Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb

With a drowsy sigh, she relaxed against him and went to sleep.

Grim stilled. A surge of lust hit him, hard and fierce. Sassy smelled delightful, a dizzying combination of summer roses and female. Curling tendrils of her hair lifted to caress his jaw, like flowers reaching for the sun.

I am her sword and shield.
The vow rose unbidden in his mind.
Here and now I vow to protect her, from anyone or anything that threatens her.

An admirable sentiment, I am sure
, the Provider said,
but hardly necessary. She leaves tomorrow, and you return to the hunt. That is good, is it not?

Then why the hollow ache in his chest?

Also by Lexi George:

 

 

 

 

And read more Lexi George in
So I Married a Demon Hunter

Demon Hunting With a Dixie Deb

Lexi George

LYRICAL PRESS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

 

M
aseratis don't float.

Sassy's stepfather had given her a list of dos and don'ts as long as her arm before handing her the keys to his gleaming blue convertible. That salient little fact he'd failed to mention.

The front end tilted and the car sank into the creek faster than Sassy could say mani-pedi. Water poured into the open cabin, sweeping her purse and cell phone away and enveloping her in an icy, gasp-inducing wash. It was early May in Alabama. Temperatures were in the low eighties, but the water was
freezing
.

The automobile settled to the streambed with a gentle bump. The late afternoon sun was shining, the water clear and full of sparkles. Pebbles swirled in the current on the sandy floor. A school of minnows darted past the submerged vehicle.

Maseratis definitely do not float.

It was a serious design flaw Sassy planned to take up with the manufacturer. The Maserati was a high-end automobile. It
ought
to float. It should come equipped with little wings and flotation devices and toodle across the surface of the water like a Jesus bug, saving its driver a great deal of discomfort and inconvenience.

Not to mention the ruination of a perfectly good silk dress and a pair of laser-cut Sergio Rossi sandals.

A complaint to the manufacturer was in order, as well as a tube of waterproof mascara. Sassy had the horrible suspicion her makeup had run.

First things first. She'd climb out of the creek. Then she'd figure out where she was.

Two hours earlier, she'd sailed out of Fairhope headed for Hannah, a trek of maybe fifty miles. Her GPS had directed her off Highway 31 and down a series of twisting two-lane roads. By the time she realized the device had malfunctioned, she was lost in the wilds of Behr County.

Sassy hadn't been worried. It was a beautiful day. The gas tank was three-quarters full, and she was behind the wheel of a very expensive Italian sports car. The Maserati handled like a dream. It hugged the curves and hammered up and down the wooded hills, the responsive, aggressive engine under the hood purring like a satiated tiger.

Top down, sound system blaring, Sassy had rounded a curve. A pony truss bridge lay dead ahead, metal railings bleeding rust in the afternoon sunshine. The narrow, winding road and the bridge set against a verdant backdrop of trees made a postcard picture. Sassy was admiring the bucolic simplicity of the scene when a deer bounded out of the woods and in front of the car, a big
ugly
deer with gooey black eyes and teeth like knives. Sassy was no Nature Gal, but she knew deer didn't have fangs and claws
.
Deer are herbivores, for goodness' sake. She swerved to avoid Predator Bambi, ran off the road, and that's how she'd landed in the creek.

A broken branch danced across the hood of the submerged car in a flurry of green leaves.
Don't panic
, Sassy thought, holding her breath.
Keep calm. Unfasten your seat belt and climb out. You're charity chair of the Fairhope chapter of the Lala Lavender League. Die and Brandi Chambliss will assume your mantle of leadership.

Energized by the dreadful thought, Sassy fumbled for the seat belt latch and pushed. Nothing happened. The mechanism was jammed. Her heart rate shot into overdrive. She was going to drown. When they pulled her body from the sunken car her sleek golden tresses would be sodden and lank, her makeup smeared. Her flirty little sundress with the pleated skirt would cling to her like Press'n Seal.

She wasn't wearing a thong.

Sassy yanked the shoulder harness over her head. She was trying to wiggle free of the lap belt when a large, masculine hand closed around the restraint. The sturdy fabric snapped like an overcooked spaghetti noodle, and Sassy was lifted, dripping, from the car.

