Demon Hunting In Dixie (10 page)

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Authors: Lexi George

BOOK: Demon Hunting In Dixie
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Chapter Ten
F
or a moment Addy gaped at Brand, too stunned and embarrassed to say anything. No Southern lady aired her business in public, and Brand had done everything short of parading down Main Street wearing her panties on the top of his perfectly formed head. Exchanged essences, indeed. He might as well have put an ad in the
Hannah Herald
saying they'd boinked. She went to church with Herbert Duffey. How was she supposed to look him in the eye the next time they passed the peace, for goodness' sake? He'd be thinking of a different kind of piece from now on, wouldn't he? That sweet old man thought that she and Brand had . . . had . . . That she would . . .
Okay, so maybe she would—in a heartbeat—but that was beside the point. A gentleman did not do anything to call a lady's honor and virtue into question. Her virtue had been laid out on Main Street and rolled over by a Mack truck. Her virtue was flatter than a flitter and had big, black tire marks all over it.
“Put me down, you jerk.” Equal parts hurt and humiliated, she thumped him on the chest with both hands. “Right now.”
“No.”
“I said put me
down.
”
Addy's skin tingled. The next moment she was sitting in the tree looking down at Brand.
“Adara, come down.”
“Very funny. Like you didn't put me up here in the first place.”
“I did not put you in the tree. Such a thing would be illogical. It would serve no purpose.” His voice deepened. “Why would I put you up there, little one, when I would much rather have you here in my arms?”
Man, oh man, he was good! She was mad enough to spit nails, and he still had her melting into a puddle with his sexy voice.
Something moved, distracting her. She turned her head. Miss Mamie slunk back down the sidewalk toward them like a CIA operative disguised in a baggy skin suit and a gray wig. The nosy old lady was a bloodhound hot on the trail of fresh gossip. Great, Addy thought bitterly. First, Brand toted her down the street like a marauding Viking carrying plunder, and then he kissed her on the street corner in full view of half the town. If Miss Mamie found
that
titillating, she'd have a field day when she heard about Brand's little announcement.
We will be sexual partners, Adara. It is only a matter of time.
She closed her eyes. She was up a tree. Literally.
She knew the exact moment the old snoop spied her sitting on the limb, because Miss Mamie sucked in enough air to fill the Goodyear blimp. Addy opened her eyes and looked around. Brand was gone. Fine. Who needed him?
Miss Mamie peered up at her. “That you, Addy? What in the world are you doing up there? Pull your skirt down, girl. I can see all the way to Christmas.”
Addy jerked her skirt over her thighs, her mind spinning as she groped for a logical explanation. What
was
she doing in the tree? What would a normal person say in her situation? Who was she kidding? A normal person wouldn't
be
in her situation.
“Say something, dodo,” Addy muttered under her breath, “before she has it all over town you're crazier than a run-over dog.”
Brand materialized on the branch next to her. “Why do you care what this human thinks?”
Addy glared at him. “You wouldn't understand. Go away. It's a great big planet with lots of foliage. Go find your own tree.”
“No.”
“What's that, dear?”
“I-uh-said I'm rescuing a kitten, Miss Mamie.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than Addy heard a soft mewl. A fluffy white kitten with blue eyes and orange markings scrabbled down the tree and crawled into her lap. The kitten purred and began to make biscuits, punching holes in Addy's skirt with its sharp little claws.
She stared at the fur ball in her lap. She said “kitten” and one showed up. How freakazoid was that?
“That so?” Miss Mamie sounded disappointed. No doubt she expected something a bit more out of left field from the Flying Cat Lady's great niece. “Shall I call the fire department?”
“N-no. I think I can handle it.”
“You've got your young man with you. I'm sure
he
knows how to handle it.”
With an irritating titter, the old lady shuffled away.
“You are angry with me,” Brand said.
Addy stroked the velvety top of the kitten's head with the tip of her finger. Still purring, the kitten curled up in her lap and went to sleep. “No, you think?”
