Demon Hunting In the Deep South (10 page)

Suddenly, Evie was ravenous. She took a bite of the fish. Salted, dredged in cornmeal, and fried hard. The flaky, white flesh beneath the crust was piping hot. Yum.

She took another bite and then another. She was too thin. Ansgar said so. Too thin! She was going to eat, and for once her brain could shut up and let her mouth rejoice.

She finished the fish and picked up a chicken leg. Golden-brown crust seasoned to perfection, and beneath all that crunchy goodness, tender, flavorful dark meat. She alternated bites of chicken with the mashed potatoes. No instant taters for Miss Vi. Her mashed potatoes were the real thing, made with butter, whole milk, and a touch of mayonnaise to make them extra creamy.

She buttered a corn muffin, sprinkled it with Texas Pete, and gobbled it down. It tasted so good she ate another. What the heck. Then she moved on to the collards, spiced up with Creole seasoning, a splash of apple cider vinegar, and more Texas Pete. Belatedly, she realized she hadn’t tried the green beans. Heaven forbid that she insult the green bean god. She shook some Texas Pete on the beans and ate them, too. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten so much.

Funny thing, she didn’t feel full. Better stop anyway or she’d be miserable in thirty minutes.

She dabbed her mouth with her napkin and sat back. To her shock, the food on the table was gone. Nothing left on the platters but a few chicken bits and a sprinkling of cornmeal crumbs. She checked out the rib tray. Empty except for the bones. Nada in the vegetable dishes, either, unless you counted a smear of mashed potatoes and a couple of lonely green beans swimming in a pool of pot liquor. A few strands of greens slimed the side of the collard bowl. No bread in the bread basket. The bottle of Texas Pete had been drained.

She jumped to her feet. “What happened to all the food?”

Ansgar wiped his hands. “We ate it. It was delicious, was it not?”

Evie stared at her plate. Good Lord, there were
six
chicken bones on her plate and the skeletons of
four
whole catfish.

The pile of leavings on Ansgar’s plate was much bigger. But he was a warrior with warrior-size muscles. Blink his eyelids a couple of extra times and he’d burn a zillion calories. But she wouldn’t. One dive into the ice cream container and she gained weight.

Stunned, Evie sat back down. She’d just consumed her caloric intake for a week. A cow couldn’t eat as much as she had, and a cow had four stomachs.

Of course, a cow wouldn’t eat chicken or fish . . . unless it was a carnivorous cow with big pointy teeth.

But that was beside the point. She’d pay for this little binge for months. Nothing but twigs and leaves from now on chased down with a little water. Nothing but—

“Dessert?” Ansgar said, offering her a slab of pie as big as her head.

She started to shake her head and hesitated. It was chocolate pie, her favorite. She could smell the sugar. The layer of meringue on top was a thing of beauty, a light brown swirl of deliciousness, like toasted marshmallow.

She wanted that pie. She wanted it something ferocious.

Was it her imagination, or was there a twinkle of amusement in Ansgar’s eyes? Like he knew she had a weakness for sweets, darn him.

To heck with it. She’d tote her butt around in a wheelbarrow if she had to.

She was eating her some pie.

Chapter Ten

E
vie took the plate from Ansgar, the scents of chocolate and sugar teasing her nose. She sliced off the pointy end of the triangle of pie with her fork and put the first bite in her mouth. The meringue was lighter than air and melted in her mouth. Beneath that, a sinfully good, dark chocolate filling and firm crust. All that chocolate-wonderfulness shot to her brain and bathed her whole body in feel-good. Serotonin City; the bottoms of her feet tingled and little goose bumps popped out on her skin.

This wasn’t pie. This was a mini mouth orgasm. Hot damn, this pie was
good,
worth every fat-inducing, thigh-enlarging calorie.

She took another bite, savoring it. Man-oh-man-oh-man. Bliss on a fork. She felt better already. She felt drunk off that pie. All her cares and troubles drifted away, leaving her feeling light as a feather, brimming with joy and good cheer.

She loved pie. She loved everybody and everything.

“It is good, is it not?” Ansgar said, sucker-punching her with a smile.

The combination of that sexy smile and the pie made her giddy. “It’s wonderful. The most wonderful-est, splendid-est pie ever. I love it.”

