Midlife Demon Hunter: The Forty Proof Series, Book 3 Read online

  Crash narrowed his eyes, staring at the space next to me where Robert stood swaying. “I can see a shadow if I pay very close attention, but he slips through my vision.”

  “Weird. Because Sarge and Luke can see him. And Eric,” I said.

  “He is between two realms, straddling them, if you will. Eric can stand between realms too. That’s how he keeps from being found by humans.” Crash walked farther into the kitchen and went straight to the stash of pastries Eric had been baking. Seriously, where was my bigfoot roomie anyway? Had he gone to talk to Kinkly? That seemed the most likely reason for his sudden disappearance, but he’d been gone a long time. Silently, I wished him luck. Better luck than I was having. Then again, I had two hot guys hanging out in my kitchen, so maybe my luck wasn’t the problem.

  Crash scooped up a jam-filled flaky confection and took a bite. “Shifters can often sense the dead. Like any animal.”

  Corb moved to stand a little closer to me. I took a step to the left. “If you pee on my leg to mark territory, I’ll seriously kick you in the shins.”

  He shook his head—an oh, Bree kind of shake—then turned his eyes on me. “So I’ll pick you up for dinner tonight?”

  Really? He was really going to push this now? I sighed. Of course he was—he was peeing on me without peeing on me. “I’m not going to turn down a free meal. But not tonight. Tomorrow would be better.”

  “I’ll pick you up at five.” For a moment, I thought he was going to try for another kiss, but he must have gotten the hint from my narrowed eyes because he backed up and made his way to the front door. I sighed and sat at the table.

  “Bad news?” Crash said around a mouthful of pastry. I lifted my eyes to his, fighting the need to throw myself bodily at him. Gawd in heaven, he was hotter than sin and twice as enticing.

  “Same old. I hate my ex. Wish I could stuff him in a body bag and drop him into the river,” I said.

  “I don’t much like my ex either,” Crash said.

  I looked up at him and laughed. “Yeah, she isn’t my favorite fairy queen, I’ll say that.”

  He popped the last of the pastry in his mouth and licked his finger, and I had to look away as my face heated. Yup, too many dirty thoughts rolling around in my brain. Way too many.

  More than my face heated as I turned my back on him, trying to get my wildly treacherous hormones under control.

  “Breena, is there something I can do to help?” Crash asked.

  I wanted to say yes, I really did, and tell him he could start by throwing me on the table and having his way with me repeatedly.

  But my worry about Alan interrupted my hormone fest. Who the hell knew what Himself was up to, or how deeply the hypocrite had entrenched himself in the shadow world? And while I knew Crash would happily help with that problem, too, I wanted all the joy of kicking Alan in the balls, physically and in the wallet. And I wouldn’t pass up a serious metaphysical wallop either. I’d take any of the three. Besides, Himself and his threats weren’t dangerous to my health, just my . . . anything I owned.

  And that’s when the penny dropped.

  I groaned. The house. I turned to face Crash. “You need to take my name off the deed. If the loan sharks or whoever is recalling the debt find out about that, they’ll take the house.”

  Crash’s eyebrows shot up. “Who told you?”

  “You did.”

  He leaned back on the counter, folding his arms over his chest, which flexed his biceps under his plain black T-shirt. Damn it, all the hotness in one package. It wasn’t fair. “You were awake when I was talking with your gran?”

  “Yup. I’ve been telling you all I’m a good faker. Just ask my ex.” I winked and he laughed.

  “I’d know.”

  And just like that, the heat at my core turned to lava. I couldn’t look away as he stared at me.

  “I’d know,” he repeated. “Even if we shouldn’t.”

  “Heard you the first time.” I struggled to breathe. He was . . . too much. I knew it. He knew it. This was a bad, terrible, idea.

  But, oh man, did I ever want to jump his bones. I mean, my libido had been riding high ever since I hit forty, like through the roof, but Crash just flat out hit every sexy button inside me. Mature, built like a brick house, fantastic eyes, an amazing kisser . . . I could keep adding to that list all damn day. But the fact remained that he was a fae king. Or had been, I wasn’t really sure if he was still a king given that he’d divorced the fae queen. He worked in shady deals that I couldn’t ignore. And then there were the girls he’d been with . . . I couldn’t compete with that.

