Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb - Lexi George Page 0,29
on a hot sidewalk.
Tall and powerfully built, the stranger’s harshly beautiful face was cold and stern. Though dressed in modern clothes, there was an unmistakable aura of danger, authority, and icy control about him.
Grim shut his mouth and stared at the newcomer in surprise. “Conall, what brings you here?”
“Duncan told me of your arrival. It is good to hear you sing again, brother. I have not had that pleasure since Gryffin died.” The warrior’s unyielding black gaze found Evan. “Though I must confess I am surprised to find you in the company of this troublemaker.”
“You shouldn’t call people names,” Sassy said. “It isn’t polite.”
The warrior’s stony regard shifted to her. “The troublemaker has a champion. What is your name, woman?”
“I’m Sassy Peterson, and I can’t have sex with anyone but Wes. Ever. Again.”
Sassy crumpled to the floor and burst into tears.
Chapter Nine
Gryff. The familiar pain seared Grim. His hand went to the medallion at his throat. Closing his eyes, he saw again the blood-laced water and his brother’s mutilated body sweeping over the falls.
Grim had scoured the river for days, searching for some sign of Gryff. He found nothing but the necklace.
My fault. Gryff’s death is on my head.
It was a familiar litany, one Grim had repeated countless times over the centuries.
Soft sobbing penetrated his fog of grief and self-loathing. When he opened his eyes, his bleary gaze went to the woebegone figure on the floor.
Grim leaped to his feet. “Sassy? You are hurt?”
The floor pitched and rolled beneath his feet. He grabbed the back of a chair for support. What ailed him? His legs were as wobbly as a new colt’s.
“Sad.” The hitch in Sassy’s voice tore Grim’s heart. “Make it stop. I don’t like it.”
Stumbling across the room, Grim scooped her into his arms, no easy feat when the room swam around him. He sat down in a chair and settled Sassy in his lap.
“Do not be frightened,” he said. “It will pass. I am certain of it.”
Sassy blinked up at him, tears coursing down her cheeks. “H-how do you know?”
Unable to resist, Grim caught a sparkling droplet with the pad of his thumb. “Logic. You are bound to run out of water sooner or later.”
Sassy hiccupped in surprise and chuckled, and, like that, the storm was over.
“Thank God.” Evan shoved a napkin at her. “Don’t cry, Lollipop. I don’t like it.”
She blew her nose. “I don’t, either. I must look awful. Is my nose red?”
Grim tilted her chin and peered at her. “Yes. Both of them.”
“Both?”
“Some strange witchery is afoot,” Grim said. “I see two of everything.”
“You’re sloshed,” Evan said. “You two had a party without me.”
Sloshed? Grim’s befuddled brain tried to process the strange term and failed. It was hard to think with Sassy’s flowery scent invading his senses.
Sloshed is an informal term used to indicate the state of inebriety. The Provider’s dry voice filled Grim’s head. Humans use an astonishing variety of words to describe the condition. My personal favorite is “worshipping the porcelain goddess,” a rather amusing description of vomiting, involuntary spasms that allow humans to eject matter from the stomach when they imbibe too much alcohol.
“There must be some mistake.” Grim shook his head. He regretted it at once, for the room spun. “The Dal do not know sickness, nor are we affected by drugs or alcohol. And what of Sassy? She is under the same spell.”
“Sugar,” Sassy murmured, resting her head on Grim’s shoulder. “Fairies.”
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?
Yes, of course.
Then why the hollow ache in his chest?
“Brother, have you perchance ingested a thing called chocolate?” Conall asked.
Evan waved the empty syrup container in the air. “Muh duh. He slugged down a jug in one sitting.”
“That explains it,” Conall said. “The Dal are susceptible to chocolate. Fortunately, the effects do not last long due to our accelerated healing abilities.”
“Maybe, but he’s gonna have a mother of a hangover.” Evan threw his head back and laughed.