Free Demon Hunting In the Deep South by Lexi George

malevolence pervaded the tiny space. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. As she watched in helpless terror, the demon reached for her with clawed hands.
    The wind chime clanged again, breaking the evil spell.
    Evie screamed.
     
    Ansgar closed his eyes. Leaving Evie to her ablutions, he’d retreated to the kitchen, but he could not escape the sounds from down the hall. The Dalvahni had excellent hearing. The gentle slosh as Evie eased into the tub, the splash and trickle of the heated water caressing her skin, swirling over her beautiful breasts and thighs—he heard it all.
    Sweet torment.
    He cursed himself and his weakness. He was not good enough for her. She deserved better. He’d deluded himself in thinking he could resist her. She was a flame-haired enchantress, and he was her helpless captive.
    A sharp sound, like the tinkle of breaking glass, made him open his eyes. A wiggin hovered at the end of his nose; a fairy gardener, caretaker of root, moss, bracken, and bramble. No bigger than the palm of his hand, the wiggin was naked but for a few strands of cobweb. It had skin the color of old leaves. Brown, lacy wings delicately veined with streaks of silver-green fluttered rapidly from the fairy’s slender shoulders. The tiny creature regarded Ansgar with hard, dark eyes from a face like carved bark. Having gained Ansgar’s attention, the fairy flitted in agitated circles around his head, a stream of high-pitched, frantic chatter issuing from its tiny mouth.
    “You must speak more slowly, little one,” Ansgar said. “I cannot understand you.”
    With an impatient huff, the fairy flew closer. “Danger!” the wiggin chirped in his ear.
    At the same time, the wind chimes in the garden rang in discordant warning. Ansgar opened his mind and located the threat, seeing with his inner eye the malignant shadow on the other side of the house. The patch of darkness oozed up the wall and through the bathroom window.
    Evangeline; the djegrali had found her. And he, blinded by misery and unthinking lust, had neglected to strengthen the shield spells around the house, leaving her vulnerable.
    Evie screamed. Quicker than thought, the fairy darted across the room and down the hall. Ansgar was faster. Lifting his hand, he burst the door off the hinges and streaked into the bathroom. Evie sat in the tub, encased in a solid sheet of black ice. Jagged icicles rimed the walls and window casing, and sprang like glittering knives from the chamber floor. A barrier of greenish-gold light separated her from the furious demon. Fairy magic, no doubt. Poisonous spells hung in the air, detritus from the djegrali’s frustrated attempts to break through the shield.
    “Ilsann,” Ansgar said.
    His bow of Gorthian yew appeared in his hands. He nocked an arrow and fired. With a venomous hiss, the djegrali fled, shattering the window in its haste to escape, and Ansgar’s arrow hit the wall in a shower of harmless sparks.
    Dropping his bow, Ansgar kicked a path through the ice daggers and bent over Evie. She cried out and shrank back.
    “Easy, sweetling,” he said. “You are safe.”
    With a blow of his fist, he shattered the ice surrounding her.
    “D-demon.” She was shaking with cold. “T-through the window.”
    “Shh.” He lifted her out of the tub. “The djegrali is gone.”
    She wrapped her arms around his neck and let her head droop against his shoulder. Something twisted inside him at the gesture of helpless trust. He closed his eyes, shaking with relief. He had failed her again. If something had happened to her, if the fairies had not protected her . . .
    The very thought drained the strength from his limbs. He was a warrior, accustomed to combat and strife, danger and pain. Thousands of years of battle, injuries beyond counting, and never had he reacted like this. Never had he needed anyone like this.
    He was becoming as weak as an old woman because of her. This is what he had feared. This is why he’d left, this