She was slung across a brawny shoulder. The impact knocked the air from her lungs. Wheezing for breath, she shoved her streaming hair out of her face. She caught a glimpse of a broad, muscular back and the best-looking butt she'd ever beheld—right side up or upside down.

The stranger turned and waded for shore. Locomotion did fascinating things for that marvelous rump. His worn leather britches clung to him like a second skin, outlining the ripple and bulge of muscle as he moved.

Leather in May? Goodness, leather was
so
last season. The poor man would get a rash.

Her thoughts scattered as she started to slide. To her shock, a large, masculine hand cupped her rear end. Sassy yelped in surprise at the intimate contact. The back of her dress had ridden up, exposing her bottom. The warmth of his palm through her lacy panties was a red-hot brand.

Sassy drummed her fists against his broad back. “Put me down.”

He paused a few feet from the embankment. The water swirled around his powerful legs.

“A precipitous notion.” His deep voice sent a little
zing
of awareness through her. “Perhaps you should—”

“I said put me down.
Now.
”

The man's massive shoulders lifted in a shrug. “If you insist.”

He tossed her into the creek.

The frigid water closed around Sassy once more.

Sputtering in outrage, she scrambled to her feet. Her four-inch spike heels sank into the sand. The water hit her below the waist, plastering her dress to her shivering body. The current was strong. She lost her balance and went down on one knee. She struggled upright on the spindly shoes.

He grabbed her arm to steady her. She repaid the act of courtesy with a glare.

“What's the matter with you?” she said. “When I said put me down, I meant on the
road.
”

“Then you should have said so. Humans are woefully inexact.”

Ignoring her protests, he lifted her in his arms and carried her up the kudzu-choked embankment. He plunked her down in the middle of the bridge, returning her outraged regard without expression. At five foot two, Sassy was used to looking up at people, but, jeez, he was a big guy, a lean, hard giant of a man. His long hair was a rich reddish brown, the color of cinnamon. He wore some kind of metal-studded leather vest over a muslin shirt. The damp fabric clung to his pectorals and bulging deltoids. The dark swirl of his chest hair was visible through the thin cloth. A necklace of braided silver with an iridescent medallion hung from his muscular neck.

Her gaze moved to his face. She searched for a flaw. There were none. Cheesy Pete, the guy was a looker: eyes like beaten gold, chiseled jaw, and a stern, unsmiling mouth.

Contacts.
The thought drifted through Sassy's befuddled brain.
He must wear contacts. No one has eyes that color.

“Next time you wish to be placed upon the road, say so,” he said with more than a hint of disapproval. “Clarity is the heart of useful discourse. Unless you enjoy being difficult?”

“
Me
? Any sensible person—any
gentleman
—would know what I meant.”

“I am not a gentleman—”

“No, you're not.”

“I am Dalvahni.”

“What's that, some kind of religion?”

“No. We hunt demons.”

Lord a-mercy, he was nuts—gorgeous, but nuts. Sassy took a hasty step back and almost fell off her shoes. “Demons? My, that does sound important. Don't let me keep you.”

His russet brows drew together in a frown. “Your shoes are frivolous. You should wear something more practical.”

He wasn't looking at her shoes. He was looking at her legs. Sassy was accustomed to masculine admiration. As a rule, she enjoyed it, but this man's attention made her insides flutter. Why, it was almost as if she were
nervous.

Sassy discarded the ridiculous notion. Why, she'd been wrapping males around her little finger since she was in diapers. Charm was her super power. Everyone said so.

She gave him one of her signature sunny smiles and held out her hand. “I'm afraid we got off on the wrong foot. Thank you for saving my life. I'm Sarah Elizabeth Peterson, but everybody calls me Sassy. And you are?”

He turned on his heel and walked away without a word.

“Rude.” Sassy propped her hands on her hips. “Rude, rude,
rude
.”

He kept going.

“Wait,” she cried. “Come back.”

“Abide here until my return,” he said without slowing his stride.

He took a running leap over the side of the bridge and disappeared. Sassy blinked. People didn't vanish. She must have hit her head when she wrecked the car.

Bunny rabbits, the
car.
Sassy tottered to the side of the bridge on her kicky little sandals and peered over the railing into the water. Her stomach did a queasy flip-flop. Daddy Joel's prized convertible sat at the bottom of the creek like an abandoned toy in a swimming pool.

