Angie Fox - ADS 03 - A Tale of Two Demon Slayers

“It won’t.” He stood directly in front of me, his expression earnest. “This time, I promise, Lizzie. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure the next few weeks are just about us.”

He ran his thumb along my lower lip, and I was about to reach up and kiss him when Pirate dashed in from the side hall. His claws clattered across the floor as he rounded a potted fig tree, slid five feet and ran straight into my left leg.

“Have you seen a cat? Medium build? Beady eyes? Smart mouth?”

“I think Dimitri would have warned us if you had to worry about a cat,” I said, reaching for my dog as he danced out of my grip.

Pirate tended to have an active imagination. Pair it with his ability to see ghosts, and well…Who knew what he’d been chasing?

Dimitri scanned the corners of the entryway. “Actually, one of our guests…has a cat,” he said, with a reluctance that worried me. “I’m not sure if she brought it with her. Frankly, I thought she’d be gone by the time we arrived.”

Pirate circled twice before sitting. “Ornery gal?” he asked, his tail thwomping the floor, “Likes to talk tough?”

“Are we talking about the cat or the guest?” I asked.

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Dimitri said. “Come with me.”

We walked through the back hallway and into a dining room the size of the entire first floor of my condo back home. Arched ceilings and doorways gave it a majestic feel. A sturdy, highly glossed table stood in the middle of the room.

The honey gold wood shone in the evening sunlight and maintained the aura of polished elegance, despite the take-out bags littering the far end.

“Christolo extends his apologies,” Dimitri said. “While he held up admirably during the events of this afternoon, our dinner did not fare as well.”

A long-faced Greek man unloaded the food.

Next to him, a beautiful olive-skinned woman watched us enter the room. She wore a white pleated dress that was both stylish and traditional at the same time, like a modern version of the old goddesses.

My griffin paused in the doorway, and I didn’t think it had anything to do with the Papagalos Restaurant bags or the smell of braised lamb shanks and rosemary.

The woman wore a wry expression as she lifted her wineglass to us in a silent toast before touching it to her lips.

Dimitri stiffened. “Amara.”

The tension between them was palpable, and I didn’t miss the way she tilted her head, exposing her long neck as she eased her wavy black hair from her shoulders. “Hello, Dimitri.” Her crisp Greek accent gave her words a heady feel. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you.”

She strolled toward us like a model on a catwalk, glass in hand. “You must be Lizzie,” she said, offering her hand.

I took it, ignoring the way she pursed her lips.

“See?” she said, turning to the man who unloaded the bags. “I can shake hands like an American. Heaven knows she can’t greet us like a griffin.”

I forced myself to smile. “Want me to greet you like a demon slayer?” She was just asking for a switch star up the rear.

“Charming as usual, Amara,” Dimitri said tightly. “Lizzie, I’d also like you to meet Amara’s brother, Talos.”

Talos gave a quick nod, his eyes coolly assessing me.

“They’ve been helping my sisters with their recovery,” Dimitri explained. “Speaking of those two—”

“We stopped down to the cellar for an extra bottle of wine,” Dyonne said, breezing past us and plunking a bottle of red Mavrotragano onto the table.

At least the food was good. Dyonne had ordered lamb shanks with orzo pasta and all of the fixings.

I dug a fork through a wedge of fried haloumi cheese, wondering how long Amara would be staying and trying my darndest not to look at her. It was tough, considering Dimitri had positioned himself at the head of the table, I sat to his right and Amara had inserted herself to his left. Diana and Dyonne lined up on the other side of me, and Talos took the same position on the other side of the table, like opposing armies.

“You going to stab her with a fork?” Diana whispered in my ear.

“What?” I looked down and discovered I’d basically drawn, quartered and gutted my cheese.

Amara, for her part, launched into yet another story of one of the baths she and Dimitri had taken together as children. “We’re both royal griffins, you see,” she said, pursing her glossed lips, “so it made sense for our parents to bring us together.”

Dimitri looked as disturbed as I felt. And how did she keep her lip gloss on during a meal?

I started in on a new piece of cheese as Dimitri wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Amara, I don’t think we need to hear any more about the past. It’s been over for a long time,” he said, looking at me while talking to her.

Lovely. It was as if both of them were talking to me and I had no idea what to say back.

Amara winked at me as if I were in on the joke. “Of course past is past.” She stabbed a grape with her fork. “I mean, yes they wanted us to get married. But nothing was final. We were not officially engaged until two years ago. When we both agreed to it.”

I flicked the cheese straight into Talos’s lap.

Dimitri was engaged?

Shock rocketed through me. Dimitri—my Dimitri—had been engaged to her ?

I schooled my expression, unwilling to let Amara get the best of me. It was what she wanted, and darned if I’d give her the satisfaction. At least nobody but Talos seemed to have noticed my flying haloumi. He looked as embarrassed as I felt as he wrapped it in his napkin and scooted it down the table.

I realized I was bending my fork, dropped it on the table and reached for my wineglass.

Dimitri, his ears red and his mouth grim, looked primed and ready to do a little fork origami of his own. “It was long ago, Amara. Hardly worth discussing now.”

Talos cleared his throat. “Not that long.”

“Two years,” Diana insisted.

“You were both very ill.” Amara lobbed a patronizing smile at Diana. “We couldn’t begin to think of our own happiness. It wasn’t the right time.”

“Or the right situation,” Dimitri fumed.

“He means person,” Dyonne volunteered.

“Dyonne,” Dimitri warned.

“I’m just saying,” she said, elbowing Diana, who knocked into me.

“Oh, how dare you?” Amara asked in mock offense. “And after I hear your little demon slayer needs my help.”

The table grew silent. I was tempted, so tempted to tell her I didn’t need her, that I’d never accept help from someone like her. But I didn’t.

No matter how much she taunted me or smirked. Despite the insinuations or the attitude, I’m a demon slayer and sometimes my life wasn’t pretty. In fact, it could be downright disturbing. I didn’t have the luxury to pick and choose who came to my aid. She could plant a stripper pole in the middle of the table and start gyrating and I still wouldn’t back down and refuse the help I needed.

I would choose to take the high road when it came to griffins like Amara. Better yet, I could hope the low road would lead her straight over a cliff.

I ignored the way she leaned over the table so that her boobs practically fell out of her dress. “I understand you’re psychic,” I said to her.

She treated me to a smirk. “I’ve been known to sense things from time to time.”

Okay. I’d play. “You knew to get out of the house before the imps came calling today.”

Her eyes held mine. “Sometimes, I can see things coming. Today smelled like sulfur and demons.”

Dyonne huffed. “A warning would have been nice.”

“It could have been anything,” she said with the shrug of a well-sculpted shoulder, going back to her meal. “Migrating harpies or a lost manticore. One of the furies might have gotten out again. ASPCC usually has a handle on it.”