“What have I done to make you wroth with me?”
“You wouldn't understand.”
“Certainly I will not understand if you do not explain it to me.”
Addy sighed. “Look, bub, let's say we're from different worlds and leave it at that. Go away. This tree ain't big enough for the both of us.”
“I will not leave you, so it would be more logical if you told me what I have done to distress you.”
“This is my home. You let people think that we . . . that I . . .” Her face went hot. She waved her arms around. “And we haven't. If we
had
. . . um, you know what I mean, that's not something to share with anybody and everybody. I sure as shoot don't talk about my sex life on the street! I own a business in this town. I have roots here. I have to live here after you sail off to Valhalla or Hunky Warriorsville or wherever it is you live. And I have my family to think of. I don't want them hurt by idle gossip.”
Admit it Addy, she scolded herself,
you
don't want to be hurt. You've never felt this way before, and it scares the crap out of you.
“I am sorry if I hurt you, Adara. I assure you it was not my intention. It is not my nature to dissemble, particularly when it comes to my desire for you. I want you. I have lived a long time—a
very
long time—and I have never wanted anyone the way I want you.”
“You see, that's part of the problem. You're a ten-thousand-year-old demon hunter, and I'm a small-town girl with a flower shop. We have nothing in common. We're apples and oranges on a great big galactic scale, which makes us
big
apples and oranges. Planet-sized apples and oranges, with our own moons and—”
“Adara, you digress.”
“Yeah, I digress.” She felt like crying. “So I think it would be better for both of us if we said toodle-loo.”
“I do not understand this toodle-loo.”
“It means good-bye, so long, see you later, pal.”
“You do not want me?”
“No.”
“Little liar.” He jerked her into his arms. With a meow of protest, the kitten slid into Brand's lap. “I can feel your heat.”
He kissed her. Again. The guy sure needed to work on his conflict resolution skills . . . or maybe not.
Addy sighed and gave herself up to the hot ecstasy of his mouth. He had a little heat of his own. Sort of like a supernova. Maybe she was the teensiest bit of a liar. She wanted him. Big time. She was royally ticked off with the guy, and she
still
wanted him. She'd known him less than a day, and she wanted to monkey hump him in a tree—
on Main Street, for Pete's sake—
that's how much she wanted him. If she was a superhero, she'd be Super Slut Puppy able to leap a guy's bones in a single bound, wearing a cape and nothing else, 'cause Super Slut Puppy was
always
ready for action.
He dragged his mouth away from hers. Tangling his hands in her hair, he bent her head back. “You want me, Adara. Look me in the eye and say it. Tell me you want me. Tell me I do not burn alone.”
“I won't! Because this is going nowhere, and I refuse to have my heart smashed into itty bitty pieces by Conan the Demon-Chaser dude.”
“Conan is a fictional character. Mistress Evie told me. I am quite real, I promise you.”
“But what else can you promise me? Can you promise if I sleep with you it won't be wham bam, thank you, ma'am?”
“Are you asking me in your somewhat perplexing fashion if I will stay with you?”
Yeah, that's what she was asking. She'd known the guy less than a day, and already she was making demands. She ought to laugh the whole thing off, pretend it was a joke. That would be the cool thing to do. But she was a small-town girl, not sophisticated or worldly. She wanted Brand with an intensity that frightened her. It all happened so fast. It had to be hormones, right? What else could it be? The scary four-letter “L” word flashed through her mind. No way. Still, one night of passion with Brand or a few precious stolen moments weren't going to be enough. Addy knew it in her bones. If she gave herself to this man, she would never be the same.
Pride urged her to pretend she didn't care. She raised her chin. She would not play games. “Yeah, I guess that's what I'm asking.”