  I backed up as he approached me until I bumped into the wall. “This is a bad idea, Crash.”

  “I know it is. I’m aware that this is probably the worst idea, but do remind me why again,” he said, and I realized he was stalking me and I was acting like prey. That thought was like cold water.

  I stood a little straighter, put a hand out and jabbed two fingers into his too-hard abs, stopping him in place. “Because. You said it yourself, the fae would use me. I recognize that you are way out of my league. I’m not stupid.”

  He stopped his approach and opened his mouth, but I cut him off, diving into the deep end in a way that my younger self would never have dared.

  “The thing is, you know I’ve got the hots for you. And for some reason, you promised my gran to look out for me. And that means you have a leg up on me. So you don’t have to pretend, okay? You’re looking out for me, but I get that you don’t actually like me like that. I mean, I know you like me as a friend—”

  “Stop.” He held up both hands, palms facing me, and my mouth clicked shut, cutting short the rambling I’d fallen into. “Bree, just stop.” Crash blew out a breath and the intensity in the room slid down a notch. “I’ll get your name off the deed before the day’s end.” He paused and the weight in his blue and gold-flecked eyes pinned me in place. His eyes dilated, and for just a moment, I thought he’d say something like screw it, let’s do it on the table. But before I could say yes, please, he closed his eyes, cutting me off from whatever he was feeling. “Have a good night with Corb tomorrow.”

  He turned and walked out of the back door, the screen flapping and banging behind him.

  I was leaning against the kitchen wall, breathing hard, my body cursing me for not dragging that delectable man upstairs for some serious afternoon delights. I opened my mouth to call him back, but I had enough sense to shut it before I could. Hooking up with him really was a bad idea—I knew it in every ache of my body.

  “That man is going to be trouble, Gran.”

  She snorted from somewhere in the other room, but otherwise, kept her thoughts to herself.

  The front door opened, the sound of footsteps met my ears, and then Eric brushed past me, his chin to his chest. He didn’t seem to notice me as he went straight to the fridge and pulled out a can of pressurized whipped cream. With a flick of his thumb, he popped the lid off, held it over his mouth and depressed a whole pile of the chemical-laced concoction.

  “You talked to Kinkly?” I asked.

  He nodded, swallowed the cream, and looked at me. “It didn’t go well.”

  I walked over to him and motioned for him to give me the can. I sprayed a bunch of the fluffy sweet stuff into my mouth, choking on the amount as I swallowed it down. “I just turned Crash down.”

  Eric groaned. “This is terrible. She laughed at me, and not in a mean way—she genuinely thought I was teasing her.” He sprayed more whipped cream into his mouth and then handed it back to me. I took my shot.

  “He said I was right, it was a terrible idea.” I started to giggle. “Oh my gawd, I turned down the hottest guy I’ve ever known. Because I was afraid he’d use me for some nefarious purpose. Like having red-hot sex until I can’t think straight.” What was wrong with me? I totally should have gone for it. I could keep my heart and libido separate, couldn’t I?

  Eric looked at me. “I got on one knee and proposed to her, an
d she laughed louder.” He took another squirt of whipped cream, but his lips twitched. “We are both losers.”

  I burst out laughing so hard, tears crept into the corners of my eyes. I took the can of whipped cream from him and saluted him. “We are both losers.”

  Eric started to laugh, a braying noise that only made us both laugh harder as bits of whipped cream flew out of our mouths. Which was how Suzy and Feish found us, on our butts, laughing so hard that tears ran down our cheeks, whipped cream smeared on our faces.

  “What in the world happened to you?” Suzy crouched beside Eric and swiped whipped cream off his mouth and tucked it into her own mouth.

  My eyebrows shot up, but he was as oblivious to her as Kinkly was to him. “Oh, you know, easing a broken heart,” he mumbled.

