Demon Hunting with a Sexy Ex by Lexi George (10)

Due to the lingering aftereffects of the chocolate pie, Duncan miscalculated and materialized on Cassandra’s gravel drive, rather than in front of the house. ’Twas shortly past dawn, and light trickled through the thick trees in shimmering strands of green, gold, and silver.

A few strides brought him into view of the cottage. Cassandra’s home made a pretty picture nestled on the lip of the river, a welcoming oasis in the woods bursting with cheerful patches of sunflowers, splashes of pink and white crocuses, and banks of purple sage. A slight breeze ruffled the leaves and shivered the blooms in the flower beds. Duncan opened his senses and caught the scents of the rosemary, lavender, and parsley growing in the herb garden, but no sign of danger.

The knot of disquiet in his belly eased. All was well. Cassandra was safe. She was slumbering, no doubt. He’d overreacted. ’Twas oft the case when it came to her. He was a fearless warrior, able to face a legion of demons unperturbed, ride into battle with a smile upon his lips, and endure the wrath of gods and nature alike with a defiant laugh, but the slightest threat to this one woman unmanned him.

It was unnerving and maddening, his peculiar weakness. A Dalvahni warrior did not fret like a wet nurse over a mewling babe. A Dalvahni warrior knew not fear or panic. A Dalvahni warrior was calm. Steady. Unflappable. Cool under pressure and unremittingly logical.

He was all these things . . . except when it came to her. She had ravaged his poor, defenseless heart and laid him bare. She was his bane, his passion and obsession.

Taryn appeared, interrupting his musings, with Evan on her back. The demonoid clung to her like a monkey, an expression of acute misery on his face. The Hag’s elixir had added several inches and at least two stone to Evan’s formerly scarecrow frame, yet Taryn showed no sign of strain. Like the Dal, the Kirvahni were blessed with enormous strength.

“Any sign of the rogue or the djegrali?” she asked.

Duncan shook his head, heat crawling up his neck. “Nay. I fear I was mistaken.”

“Hey, it happens.” Evan slid to the ground. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

The demonoid’s face was a delicate shade of green. He still wore the jester’s costume and the ridiculous beribboned hat. He glared at Taryn. “Remind me to walk next time. I hate that time-warp shit.”

“Ever with the bellyaching,” Taryn said. “What a fuss you make about nothing.”

“Nothing? I’m sick as a horse. Serve you right if I liquid screamed all over your precious fairy boots.”

“Liquid scream?” Taryn’s eyes widened at this incomprehensible piffle. “I am unfamiliar with this term.”

“It means vomit, Red.” Evan stuck out his tongue and made a retching noise. “Gack, yak, hurl.”

“Ah, you refer to the process of regurgitation.” Taryn gave a wise nod. “Duncan liquid screamed earlier. Verily, ’twas a cascade.”

“Big whoop. I’ll alert the media ’cause everybody gives a giant shit about that.”

“Indeed, ’twas most unusual. The Dalvahni do not vomit, nor do the Kir.”

“Let you in on a secret, Red. Nobody gives a flying fart about the demon hunter digestive system. Especially me.”

“Well, you should. Knowledge is never wasted, even on one such as you.” Taryn tilted one foot to admire her boots. “I am glad you did not liquid scream. I should dislike it excessively had you ruined my boots. They were a present. Except for a lamentable tendency to sparkle, they are nice, are they not?”

“Orgasmic, Red. I’m hard just looking at them.”

Taryn wrinkled her nose. “You are a pig. I had as well converse with a chamber pot.”

“Hey, I said I liked them.”

“You did not say you liked them. You said—” Taryn caught herself. “I refuse to let you bait me. My boots are most excellent. They match whatever I wear, and they are charmed for speed.” She paused, her expression thoughtful. “Not that I have need for speed. I am fleet of foot without them.”

“And modest,” Evan said. “Don’t forget modest.”

Taryn gave him a scowl. “The point is, but for having to lug your sorry carcass, I should have been here in a trice. There is a good deal more of you than there used to be.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“Do not let it trouble you,” Taryn said in a kindly tone. “Those breeches are quite slimming, I assure you. No doubt many females find corpulent men attractive.”

