based on the supposed intuition of a stray animal?” He shook his head. “Such a thing is beyond illogical. It is nonsensical.”
There he went again, rubbing her the wrong way, like steel wool on a baby’s behind. “I don’t have to justify myself to you,” she said. “Now, for the last time, go away.”
“No.”
“No?” Beck’s blood pressure rose. All the dive bars in all the world and he walks into mine, she thought. “I’ve had about enough of this shit and you. This is my place. Leave. Now. Before I have Hank and Toby throw you out.”
“They are most welcome to try,” he said with a lethal smile. “I will endeavor not to hurt them too badly, as they are your friends.”
Something like panic welled inside Beck. Ridiculous; she never panicked.
“Why are you doing this?” she cried. “There are plenty of demonoids who’d sell their own mothers for the money in that wallet of yours.”
“I do not know them.”
“You don’t know me,” Beck said. “You don’t know anything about me.”
From across the room, Toby raised his brows at her as if to ask You okay? Beck shook her head at him in warning. Toby was a tough old bird, but he was no match for a demon hunter, particularly this one. Conall might seem all cool and calm on the outside, but Beck had seen the savage current of violence that ran beneath his placid surface.
“You are wrong,” Conall said. “I have watched you carefully for weeks and I do know you. More importantly, I think . . .” He hesitated. “I believe I can trust you.”
The words sounded forced, like rusted gears grinding back to life.
“Well, I don’t trust you,” Beck snapped. “Go find somebody else.”
Turning on her heel, she walked away.
Conall watched her saunter off. The garb she wore hugged her long legs and round bottom in a most indecent fashion. The females of this place and time frequently donned breeches, but few of them looked as delectable in masculine attire as Rebekah. She had a strong, lithe body and moved with a fluid, sensuous grace.
Fluid, indeed, he thought, recalling her sudden and unexpected transformation a few moments before. He’d held a woman in his arms, a supple, jasmine-scented creature of delight, and then she’d slipped from his grasp, as elusive as a naiad returning to its elemental form.
She was the most frustrating, annoying, fascinating creature he’d ever encountered. He’d handled things badly, and now he would have to start all over again. Find a way to get back in her good graces.
Back? He had not been in her good graces since they’d met. Their first face-to-face encounter had been less than a month ago; though that was not the first time he’d seen her. He’d frequented Beck’s Bar for weeks prior to their “introduction,” watching her from his table in the corner. Studying her, but never speaking. She intrigued him from the start, and that had unsettled him. What was it about her that drew him? True, she was comely, but it was more than that. He had known countless beauties through the centuries. None of them had disturbed his equanimity like Rebekah.
After a few nights of sitting alone in his corner, he’d realized with a surge of satisfaction that she returned his notice. She darted furtive glances his way; he made her uneasy. Good. He wanted her on edge, off balance, like him. It gave him an advantage, or so he’d thought.
Until the night she had come to Evie Douglass’s defense, a woman she scarcely knew, taking on a demon single handed. He could see Rebekah still, facing the loathsome creature with naught but a bottle in her hand, her violet eyes ablaze. Springing to her aid, he’d slain the fiend with his sword. To his surprise, she had chastised him most roundly for it. Then she’d shocked him further by removing a demon from a possessed human, like a physic lancing a boil.
Rebekah Damian was stubborn, independent, and reckless. She was magnificent.
She was also half demon.
He’d discovered her true nature the night of the demon attack and had been repelled and disgusted . . . and strangely fascinated. She represented a dichotomy, this new creature, this child of the djegrali.
His attraction to a by-blow of his enemy bewildered and disturbed him. She’d been quick to notice his reaction and had angrily ordered him from her bar.
He’d left, returning a few days later, telling himself ’twas his duty to discover what he could about this new race called demonoids. Having parted from Rebekah on bad terms, he’d made himself invisible, studying her, unseen, for weeks, searching for signs of corruption. How could strength, beauty, and goodness spring from evil?
To his frustration, he was unable to detect any wickedness in her, or the taint of the djegrali’s influence, in spite of her accursed demon blood.
He had soon grown impatient with his guise. She was too interesting, too intriguing a puzzle. He wanted her gaze upon him, her notice. It was most unsettling, this unseemly attraction. No doubt it was the result of unslaked lust and the lure of forbidden fruit.
He’d told himself to put her from his mind and focus instead on the disturbance in the ranks of the Dalvahni. Three of his finest warriors had fallen in recent months—not to death or djegrali treachery, but to a foe more insidious and subversive.
They had fallen in love. Conall had seen the evidence with his own eyes, though he still found it hard to grasp. Dalvahni warriors did not love. Battle rage and lust, these sentiments were known to them and easily remedied by a visit to the House of Thralls and the emptying clasp of a sexual companion. The thralls, in turn, fed on Dalvahni emotion. ’Twas a relationship that had served both races well for eons.
Until now.
