The Witching Hour (The Grim Reaper Saga (Urban Fantasy Romance)) by Marie Hall Page B

toward the bathroom.
    “Someone finally learn your true name, Demon?” Cian cocked his head. “Took me three centuries to learn it. Not the easiest name to find.”
    Bezel shrugged. “That over-inflated bag of dog waste thinks he does. But he don’t and he won’t.” A deep Kentucky twang twisted the demon’s words.
    He grinned. “You plan on telling him anytime soon? Or are you going to let him discover that the way your last sorcerers have?”
    The demon raised a brow, a smug look on his face. “What do you think? Pass up a chance for a little bloody sport later, no way. You know the drill, Cian. I lull them into a false sense of security. Them bam!” he slammed his fist down on the bar, “when they need me most I turn on them instead. Ha...” Bezel shook his head, “nothing better, ‘cept for maybe gator huntin’ on the Bayou. Now that’s fun right there.”
    “Gator hunting?” Cian chuckled, when the demon set his mind to a character, person, place, or thing he played the role better than an Oscar nominee. “Playing the good ol’ boy this time, I see?”
    Bezel took a swig off the Corona bottle in his hand and burped. “Yeah. Been pretty fun. But I’m ‘bout through with this one. He’s getting boring, thinks a little too highly of himself. Bastard. Thinking that maybe I’ll twist his head clean off, or maybe fillet him down both sides.” He nodded, a pleased expression on his face. “What do you think?”
    Cian shook his head, an I-don’t-wanna-go-there look on his face. “Little too gruesome for me, demon. How about I just take care of the mess afterwards?”
    Bezel gave a toothy grin.
    Cian took another sip of the fire water, his gaze searching out his witch. She was still sitting in the booth, watching as her sisters gyrated on the dance floor.
    It was as if time suspended. The thrum of music faded to an insignificant noise in the background. His only focus was on the dark witch--watching as she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and played with the silver bangles on her wrist.
    He was aware of several men staring in her direction with something other than just mere curiosity. There was hunger, raw and wild, glittering in their eyes. Hers was an exotic beauty rarely seen. He seethed with jealousy, wanting to break several necks for even daring to let their gaze linger for too long. He chugged the last of the fiery brew down and scrubbed a tired hand down his face.
    Bezel snapped his fingers, breaking Cian from his trance. The demon looked from Cian to his witch and back again. His lips curled into a slow smile.
    “The death of a man is a woman.” His lavender eyes glowed like amethyst flames in the darkness.
    Cian nodded and turned around, facing the bar once again. She was a topic he wasn’t willing to discuss, especially not with the demon. “So,” he said, switching subjects, “any of your sorcerers ever allowed to see your true form? I can’t imagine that anyone would bind you if they did.”
    “Bastard,” Bezel snorted, a smirk curling his lips. “But no,” he swallowed the last dregs in his bottle, “don’t want any of them ever learning too much about me. Knowledge is power, and I ain’t in a sharin’ mood.” He shrugged. “Simpler to just become what they want. Makes it easier to control them later on.”  
    Cian’s brows drew together. “Then why disguise yourself as a corn fed country boy?”
    Bezel gave him a deadpan stare.
    Then it clicked. “Ah. Of course.” He chuckled.
    That moment to the next was a blur as rough hands yanked on Cian’s shoulder, twisting him around. Fangs dripping with saliva and the rage twisted face of a Were, greeted him. “We don’t tolerate Fae’s around these parts.”
    Cian shouldered the hand off. “You have two seconds to get out of my face.”
    The Were growled, drawing attention from the group surrounding the bar. “Or what?” His spit landed on the side of Cian’s face. Brown eyes turned black with the