Demon Hunting with a Dixie Deb - Lexi George Page 0,4

boasted greater charms. Yet there was something about her, a lightness that seeped into the cold, dark corners of his soul, warming him.

He had been cold for a very long time.

The thought startled him. What strange humor was this? How long had it been since his last session with a thrall?

Too long, judging by his maudlin descent into sentiment.

The woman on the bridge made a sound of dismay. The sound pulled Grim closer, as though he were tethered. He halted with an effort. By the sword, the minx was a winsome snare. She tempted him from his appointed task. He should have left her at the bottom of the stream with her metal carriage.

He turned his back on her and drew his sword. Slipping deeper into the thick stand of trees, he searched for signs of his quarry. He would capture or destroy the demon he had trailed from another world to this. He would return for the female and deliver her to safety.

Then he would leave and seek the enemy elsewhere.

The woods were quiet. Damp gouges marred the leaves of the forest floor. Broken branches and claw marks on tree trunks marked the beast’s passage. The demon deer had moved swiftly, leaving terror and the stench of decay in its wake.

A trickle of unease drew his mind back to the human female. What if she left the road in his absence and was lost?

He shook the troublesome thought away. He had tracked the djegrali through flood and fire, over mountains and valleys, through deserts and across boiling seas. If the foolish woman wandered, he would find her.

The demon’s tracks ended in a shallow, leaf-choked vale. Grim knelt to inspect the prints. His senses quickened. He was close; the thing’s presence hung in a suffocating pall over the woods. The demon had gone to ground or was hiding in the trees. Opening his senses, Grim located a small, furry mammal beneath a shrub. The creature resembled a Parquinian marsh devil, without the barbed stingers and acid glands. The animal seemed harmless, but best to make sure.

Out of long habit and caution, he accessed his information source. Opossum, the Provider intoned in Grim’s head, a nocturnal earth scavenger. The size of a small cat, the opossum, or “possum,” as it is informally known, is recognizable by its distinctive pink pointed nose, black ears, and long, almost hairless tail. The tail is most often used for grasping. Gentle and placid, the creature is known to carry its young in a pouch, much like the scaled jumping mouse of Althion.

Grim stifled a twinge of annoyance. Each world contained disparate flora and fauna, and its own dangers. The Provider was an invaluable tool, particularly to Grim, who hunted alone, eschewing the comforts of the Great Hall and the companionship and camaraderie of his brother warriors. For many years, the Provider had been his sole companion. Grim had long since grown accustomed to the Provider’s prosaic droning. Today, though, Grim found the Provider irritating.

It is because of the human female, the Provider said, reading his thoughts. You desire her. You are anxious to return to her side.

“You are mistaken,” Grim said. “The Dal do not couple with mortal species, particularly humans.”

So I thought as well. Of late, however, there have been a number of peculiar lapses among the Dalvahni. I have monitored the situation with interest. But I digress. The opossum has the interesting ability to—

Growing impatient, Grim merged with the possum without waiting for the Provider to finish. The opossum’s vision was poor, its sense of smell keen. Moss and lichen, the musty scent of rotting leaves and wood, damp soil and the clean, fresh smell of pine needles and new growth; these things and more Grim knew the instant he became one with the little animal.

The possum’s heart stuttered in alarm. The fiend was close. Too close, Grim realized belatedly.

—enter an involuntary, comatose-like state of shock when threatened and unable to flee, a state humans sometimes refer to as “playing possum,” the Provider concluded as the possum keeled over in fright.

The world went dark. Pain snapped Grim’s link with the Provider and the inert animal. Blood filled his mouth. He was drowning in it. He was on his back pinned beneath the weight of the demon deer. The fiend ripped at him with fangs and claws. Grim fumbled for the knife at his thigh and found it. He closed his hand around the leather hilt and drove the blade into the monster’s belly.