“I thought you would like it. You look a little woozy. Are you sure you are feeling well?”

“I feel fi-nah.” The words came out in a drawl. “Better than fine, actually. I feel hornier than a four-balled tomcat.” She giggled and slapped her hand over her mouth. “Oops, did I say that out loud?”

“Yes, you did.” He regarded her across the table with eyes like molten silver. “I can help you with that.”

“Help me with what?” She looked down at her plate. No more pie. “It’s gone.”

“Evangeline?”

She blinked at him across the table. “Yes?”

“Come here.”

She got up from her chair, went around the table, and sat in his lap. Hard to believe her temerity, but who could resist that bedroom voice?

He put one hand around her waist and the other on her thigh. She could feel the heat of his skin through his jeans. In her haste to get dressed, she’d put on a sundress with a deep square neckline and no sleeves. A garment she wore to work in the garden but never in public because it showed too much cleavage.

She wasn’t wearing a bra, she remembered suddenly. It made her feel wicked and sensuous, instead of self-conscious. Evie Douglass, wild woman. Her skin seemed more sensitive, and she was intensely aware of the brush of her nipples against the cotton bodice of her dress, the solid, unyielding granite of Ansgar’s powerful legs beneath her, the tickle of her still damp hair across her shoulders.

He bent his head close to hers. “Kiss me,” he said in his silk and smoke voice. “And you can have the last piece of pie.”

“What if I don’t want any more pie?”

“Kiss me anyway, Evangeline. Please.”

She shouldn’t kiss him, she really shouldn’t. She knew better. Kissing Ansgar made her brain shut off and her hootie fire up.

She did it anyway. He
did
use the magic word, and good manners should be rewarded.

He tasted hot and fragrant with spices, better than any dessert. His tongue brushed hers and she shivered. She ran her hands across his powerful shoulders, thick and ropey with muscle. He was so strong, his muscular body hard and unyielding as sculpted stone. She wanted to rub herself all over him like a cat. Kiss and lick him from head to toe.

He muttered something rough and guttural, and dragged his mouth down her neck in a lingering trail of openmouthed kisses. She leaned back, offering herself to him. He nuzzled her nipple through the fabric of her dress, and she went still, her breath hitching in her throat. The heat of his mouth, the pull of his lips and tongue against the wet fabric, sent fluttering waves of sensation to the pit of her stomach. He slipped his hand beneath her dress and caressed the sensitive skin between her thighs. Little swirls of temptation that made her go boneless with longing.

His hand crept higher, to the edge of her panties. She tensed, breathless, waiting for his fingers to push aside the worn elastic of her plain cotton briefs and touch her
there.

Except she wasn’t wearing any panties, granny or otherwise, she realized with a dim sense of shock.

No bra
and
no panties? What the heck was the matter with her? She’d never gone commando in her life. After twenty-eight years of strapping the girls down and girding her loins, how did she all of a sudden forget to put on her drawers?

“Open your legs,” he murmured against her breast. “Let me touch you.”

The old Evie would never let a guy she hardly knew touch her hoo hah. The old Evie wasn’t on speaking terms with her inner slut, but now they were best buds.

She opened her legs, wanting him, eager for him. His hand slid closer to the throbbing place between her thighs. Not there. Not yet, but close . . . so close. He was teasing her, and it was downright cruel.

She arched against him, pushing against him, seeking release. His fingers flicked the sensitive flesh, and she shattered.

She floated back from rapture to the sound of Ansgar calling her name.

“Evangeline.”

She opened her eyes. She was still in his arms. Her head lolled against his shoulder and her dress was hiked up. She blushed and tugged the sundress down to her knees. Shameless.

He looked down at her, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. “We have company. And whoever it is, they are most insistent.”

“What?” Evie sat up and pushed the hair out of her eyes. It was hard to think through the
“oh, my God, I just came, and man, oh man, was it great”
fog that clouded her brain, but gradually it dawned on her that someone was pounding on the front door. “I guess I’d better go see who it is.”

“I will go,” Ansgar said. He lifted her out of his lap and stood up. The insistent knocking continued from the front of the house. Someone
really
wanted to see her. “There may be trouble.”