“Corpulent? What the hell—now, see here, Red—”

Duncan listened to their raillery with half an ear. His earlier unease had returned. Something stirred in the ether, a sickening disturbance in the atmosphere that made his skin tingle with alarm.

The wind shifted. Taryn stopped bickering with Evan and lifted her head. “Demons,” she announced. “A veritable horde of them, judging from the stench.”

Duncan caught a whiff of something foul, and his heart lurched. Cassandra was alone but for Verbena, and at the mercy of an army of the djegrali? Sweet blessed Kehv.

Drawing his sword, he sprinted down the drive. Merciful gods, do not let him be too late. If Cassandra were harmed or—

No; his mind veered away from the terrifying half-formed thought. He moved faster, his heart hammering against his ribs. His brain was on fire, and lightning flickered at the edges of his vision, bright flashes the color of blood.

Blood. Cassandra’s blood, pouring unchecked from her body and soaking into the ground.

His mind went black. No. No.

He streaked out of the woods and down the drive. He looked around, but there was no sign of demons. A loud thump came from the direction of the river. With an agonized shriek, a wraith sailed over the cottage and shattered in midair, the ragged pieces fluttering to the ground like crumbling parchment.

The demons had attacked from the river, and Cassandra was making a stand on the front porch, he realized, though he could not see her from the back of the house. She was fierce, his sweet sorceress, he thought with a swell of pride, and she was holding her own.

For now, at any rate.

Turning, he started around the dwelling to go to her aid and came face-to-face with the rogue on the side lawn. Shock stopped him in his tracks, and he stared at the tattooed golem in disbelief.

“You,” Duncan said. “You are dead.”

This brutish thing had once been his brother? Impossible. This was no Dalvahni. This was naught but an empty shell, the essence of the warrior stripped away.

The rogue returned Duncan’s regard without recognition, his expression glazed, his gaze fixed and lifeless.

Ignoring the leaden weight of pity and revulsion, Duncan drew his sword. “Hold, Gryffin.”

The rogue’s indifferent gaze flickered, and for a moment, Duncan fancied he saw a glimmer of recollection in the rogue’s empty eyes. Then a vast host of djegrali swarmed onto the side lawn, a toxic funnel of smoke that wafted and weaved in dizzying patterns like a murmuration of starlings, and the faint spark of something in the betrayer’s eyes died.

The demons fluttered around the traitor, covering him in an ashy cloak that smelled of foulness and decay. The swarm parted, and the rogue was gone. Swirling and shifting, the dark, pulsing band swept over Duncan, enveloping him in darkness and a suffocating fetor. Shouting his defiance, he swung his sword this way and that, and was rewarded by howls of anguish and the powdery stench of dead demon. But for every devil he slew, two more appeared, and the stench of the demons befouled his lungs with the odors of smoke, rot, and despair, robbing him of strength.

The hilt of his sword grew slick with blood. Vaguely, he realized he was bleeding from dozens of wounds. As fast as one gash healed, the snarling, biting demons inflicted a dozen more. Duncan sliced a demon in two with his sword; the fiend dissolved in a puff of oily smoke. A dozen more wraiths attacked, slashing him with their talons and rending his flesh to the bone. The pain was incredible. His lungs screamed for relief, his muscles and limbs were heavy with exhaustion. He was diminished, he realized with a vague sense of astonishment. He, a mighty Dalvahni warrior, weakened by the demon chocolate.

Outside the smothering billow of djegrali where light and air and hope existed, something bellowed. Something big. Another demon, no doubt, and Cassandra fought alone.

The knowledge renewed Duncan’s strength, and he slashed at the demons, but they were too many. Two of the fiends latched on to his sword arm, gnawing at his flesh, their teeth searing him like hot coals. More demons flowed around his legs, savaging the backs of his thighs. Hamstrung, Duncan crashed to the ground.

Shrieking in triumph, the djegrali blanketed him, clawing and tearing at him like feasting crows. Duncan was a bleeding hunk of pain. His throat and lungs were clogged with demon stench, and blood from the bite marks on his forehead and scalp ran into his eyes, blinding him.