Something was afoot here, some kind of strange dark magic. This place, this Han-nah-a-lah was to blame. Deep mischief was at work here, and the djegrali lay at the root of it. He would discover their twisted scheme and foil it.
And Rebekah would help him. What better place to unravel the enemy’s latest ploy than a beer hall that serviced nonhumans? Rebekah and her little place on the river suited his purpose exactly. He would linger here and listen. He would learn what he needed to know to defeat the djegrali. It was his duty.
Rebekah’s low, sultry drawl teased him from across the room. Her voice was one of the first things he’d noticed about her. Warm and husky, it whispered along his senses and invariably turned
his thoughts to sex—with her. He had never been with anyone but a thrall, and then but seldom. He disliked the loss of control.
What would it be like to lose control with Rebekah? he wondered.
He took a steadying breath; best to keep his thoughts away from such things. Rebekah was conversing with the zombie. Perhaps the ghoul would reveal something important. He would join them and find out.
Rebekah was but another weapon to be used in the fight against the djegrali. He must remember that.
Chapter Four
“I can cook,” Tommy said in response to Beck’s question regarding his skills. He clutched the scrawny young cat to his chest. “I was saving up for culinary school before . . .” He swallowed hard. “You know.”
“Already got a cook,” Beck said. “There’s only one rooster on that dunghill, and his name’s Hank.”
“A zombie got no business being around food anyways,” Toby said. “He’s bound to start losing things, sooner or later. I don’t care what kinda spell that voodoo dude put on him. Zombie parts in the vittles are gonna be a gross-out.”
“Toby,” Beck said, giving the bouncer a repressive glare.
Toby shrugged. “I’m just saying. Course, some of the scavenger types might like it. In fact, I know them Skinners would.”
The Skinners were white trash, plain and simple. They didn’t come into the bar very often, but when they did, they always brought trouble.
Tommy’s brow crinkled in distress. “He’s right. Shoulda thought of that myself. It’s a health code violation to have me in the kitchen.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Beck said. “We’ll find something for you to do. Where’d you used to work?”
“I ran a Subway Shop in New Orleans.”
“N’awlins,” Beck thought with an inward nod. Knew he wasn’t from around here.
Toby perked up. “You got management experience? Hot damn. He can help out in the office.”
Conall waltzed up to them like he owned the place. “Unwise,” he said in that haughty tone of his that drove her nuts. “You know nothing about the creature. Before you give him access to your accounts, you should at least query him about his Maker.”
God, he was irritating as a pair of burlap drawers, the big Dalvahni know-it-all. Beck longed to tell him off, but her practical streak made her hesitate. Much as she hated to admit it—really, really hated to admit it—he was right. They knew nothing about Tommy and less about his Maker. No sense opening the barn door and inviting the wolf in to bed down with the sheep.
“He’s got a point,” she said to Tommy, ignoring Conall’s grunt of surprise. “I need to ask you a few questions. I hope you understand.”
“Sure, I understand, Miss—” Tommy looked embarrassed. “Shoot, I just realized I don’t know your name.”
“I’m Beck, and this is Toby, my partner. We run the joint.”
Tommy gave her a shy smile. “Nice to meet you, Beck.”
“Enough,” Conall said. “Who is your master and why did he send you here?”
Tommy’s face went slack and his eyes filmed over. “Uhn,” he said, as though his tongue had suddenly grown too big and thick for his mouth.
“Answer me, fiend,” Conall said, lunging at Tommy with his sword.
Tommy squawked like a startled chicken and leaped halfway across the room.
Beck grabbed Conall’s arm. “Stop it. Don’t you get it? He can’t tell us about the Maker. It’s part of the spell. Right, Tommy?”
Keeping a wary eye on Conall, the zombie tried to move his head up and down without success.
“See? He can’t even nod,” Beck said. “He can’t betray the zombie master’s plans.”
Conall lowered his blade. “A convenient circumstance, but I will abide by your wishes. For now.”
“I’ll say one thing for him,” Toby said. “He moves fast for a dead guy. I could use him at the door on band nights. Keep the shifters from slipping in without paying the cover.”
“That’ll work,” Beck said. “That all right with you, Tommy?”
Tommy’s eyes cleared. “Yes, ma’am.”
He still looked shaken, and who could blame him? Conall had scared the bejesus out of the poor guy with his testosterone explosion.
“Good. Then it’s settled,” Beck said with relief. She felt bad for Tommy and wanted to help him. As an added bonus, hiring him to work at the bar would bug the crap out of Captain Smug Mug. “By the way, how’d you make friends with the kitten?” she asked Tommy. “I’ve been trying to coax her out of hiding for days.”
Tommy smiled and stroked the cat with gentle fingers. “Her name is Annie. Ain’t that right, pussycat?”
“Annie.” Beck rolled the name around in her mouth. “I like it. It suits her.”
Tommy shuffled his bare feet on the floor. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m hungry.”
“I knew it,” Toby cried. “Here we go. He’s gonna eat somebody’s brains.”