  Suzy grinned and flipped her long blond hair forward. “I have a much better remedy than whipped cream. Although that’s not a bad addition.”

  Eric sighed. “I’m all out of self-pity for the day. But thanks.”

  Feish snorted and put her hands on her hips. “She wants to get you in the sack, Bigfoot.”

  I choked on my mouthful of whipped cream as Eric’s head swung around to stare at Suzy. “What?”

  And for all that was holy, the half-siren blushed. “I like you, Eric. You’re sweet and kind, and handsome. And . . . you make me smile.”

  I scrambled to my feet, grabbed Feish by the hand, and hauled her to the back door. “Time to go.”

  “Wait, what are we doing? I want to see what he says!” Feish tried pulling me back the other way, but I didn’t release her.

  Of all the times we needed to be out of the house, Suzy and Eric potentially getting together was high on the priority list.

  “We’ll find something to do,” I said.

  Heaven help me, I found a little more than I’d bargained for.

  Again.

  4

  “Where are we going?” Feish let me drag her down the street, away from my gran’s house where Suzy and Eric may or may not have been hooking up. I certainly didn’t want to be there to find out. I silently apologized to Gran for leaving her behind. I mean, it wasn’t like I could take her with me, but still . . . she’d be mad when I got back.

  “I don’t know, anywhere but the house,” I said.

  “I think Boss is back.” Feish got this sly look in her bulbous eyes.

  I shook my head. “I turned him down. Or he turned me down. Both maybe.”

  Her fish mouth bobbed open like she was gasping for air. It was a disconcerting look for sure. “Whaaaat?”

  “Look, I know he’s out of my league!” I almost shouted. I could feel my control slipping as we drew closer to Centennial Park. Really, it wasn’t a park but a graveyard that extended well beyond the walls that were supposed to contain it. The closer I got, the more my agitation increased, until I was all but vibrating with it.

  Because what had happened in the kitchen still bothered me.

  “You too good for him anyway,” Feish said softly. “He’s used goods.”

  Her assessment of Crash put me over the edge of crazy laughter. I stopped at the brick wall surrounding Centennial Park and leaned against it as I laughed till I had to cross my legs. Tears streamed down my face as I clung to the wall. Used goods. Crash was used goods?

  Like . . . was that something he (or any man) would ever worry about? Doubtful.

  “Why so funny?” Feish asked. “He was a ladies’ man for long time. Not now. But long time.”

  That made me remember those girls who’d been under his arms at the fae in-between we’d stumbled into. They’d been stunners, ten plus on the scale, and younger than me by half my years.

  The thing was, whenever I was around Crash, I forgot all that. He drove it out of me, or rather my desire for him did. Whenever I was near him, I was filled with the heated wish to explore every muscle on his body with my mouth. I pressed my forehead against the coolness of the bricks, calm slowly suffusing me.

  “I’m hungry,” Feish announced suddenly. “Let’s go to the Pirates’ House. I want pecan pie.” She looped an arm through mine and dragged me in the general direction of the restaurant. The last thing I wanted was food. The chemical whipped cream felt like it was curdling in my belly, which, let me tell you, was a crappy feeling. I let her lead us for a few minutes before I realized we weren’t heading toward the restaurant at all. What was she up to now?

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “I am,” Feish insisted, pulling me to the left. I pulled back. We were down by Factors Row, and a set of eight long, hairy legs dangled down from the walkway above. I looked at Feish, who shrugged.

  The legs belonged to Jinx, a shifter of sorts who frequented Factors Row. Really, she was more of a trickster who could change shapes as an added bonus.

  “Jinx, what are you editing now?” I called up to her, and she scrambled away. A red pen fell from the rafters, along with a series of papers that floated down like oversized snowflakes.

  “Nothing!” she yelled as she dropped to the ground and scooped up the papers. They stuck to the toxic hairs that covered her legs. “I’m not editing.”

  “No?” I picked up a sheet of neatly printed paper that had landed near my feet. The series of red marks across the page would no doubt be the bane of any writer’s existence. “Looks like you’re editing to me.”

  “Proofreading,” she snapped, one hairy leg yanking the paper away from me. I made sure to not touch her.

