Read Demon's Delight for Free Online

right.” It perfectly explained Chris Mere, the big grabby rhyming kissing dolt.
    And the bastard was strong. Well, he was big, so she should have expected it, but she’d had no idea how much physical power was lurking within those ropy muscles. She’d tried her very best to beat the hell out of him, and he’d come away from it with only scratches.
    But he’d be sore tomorrow, by God.
    Her parents had been utterly at a loss. It was inconceivable that a Mere showed up years early, that a Mere was talking peace. Neither of them knew what to do, and both of them thought it might be a trick or a trap of some kind. The de Meres had a centuries-old rep for treachery.
    Interestingly, Violet spoke up for him. And Rhea had been forced to admit to Power and Flower that not only had he not hurt the little girl, he’d taken several blows to avoid hurting her . That made her folks reel all over again.
    After some discussion, they decided it would be disrespectful (not to mention leaving them open to embarrassing questions if someone stopped by) to leave an unconscious Mere in their driveway, so they dragged him inside, all the way to the guest room.
    Her mother had hesitantly brought a warm, wet washcloth, tiptoed to the bed, then handed the washcloth to Rhea and hurriedly left, clearly not interested in hanging around the unconscious witch.
    Rhea considered gagging him with the washcloth, then gave it up and gently wiped the gravel and small trickles of dried blood off the left side of his face. Once she had that clean enough, she moved to the right side—
    â€”and quick as thought, he was awake and grabbing her wrist, yanking it back from his face. That startled her even more than the kiss, the way he went from flat-out cold unconsciousness to being wide awake, if a little disoriented.
    â€œOh. It’s you. Hey, sunshi—oh, God, my head. My aching, breaking head. How long have I been out?”
    â€œAn hour,” she said, handing him the washcloth. He folded it into a small square and rested it on his forehead. “Give or take a few minutes.”
    â€œWho hit me from behind?” he asked groggily. “Fucking Goodmans; do you ever try a frontal assault?”
    â€œMe,” she replied, ignoring the very uncomfortable feeling his comment planted. “I brought my leg up and kicked you in the back of the skull.”
    â€œSo that’s why the room is spinning. I thought we were on a merry-go-round with a bed.”
    â€œNot hardly.”
    â€œI am totally astonished—yet grateful—to find myself not dead. I don’t know how you were all able to restrain yourselves.”
    â€œEven we cold-blooded murderers wouldn’t slit the vocal cords on an unconscious witch.”
    â€œSlit the—”
    â€œSure. That’s how I’ll have to kill you. You won’t be able to rhyme—make magic—and you’ll bleed out in about a minute and a half.”
    He touched various cuts and scrapes, wincing as he did so. “If anybody can do it, you can.”
    â€œOh, stop.”
    â€œNo, really.”
    â€œYou’re just saying that.”
    â€œNo, I’m not. You could absolutely do it.”
    â€œWell, thanks. I appreciate that. But if you’re feeling better—”
    â€œI am not.”
    â€œâ€”you’d better hit the road. My dad’s pretty upset, and my mom’s not too happy, either.”
    â€œWhy am I in a bedroom?”
    â€œWell. We couldn’t just leave you in the driveway like a dead earthworm.”
    â€œHow charitable.”
    â€œDamn straight, considering the fact that your father killed my dad’s older brother.”
    â€œI’m pretty sure it was the other way around.”
    â€œEither way, time to go.”
    â€œBut I have contusions,” he moaned, as she pulled him into a sitting position. “And possibly a fractured skull. You can’t just turn me out into the