“I done tole you I don’t eat meat,” Tommy said. “Wouldn’t eat yo’ brains no how. I wouldn’t say no to some tofu, though, if y’all got any.”
“Don’t know,” Beck said. “Tobias, stop bouncing around like a Jack Russell terrier and take Tommy in the back and ask Hank if we got any tofu. If we don’t, tell him to get some, pronto. And see if you can find Tommy something dry to wear. There are extra clothes in the storeroom. Shifters are forever getting drunk and leaving their belongings lying around.”
“Oh, sure,” Toby said. “Send the dog off with the brain-eating zombie. Sacrifice the dog. The dog is expendable.”
“Don’t see what you got to complain about,” Tommy said as he followed Toby in the direction of the kitchen. “Some crazy dude just tried to bust me open with a sword.”
The lethal-looking blade in Conall’s hand vanished. “ ’Tis foolish in the extreme to offer succor to such a creature,” he said, frowning at Beck. “But as you refuse to listen to reason, I shall abide here until the Maker reveals his sinister purpose.”
“No.” Beck shook her head so hard in denial it was a wonder it didn’t fall off and roll out the door and into the river. “Absolutely not.”
“I detect the foul taint of the djegrali behind the zombie’s arrival. ’Tis my duty to investigate.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about your duty. You can’t stay here.”
He held up his hand. “You can thank me later. Right now, we have company.”
“Thank you?” A jolt of pain shot up Beck’s neck. Stress, probably. This guy was going to be the death of her. “Are you nuts? And what do you mean ‘we have company’? There is no we.”
The front door blew open, and a troop of fairies flitted into the room on lacy wings. The tiny creatures glowed softly in pastel shades, like Christmas lights through a frosted window. The fairy in the lead was a female with skin like chocolate milk and hair of spun silver. She flew up to Conall and said something to him in a thin little voice.
“I will relay the message, little one,” he said gravely. “I fear you are right and she has forgotten.” He turned to Beck. “The fairies would like me to remind you that Evie and Ansgar’s wedding is but an hour hence.”
“Tell the fairies to kiss it,” Beck said. “I’m not going. I hardly know the chick.”
She stomped over to the bar and made a business of checking the stock. It had shocked the hell out of her when Evie Douglass invited her to the wedding. They barely knew each other. Sure, part of her had been secretly thrilled to be invited to the social event of the year. But, she’d never had any intention of going. Social crap gave her the hives. A few of the kith might be there, but it would be mostly norms. She’d feel awkward and out of place, and who needed that? Besides, she didn’t have anything to wear.
The fairies darted after her, buzzing around her in agitated circles. They chittered nonstop, like a flock of miniature sparrows around an open bag of birdseed.
Conall followed and leaned against the bar. Beck pret
ended not to notice, but he was a hard guy to ignore. He was so big and so dang male.
“You came to Evie’s defense against the djegrali,” he said. “She and Ansgar are in your debt. It would please them both if you would come. The fairies also.”
“Uh-uh. No can do. It’s Saturday night. We got a band and the place will be packed. I can’t do that to Toby.”
“He has the zombie to help him now, thanks to your intercession.”
She took another swipe at the bar. “Tommy’s new. He hasn’t been trained.”
The fairy with the moonbeam hair flew up to Conall and said something in her brittle voice.
“I am afraid Silverbell insists,” Conall said.
“That so? Well, you can tell Silverbell for me that I am not going to—”
Beck never got to finish her sentence, because that’s when the treacherous little lightning bug smacked her right in the kisser with a honeysuckle-scented cloud of fairy funk.
An hour and a half later, Beck stood in the fellowship hall of the Trinity Episcopal Church along with several hundred other wedding guests—the whole freaking town was here, from the looks of it—waiting for the bride and groom to make their entrance. Correction: brides and grooms. Evie and Ansgar had gotten married in a double wedding ceremony with Addy Corwin, Evie’s friend, and Brand Dalvahni, another demon hunter.
The brides had been exquisite in their frothy wedding gowns, the grooms magnificent in formal attire—tall, supernaturally handsome, and muscle bound. Normally, the cloud of euphoria and oh-my-God-I’m-so-frigging-happy-and-I-love-you-so-much-smoochie-smoochie that had permeated the sanctuary during the ceremony would’ve made Beck hurl. But thanks to Silverbell’s burst of fairy feel-good to the face, Beck sat through the whole thing spellbound by the perfection of it all, like everybody else. Once, she’d almost cried.
Okay, she had cried. Twice. The first time was when Ansgar, the blond, gray-eyed demon hunter that Evie was marrying, had gotten choked up during his vows. There was something about a big alpha male revealing his inner mush that really got to Beck. She cried again when Ansgar and Evie kissed at the end of the ceremony. That kiss had been perfect, flipping fairy tale perfect. Beck could swear she heard little tinkling bells, and the air in the chapel went thick and hazy and turned all buttery and golden, like in a movie.