Chewed to death by demons—the thought wafted to the surface of his mind from some dark place of amusement. Not exactly the glorious fate he’d imagined.

Nay, he would not die, not when Cassandra needed him. Roaring, he thrashed and flailed against the smothering carpet, but the demons stuck to him like hot tar, pinning him to the ground and settling on top of him, crushing him with hopelessness and despair.

He gave a soundless howl of pain as a demon savaged the side of his head. Then he heard a second thunderous shout and the djegrali were gone, swept aside like so much chaff.

Duncan sat up. Wiping the blood from his eyes, he beheld an ogre with granite skin, tree-trunk limbs, and eyes like hot currant jelly. An ogre dressed in a jester’s costume and velvet slippers and sporting a wide-brimmed hat with plumes and feathers atop his enormous head.

Snatching up a cluster of demons, the ogre rolled them in a ball and squished them. Black sludge ran between his thick fingers and dripped to the ground.

A demon landed on the ogre’s face, clawing at his gray skin. Smack. The ogre slapped the demon like a mosquito and flicked it away. Bawling like an enraged bull, he batted the djegrali out of the air and crushed them in his great hands, then slung aside the black muck and reached for more.

Shrieking in impotent fury, the group of djegrali that had attacked Duncan fled.

Duncan staggered to his feet. He was covered in blood, one of his ears dangled by a thread of skin, and his shirt and jeans were in tatters. “You have my thanks.”

The ogre grinned down at him. “Ebban squash demons.” He clapped his huge hands together, sending droplets of pulverized demon into the air. “Squash good.”

They turned at a musical cry of challenge. Taryn had arrived and was battling a clutch of djegrali. The huntress’s hair had come unbraided, and it shimmered in deep, red waves around her hips like a battle flag. The sight of it seemed to enrage the demons, and they threw themselves at her. Snick. Snack. Her sword flashed, precise as it was deadly, dispatching a clutter of demons.

Her lovely face was alight with battle fever. The Kir might be a plague and a nuisance, but, by the gods, she could fight.

The ogre squinted at the huntress. “Red?”

Swatting demons aside, he waded up to Taryn. When a group of demons tried to stop him, the ogre seized them in his great hands and shredded them like rotten rags. They dissolved into malodorous silt and blew away.

The Kir froze, her sword upraised, staring in astonishment at the behemoth. “Evan? By the vessel, is that you?”

The ogre pointed to a cut on the Kir’s cheek. “Red hurt.”

“What?” Taryn touched her face. “That? It is nothing. The merest scratch. But I—”

The ogre plucked her up and dropped her in his pocket. He patted his coat. “Red safe. Demons no hurt.”

Taryn popped out of the fabric pouch like a jack-in-the-box. “I am Kirvahni, you overgrown lump, not some missish damsel in need of coddling. Fighting demons is what I do.”

“Ebban squash demons.”

“I do not—” She shoved a hank of hair out of her face and blew out a breath. “Why do I bother? Talking to you is useless.”

She scrambled out of the ogre’s pocket, up his thick arm, and onto his broad shoulder. Demons buzzed around them in a stinging cloud. Snick, snack, Taryn set upon them once more with her sword. The blade pierced the dark, flitting shapes, and the demons shrieked and wafted to the ground in black tatters.

The ogre groped for the Kir with thick fingers, but she jumped lightly aside, avoiding his grasp.

“Have a care, clod pate,” she sang between flicks of her sword. “They are going for your legs.”

Dissuaded by Taryn’s flashing blade, the djegrali attacked the ogre’s lower body, slashing at his massive thighs and calves. The ogre roared and stamped his feet. The bells on his shoes pealed, loud and clear, and with a wail of anguish, the demons disappeared.

Taryn slid down the ogre’s back and jumped to the ground, her eyes alight. “By the gods, that was something like,” she said. “Did you see them run? Methinks the clangor of the bells is painful to them.”

A roar split the air. The sound had come from the front of the house.

“Cassandra,” Duncan said, taking off at a run.