As she gazed in dismay at the sunken convertible, her brain registered a curious anomaly. High heels make their own kind of music, a syncopated tapping rhythm Sassy loved. But she hadn't tapped. She'd
clomped.
She glanced down at her feet and shrieked. She was wearing boots. Not stylish booties with stiletto heels or ruffle-front knee boots or even leather platforms.

She was wearing thick leather boots with multigrip soles and sturdy laces, boots without an
ounce
of smexy.

That dirty rotten shoenapper had stolen her shoes and left her in a pair of
hiking
boots. Never mind how he'd done it. She'd think about that later. She'd report him to the police, but she didn't know his name.

A low, shuddering howl jerked her thoughts from retribution. The eerie sound hung in the air. There weren't wolves in Alabama . . . were there? No. Sassy was almost sure of it.

She straightened and looked around. Her skin prickled with unease. Dusk had fallen. It would be dark soon. Nothing stirred in the trees. No rustling birds or whirring insects; no delusional male cover model running around in Rom-con clothes. Silence, but for the burbling music of the creek. She was stranded and alone in the woods.

A second howl sundered the unnatural silence. No, not alone. Something was out here with her, something bad.

Heart pounding, Sassy eased away from the rail and peered in the direction of the howl. Oaks, maples, and hickories shaded the road, their wind-shivered limbs entwined in dread. From beyond the curve, she heard a hungry grunt.

Whatever it was, it was coming this way.

“Get off the road.”

Sassy squeaked and whirled around. A man stood on the bridge. Slim and pale, he was dressed in slacks and a crisply starched shirt, his attire better suited for drinks at the club or a board meeting than a stroll in the woods. Blond hair dipped across his white brow. Sassy stared at him, puzzled. He seemed vaguely familiar.

“Who are you?” she asked. “Where'd you come from?”

“She's coming.” His drawl was cultured and polished, like the rest of him. “Get off the road. Hide.”

He disappeared.

“Why do people keep
doing
that?” Sassy wailed.

A horrible snarl brought her up short.
She's coming. Get off the road. Hide.

Sassy scrambled down the embankment. In her haste, she caught the toe of her boot on a root and tumbled down the slope. She rolled to a stop facedown in a deep patch of kudzu. She smelled water and dirt, and crushed plants. A stinkbug inspected a broad green leaf near her nose before taking off in a whirr of wings.

Bruised and shaken, Sassy lifted her head and peeked through the thick foliage. A squat, misshapen thing stood above her on the bridge. Wisps of dingy hair clung to the creature's exposed skull and dripped in greasy clumps past her narrow shoulders. The woman—if woman she was—was old and bent, and hideously ugly with a nose like a rotten cucumber and sagging skin the color of putty. A coarse shift covered her stooped, twisted body. Long, wrinkled arms brushed the ground. Filthy yellow claws tipped her bony hands.

The nightmare raised her ugly head and took a lingering sniff. Sassy caught a horrifying glimpse of sharp, pointy teeth.

She held her breath and thanked her lucky stars the dress she wore matched her leafy green shelter. The hag snuffled the spot on the bridge where Sassy had stood, then loped away with startling swiftness.

Sassy huddled in the undergrowth. Evening deepened around her, but she was too terrified to move.
Greep, greep, greep
, the bugs in the underbrush called.
Mehhh
, a tree frog burped. She should climb out and start walking. Stick to the road. Sooner or later, the road would lead her to civilization, a house or a country store.

But that
thing
was on the road.

Okay, so she'd cut through the woods, but what if she got lost? She navigated the largest mall without a misstep, but her shopping GPS was worthless out here.

She had to do
something.
She couldn't hide in the kudzu forever.

Gathering her courage, she pushed the vines aside and sat up. Leaves rustled and a Dalmatian trotted out of the woods. The dog looked up at her from the foot of the embankment. He cocked his ears and woofed as if to say
Whatchoo doing up there, you big silly?

She had a guide. Sassy scrambled to her feet.

“Here, boy, come to Sassy,” she called. “There's a good dog.”

The dog turned and trotted a few paces in to the woods. Pausing, he looked back at her and barked again.