“I will not lie to you, Adara. I do not know if I can stay. Sexual congress with humans is forbidden the Dalvahni. For ten thousand years, the way of the warrior is all I have known. I do not know the consequences if I break my vows. To my knowledge, it has not been done.” He raised her hand and brushed her palm with his lips. A shiver of longing danced down her spine. “Yet break them I will, for given the choice of forsaking my warrior's vows and not knowing your sweetness, I choose you. For however long we have together, I choose you.” His voice darkened to that smoky timbre that melted her bones and left her a panting little mess. “Choose me, little one. I beg you, choose me.”
Addy sighed. The man had her at
such
a disadvantage. Sign her up for a room at Heart Break Hotel, 'cause here she came barreling down Ruination Highway at breakneck speed.
“How can I possibly stay mad at you when you talk like that?”
Brand's eyes darkened. Wowza, talk about your hot looks. And she thought Mama was a thermonuclear device. Oh, Lord, she was a goner.
“Adara,” Brand said. He reached for her. “I—”
“Climbing trees at your age, brother?” A familiar and annoying voice came from below.
Addy almost fell off the branch. Brand draped an arm across her shoulders to steady her. “I do what I have to in pursuit of the djegrali, Ansgar.”
“I see no demons.” Ansgar arched a brow at them, an affectation Addy was starting to hate. “All I see is a certain bothersome female dangling from a branch of this rather impressive woody perennial.”
Bothersome? Of all the nerve.
“I have a name, Blondy. It's Addy. Wear yourself out using it, why don't you?”
Evie stepped in front of Ansgar, an anxious expression on her face. “Addy, are you all right? We went to the funeral home, but you were gone. I've been so worried about you.”
Good old Evie, Addy thought warmly. She found Addy playing patty-cake in a tree with Captain Orgasm, and no odd looks or smart-ass remarks, nothing but genuine concern for Addy's well-being. What a keeper.
Addy leaped out of the tree and onto the sidewalk. Brand landed beside her, the kitten clinging to his shoulder.
“I'm fine, Evie, though it has been a strange morning. I guess you heard about Mr. Farris? Somebody took his body. Mrs. Farris and Bessie Mae had a throwdown at Corwin's. I thought Mama and Shep were going to die. Mrs. Farris seems to think Bessie Mae snatched ol' Dwight for a little farewell hokey-pokey, but I don't know. If you ask me, Shirley's the one gone round the bend. She cut off Mr. Farris's mister and put it in a Ziploc, like it was last night's meat loaf. Eww, forget I said that. Bad analogy. Waved it around at the funeral home, hollering about de-germing the thing. Sca-ary.”
Addy didn't know what she expected, but she sure as heck expected
something.
Life in Hannah proceeded at a pace roughly that of a snail on sticky fly paper. Orin Schneider's two-headed calf and Lorraine Bradberry's prize-winning squash casserole were big news in Hannah. On the juicy tidbit scale, the scene at the funeral parlor was a ten. It darn sure wasn't every day a widow sliced off her husband's cock-a-doodle-doo and stuffed it in a press-and-seal. But, Evie didn't say anything. She stared at Addy all googly-eyed, like she'd grown another head or something.
“Something wrong, Evie?”
“Addy, you jumped out of the tree.”
“Yeah, well a dress and heels are not what I call climbing clothes.”
“You were twenty feet up.”
“What? No way.”
She turned and looked at the tree. There, that mossy branch high above with the crook in it, like a giant's elbow. That was where she and Brand were sitting. Addy blinked in confusion. Twenty feet, at least, maybe more. She'd jumped from a height of a two-story building onto pavement, and the bottoms of her feet didn't even sting. She should be dead or at the very least have a broken bone. Several, in fact. The day's bizarre events played through her head. The platinum-blond hair she'd mysteriously acquired above and below deck, the rapid and remarkable improvement in her vision, and the disappearance of decades-old scars, along with the instantaneous healing of her slightest boo-boo. The timely and glorious pimply retribution visited upon the Death Starr's munchkin-size ass, not to mention the F-22 Raptor fighter jet trip she'd taken that morning from the flower shop to the funeral home. She tried to process it all, but her brain seemed to have turned to mush and her legs felt noodly. She swayed.

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