  The spines in her hairy legs were a bad match for me, and the last time I’d encountered them, I’d needed a lot of help—namely from Crash—in order to come out of the stupor she’d put me in.

  “What are you doing here?” Jinx scuttled sideways, hugging the papers to her chest, not unlike the way I had held the manila envelope filled with papers about my family’s deaths.

  “Looking for trouble,” Feish said. “You hear of any jobs? I think you might know of one.”

  I shot a look at Feish. What the hell was she going on about? Our new odd jobs group, which we had yet to call anything but Gran’s Girls, had heard about a couple of potential jobs this week, but none were really promising and hadn’t panned out. Still, I wasn’t positive I wanted to ask Jinx for help. She was definitely trouble with a capital T.

  Jinx looked hard at Feish and then gave a slow nod. “Goblin looking for help yesterday.” She tapped one long spindly leg against her mouth, which drew my attention to her long, curved fangs.

  “We want that job,” Feish said.

  “We do?” I looked at Feish, who was trying hard not to look at me at all. She kept her eyes fixed on the giant spider.

  Jinx rubbed one fang with the tip of her foot. “If I tell you about him, will you bring me a book on editing?”

  The weirdness that was my life and Savannah had no bounds.

  Feish clapped her webbed hands together. “Right now.”

  Apparently, this was happening.

  I sighed. “Sure thing. One book on edits, coming up.”

  Which was how I found myself back in the used bookstore on River Street. The owner narrowed his eyes at me, looking me up and down. “Do I know you?”

  “Nope.” I strode into the place like I hadn’t loudly (and a tad aggressively) demanded a copy of Charlotte’s Web on my last visit—also for Jinx. I made my way through the store to the non-fiction section to find a bunch of books on how to write. Fewer on editing, but there were a couple.

  I pulled out one that was super thick, the edges turned down, and had lots of highlights and marks on its pages. That would do the trick. I tucked it under my arm, ready to go.

  Feish tapped me on the shoulder. “I’m looking for a good book on romance. I want to understand how it should happen between two people. Where should I start?”

  I schooled my face because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings if she hoped to find herself a man. “Well, try the romance section. See if they have any of Denise Grover Swank’s books. They’re super fun. Pe
rfect amount of heat and giggles. You can’t go wrong with her.”

  Feish gave me a wide grin and hurried off down another thin alleyway of books. Apparently, we weren’t in any hurry to get back to Jinx, so I let my feet take me where they would. The place was a maze, and I was happy to get lost in it for a while. I certainly didn’t want to head back home anytime soon.

  Given the way that Suzy had been eyeing Eric like the first meal she’d been handed in weeks, they’d be at it for a while. Lawdy jaysus, at least someone was getting laid.

  I grimaced again at the thought of Gran being stuck in there with them, but then I found myself grinning. I was so going to get an earful when I got back and that just made me . . . happy. Because it could be far worse. I could be without Gran entirely. I’d take her being mad at me from time to time if it meant I got to keep her in my life.

  My fingers brushing across the spines of the shelved books, I stopped dead in my tracks when one book heated and all but glued itself to my fingertips. Slowly I turned and looked at the item in question. There were no words on the outer edge, and when I pulled it out, the cover didn’t have anything on it either. It reminded me of the way I used to cover my textbooks with brown kraft paper.

  I flipped it open, and then shoved it back as soon as I saw the interior title page.

  Black Spells of Savannah and the Undead.

  I turned, flushed with a weird sense of foreboding, and immediately stumbled over someone.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” I hit the side of the aisle and looked down at the person I’d stepped on.

  Oster Boon, the leprechaun with fangs I’d bought Gran’s red leather-bound book from, stared up at me. He smiled. “Breena, I see you are still alive. That is rather shocking.”

  “Pardon . . . what?” I stumbled over the words. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, seems like you’ve stirred the ants’ nest quite sufficiently.” He smiled and there wasn’t anything about it that screamed mean, but I still took a step back. “Just wanted to make sure you remember you owe me a favor. Try not to die before I call it in.”