“You mean a demon.” Evie shook her head in disbelief. “I seriously doubt there’s a demon on my front porch.”

“You can never be too careful when dealing with the djegrali. It could be someone you know, someone you trust, who has been possessed by one of the fiends. The djegrali are very clever and take many forms.”

Evie’s memories of the demon attack came back in a rush, the black mist creeping under the bathroom windowsill, the suffocating mind-numbing terror when the demon reached for her. She remembered throwing her arms up to ward off the evil thing . . . and then she was in Ansgar’s arms.

Why would a demon come for her? She was a nobody, no money, no family, no power. It didn’t make sense.

“So, what are you going to do if it is a demon?” she asked.

“Destroy it,” Ansgar said, striding out of the kitchen.

Destroy it? Evie hurried after him. She caught up with him in the dining room and stepped in front of him, barring his way.

“Wait.” She placed her hand on his broad chest. “I know more about demons than you may think. My best friend’s engaged to a demon hunter, remember? I know Hannah’s demon central, although no one really knows
why
. I know demons sometimes possess humans, use their poor bodies until there’s nothing left, and then toss them aside like so much garbage and look for another victim.” She gazed up at him, trying to assess his reaction. His expression was hard as granite. He didn’t get it. How to make him understand? Taking a deep breath, she tried again. “I know about the demonoids—people in Hannah who are part demon, part human.”

“Addy told you this?”

“Yes, although she didn’t tell me who they are. She wanted to, but I wouldn’t let her. I don’t want to know that about people . . . to look at them differently, to be
afraid
of them.”

“Ignorance is not a shield that will protect you.”

“You assume that demonoids are bad, but you don’t
know
it.”

“The djegrali are concentrated evil,” he said. “They thrive on mischief and creating havoc. It is what they do. Their accursed offspring are evil, too. It is the nature of the beast. Conall, our leader, has ordered us to wait, else Brand and I would have hunted the vermin down and destroyed the lot of them, like the vipers they are.”

“But don’t you see? They can’t help it, none of them can. Not the ones who are possessed or their children. I
know
these people. I know their families. So, whoever is at the door, you can’t hurt them. Promise me.”

“No.”

“You can’t go around killing people willy nilly,” Evie cried. “This is a small town. These are my
friends
.”

“I will do what I must to protect you.”

He pushed her aside, crossed the living room, and opened the door. Sheriff Whitsun stood on the porch. He and Ansgar exchanged silent, hostile stares, two alpha males sizing each other up. The testosterone in the air was so thick you could chop it with an ax.

“What do you want?” Ansgar said at last.

Some of Evie’s tension evaporated. The sheriff had passed a test, although he didn’t know it. If he was a demon or a demonoid, Ansgar would skewer him with the nearest sharp object, not glower at the poor man. It was going to be okay.

“Sheriff Whitsun, what an . . . uh . . . unexpected surprise.” Evie squeezed past Ansgar, who was blocking the door. “What brings you here?”

“We found a bloody knife on the front seat of your car.” The sheriff held up a piece of paper. The words
warrant of arrest
danced before Evie’s eyes. “Sarah Evangeline Douglass, you’re under arrest for the murder of Meredith Peterson.”

The heavy metal door of the Behr County Jail slammed shut behind Evie with a hollow
clang
. Panic clawed at her chest and sapped the strength from her legs, leaving them shaky and weak. Would this nightmare of a day never end? She’d been booked, photographed, and fingerprinted, and now she was about to be locked up in jail. And she wasn’t wearing panties or a bra.

Oh. God.

If Addy’s mother found out she’d left the house without her drawers, Evie’s un-underweared behind would be in big trouble. Bitsy Corwin was a tsunami on two legs who swept over everyone and everything in her path. Elegant, soft spoken, a will of steel encased in a petite, well-dressed form. Addy and Evie—as Addy’s best friend—were her pet projects, and Bitsy had been trying for years to mold them into her vision of the perfect Southern lady.

There were a lot of rules in the Bitsy universe, and a number of them pertained to undergarments. As in wear them. Lecture eighteen:
Always wear clean panties and a bra in case you get in a wreck.
And lecture eight—or was it seven?—
always wear panties and a bra
. Period.