He careened around the cottage and onto the sward that sloped down to the water and beheld an astonishing sight. Charred patches scarred the once-green turf, and Cassandra stood on the porch, a wooden staff in her hands. Her blond hair was loose and tempest-tossed. It swirled around her shoulders in pale ribbons of silk, though no wind stirred. She was barefoot and in shorts, her sleek legs braced for combat and her cool, lovely features composed in a determined mask.

The air around her was thick and crackled with power, and a dark funnel cloud whirled above her head. Flashes of lightning streaked out of the purple-black mist, dancing in short bursts around her. Cassandra stood in the midst of the storm like a vengeful Fury, her pale lips moving soundlessly as she summoned the elements to her aid. They answered with a vengeance. The sizzling halo around her formed a shining wall between her and her attacker, a scaly, two-legged lizard with a profusion of oozing red eyes. The monster had jaws large enough to crush an ox, and claws like swords. Flames spewed from the worm’s maw, hit the shield, and bounced off.

Cassandra was magnificent, but her weariness was evident. Sweat beaded her brow and ran down her flushed cheeks.

Fear licked a path the length of Duncan’s spine. No matter her ability, Cassandra had unleashed more magic than three wizards could safely handle, and the thunderstorm of vast energy she had summoned was volatile and unpredictable. One distraction, one misspoken word in the incantation, and she would be burned to ash.

With a shout, Duncan rushed to her defense, a gallant charge that was short lived. Something huge brushed past him, knocking him to the ground.

Furious, Duncan got to his feet and whirled to face his assailant. Creaking and clanging, an animated statue clomped across the back lawn, a huge club in one burnished hand. Slack-jawed, Duncan took a closer look. Not a club—the statue carried a seed pod the locals called a “peanut.”

A host of djegrali swarmed around the metal sculpture like dark, angry bees. The giant’s armored form was dented and scratched in a hundred places, and covered in scorch marks, but the bronze valiant seemed undismayed. Cheerful, even.

Swinging the peanut, the statue sang in a booming voice,

The gleaming peanut sliced through the air, smacked into a clump of demons, and sent them sailing over the rooftop.

The metallic knight swung the peanut again, pulverizing another cluster of demons.

Duncan spun at a bellow from the demon lizard. The fiend’s spiked tail lashed out, shattering the porch railing and steps in a shower of splintered wood. The shield protecting Cassandra wavered. Duncan gave a battle cry and leapt onto the demon’s back. The demon snarled in outrage and bucked, but Duncan tightened his thighs around the demon’s shoulders and held on. Sharp scales sliced into his legs like knives.

As he brought his sword up to finish the thing, the world tilted and the demon rolled, crushing Duncan underneath. Stunned and bruised, he lay on his back.

He’d been doing a lot of that lately, he reflected, viewing the world from this position. Humiliating, really, and not in the least dignified. Was he a Dalvahni warrior or a turtle?

The demon sprang up. Lifting Duncan in a taloned paw the size of a cart, the demon gave him a lingering sniff.

“A Dalvahni warrior.” The fiend gave an evil chuckle. “My favorite snack.”

“By the gods, but you are ugly,” Duncan wheezed, looked up into the nightmarish face. “And you reek.”

The demon’s claws tightened until Duncan felt his ribs crack. Black dots danced at the edge of his vision, and the blood thundered in his ears.

“Too raw for my taste,” the demon purred, as though Duncan had not spoken. “But no matter. That can soon be remedied.”

The demon opened its mouth, and Duncan found himself looking down a long, dark tunnel. Deep in the fiend’s belly, a fire glowed. The demon growled, and the forge flared to life.

In the distance, someone screamed, a long, terrified wail.

Orange-red flames rolled up the demon’s gullet. As Duncan braced for the searing heat, an enormous pair of hands closed around the demon’s throat and squeezed. The hands closed inexorably, pinching and twisting the worm’s sinewy neck like the end of a sausage.

There was an angry, low rumble from the demon’s gut, and an expression of ludicrous surprise creased the thing’s hideous face. The gooey, red eyes bulged and widened, the hulking body swelled and ballooned, and the demon exploded in a ball of flame.