Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb - Lexi George Page 0,38
she found a large bundle buried at the bottom of the drawer. She peeled back the layers of paper and discovered half a dozen pairs of wispy panties. There were bras to match. The tags were still on them.
How romantic. Trey must have bought them for Meredith before she died, shoving them to the back of the drawer in his grief.
Sassy hesitated, reluctant to paw through a dead woman’s things. This, however, was an underwear emergency. She held up a hot pink and black lace panty to check the size. A piece of stationery covered in a feminine pink scrawl fluttered out. Sassy unfolded the paper. The message was from someone named Gwen, and the note described, with crude enthusiasm and in graphic detail, the things Gwen wanted to do to Trey.
Ew. Inappropriate squid, awkward turtle, and shady tree rolled into one. Sassy threw the piece of paper down and picked up a black floral lace-front thong. The thong came with a naughty black cage demi bra and an even naughtier note. Trish Russell, whoever she was, had wanted in big brother’s Swiss undies, too.
Somehow, Sassy did not think Meredith would approve.
She snagged a bright coral lace G-string out of the pile and went into the bathroom, where she scrubbed her feet in the tub. Rescuing monsters was dirty work. Drying off, she tossed the towel and the muddy robe into the hamper and slipped into the panties and Trey’s white tee shirt.
She found an unopened toothbrush and toothpaste in the cabinet, and brushed her teeth. First order of business tomorrow would be to buy new clothes. How would she get to town with no car?
No worries. She’d call Dab Holt, the Realtor. She’d give Sassy a ride to town.
Oh, poop, she didn’t have a phone. Cue swelling disaster music: Sarah Peterson was marooned in Backwoods, Alabama, without a credit card or a means of communication. Heroine swoons in horror.
Sassy shrugged it off with a yawn. She was too tired to worry about it tonight. Things would work out. Daddy Joel didn’t call her his lucky charm for nothing.
Padding out of the bathroom, Sassy climbed into Trey’s big bed, crawled under the covers, and conked out.
“Sassy should leave Hannah.” The room spun, and Grim put one hand on the wall for support. “She is impulsive and without heed for her safety. She could have been killed tonight.”
“But she was not,” Conall said. “I would not worry overmuch. Hannah has a way of finding its own. I’ll wager your Sassy is one of them.”
“—she is not my—”
“Report to me tomorrow when your head is clear,” Conall continued, cutting Grim off. “And bring Evan with you.”
“Give me leave to kill him instead. I would relish the deed.”
Conall sighed. “Tempting, but Evan may yet be of use. At any rate, his death would pain Rebekah.”
The unspoken message was clear: Conall would spare his demon wife pain.
“Keep him close and have a care,” Conall said. “Evan is wily and full of tricks.”
Grim shook his head. “Get someone else.”
“Guard Evan and do not kill him. That is an order. You are resourceful and your skill at arms and courage in battle are unmatched. You will find a way to keep Sassy from harm.”
“I could not save Gryff.”
The words tumbled out, surprising Grim. He never spoke of Gryff, especially to the captain. Though centuries had passed, the anguish was too fresh, his sense of failure too keen.
Conall squeezed Grim’s shoulder. “No one could save Gryff. It is time you accepted that fact.”
Grim would never accept it. He would not, however, fail again. He would keep Sassy safe.
“I must leave. I wish you joy in your charge.” Conall turned to go, and looked back. “And, Grim?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“No more chocolate.”
Conall disappeared.
Grim stumbled to the kitchen sink, turned on the tap, and doused his head in cold water. The Provider said many humans enjoyed intoxication. Went so far as to seek it out, which Grim found baffling. A warrior needed his wits about him to survive.
“Still pounded?”
Grim started and banged his head against the tap.
“Oops, that’s gonna leave a mark.”
Grim gritted his teeth. He hated that mocking voice. Shoving his wet hair out of his face, he turned to face Evan. Dressed and fresh from the shower, the demonoid lounged against the granite island, arms folded across his chest. He reminded Grim of a satyr, with his sly manner and knowing smirk.
An idle race, satyrs, in Grim’s experience, roguish and deceitful.