The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance

grimaced, then helped herself to another from a different bunch.
    Jen wondered what tragedy had Mrs Hambly all worked up today. Last week it had been the kids lurking outside the variety store, and the week before that it was the lack of personal service at the ATM.
    Planting her crutches, Jen added a head of lettuce and a couple of tomatoes to her cart. Ahead of her, Gail absently filled a bag with peaches, her attention on Mrs Hambly as she asked in hushed tones, “Does Sheriff Hale think she was killed there, or the body brought from somewhere else?”
    “Didn’t say,” Mrs Hambly snorted. “Maybe he doesn’t want to give anything away. Maybe that’s part of the investigation.”
    Jen stared at the two women in shock. “Killed?” she echoed. “Who? Where?”
    “ Sheriff fished a woman - well, actually, parts of her - out of the stream that runs through the woods between your place and the Peteri’s this morning,” Mrs Hambly said bluntly. “Naked. Dead. You didn’t know?”
    “No.” Jen shook her head, horrified. The forest between her place and the Peteri’s stretched for miles, and somewhere in those miles a woman had died. Parts of her. Which meant that parts were still missing. She shuddered in horror, not willing to ask.
    “He thinks she was in the water for about two weeks,” Gail added.
    Two weeks. Memories drifted like smoke, coalescing into solid recollection of the afternoon that Daemon had first turned up on her doorstep. After he’d left her that day, she’d sensed something in the woods, watching her. Something dark and frightening.
    There are all sorts of monsters in this world, Jen. His words reeled through her thoughts. For an instant, she’d been so certain that Daemon was talking about himself. But had he known about the dead woman?
    “You hate tomatoes, Jen Cassaday. What’re you buying them for?” Mrs Hambly demanded, peering into Jen’s cart.
    “They’re . . .” She shook her head, gathering her thoughts. “They’re for the handyman. He mentioned he has a fondness for tomatoes on his turkey sandwich.”
    “Why doesn’t your handyman bring his own lunch?” Mrs Hambly questioned at the same time that Gail asked, “You have a handyman working for you? Is it wise to have a stranger in the house with . . . well, with a woman dead and all?”
    Jen shrugged with a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “He works hard. And he seems to understand old houses.”
    “But you hired a stranger! You don’t know anything about him,” Gail exclaimed.
    “He had references,” Jen replied softly. For what that was worth. They dated back two weeks, which was about how long Daemon Alexander had been working for her, the same amount of time that the Sheriff was guessing the dead body had been in the woods. What was she supposed to make of that?
    The two women pegged her with identical “Are you crazy?” looks. But Jen knew she wasn’t. She’d had this built-in radar detector for trouble all her life. It would uncoil and flare hard and bright if ever she was in danger. It had never failed her, and she was counting on that now, because the only vibe she got off Daemon Alexander was a sizzle of hotter-than-hell chemistry.
    And that was a whole other kind of dangerous.
    Daemon moved through the dense woods, silent, quick. A little moonlight filtered through the heavy canopy of branches and leaves. That was fine. He didn’t need light.
    He stopped beside the rotting trunk of a fallen oak. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and set the trinity free, sent the shadows out into the darkness. The three misty shapes rose from his skin, snaked around his limbs and through them, blending, adapting, taking form then dissipating.
    “Hunt,” he said, sending them to their task. They darted away into the night, unseen, unheard. But there. A silent menace.
    His resources no longer twined with theirs, he summoned his stores of magic, a surge of bright power. He could see in the dark. He could run for miles. He could hear the breath of the smallest creatures in their burrows.
    And he could sense dark magic. It made the continuum writhe and twist at the insult.
    Something other than him laid claim to these woods. And it had killed. Recently. He could smell human blood and brimstone, feel the surge of demon power in the air.
    Following instinct, he ran, skirting trees and vaulting logs, his blood pumping through him, the wind clean and cold in his face.
    He hunted. And he found them.
    Hybrids.