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  CLAIMED BY THE DEMON HUNTER

  Guardians of Humanity Book 1

  HARLEY JAMES

  CLAIMED BY THE DEMON HUNTER

  Copyright © 2019 by Harley James

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is coincidental.

  This book was formerly titled Unholy Proposal by Misty Dietz. This book has been modified from the original, and Misty is now going by the pen name Harley James. All rights to this book are owned by the original author and copyright infringement is NOT being done to Misty Dietz.

  Cover Design by Cover Couture: www.bookcovercouture.com

  The following details are for the stock credits: Photo (c) Adobestock/Fxquadro. Photo (c) Depositphotos/nikkytok. Photo (c) Depositphotos/blurAZ1. Photo (c) Shutterstock/Sabphoto. Photo (c) Depositphotos/VERSUSstudio. Photo (c) Depositphotos/Photon.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Wanted by the Demon Hunter Sneak Peek

  About Harley James

  In order to know virtue,

  we must first acquaint ourselves with vice.

  ~Marquis de Sade

  For my brother, who is spectacularly

  acquainted with both.

  Chapter 1

  Jessie Blaze whapped her wooden spoon on the kitchen counter and grimaced at the apartment wall where her neighbor’s headboard had been banging off and on for damn near three hours. A sexual boot camp that made it nearly impossible to study for tomorrow’s Constitutional Law test, which she was going to flunk if she didn’t get some food and serenity around here stat.

  “Whoever he brought home’s not gonna be able to walk for a week.” She leaned down to bare her teeth at Scourge, her ten-year-old Chihuahua who was sitting in his chair at the table. Scourge growled back before giving her a sloppy doggy kiss.

  The wall abuse continued, only now her neighbor’s bed buddy added vocals in an impressive soprano. Jessie rolled her eyes, but couldn’t suppress a shiver. It had been too long since she’d scratched that kind of itch, and she wouldn’t be breaking the dry spell any time soon. Being a female bartender provided loads of opportunities for sexual escapades, but watching people get liquored up and making all the same mistakes night after night had a way of dampening her enthusiasm for accepting any of the inevitable offers. And between work, school, worrying about her uncle, and taking care of Gramma and Grampa, there simply wasn’t time to get to know anyone.

  So here she was, twenty-six-going-on-sixty, trying to be responsible and study, but instead only managing to visualize herself as the one pressed up against her mysterious and well-mannered neighbor’s tall, hard body. Those sculpted shoulders rising above her, his come here I wanna bite you lips descending, her skin burning for his touch…

  Burning?

  Smoke from the pan.

  Water sizzling as it overflowed the pot of spaghetti.

  Jessie lunged for the stove, swearing. She pulled both the pan of charred hamburger and the pot of noodles off the burners as boiling water sloshed across the stovetop.

  Stupid Nate. Why’d he have to flaunt his hookup like this? She could’ve sworn he was interested in her. Especially after he’d helped her deal with her on-again-off-again date’s tumble down the stairs.

  And the mailbox debacle.

  She’d even noticed him inhaling deeply like he was appreciating a wine’s rich bouquet whenever he held the door open for her. Which was a little creepy, but his sexy smile mitigated the weird factor. She hadn’t seen him with anyone before, so she’d hoped he might be single and…

  You are so lame, Jessie.

  And unfair. She didn’t know much about him other than he had a sexed-up British accent, a smile that made her knees weak, a body that made her forget her own name, and eyes that made her slumbering right brain wake up and spout poetry. Just because he knew his way around a woman’s body—some other woman’s body, gah—didn’t mean she should take her sexual frustrations out on him.

  Maybe she should bring more JBlaze into her everyday life—her stage name when she tied on her bar apron.

  An ass-kicking, name-taking, booty poppin’ diva.

  Jessie looked down where Scourge licked a pile of noodles off the floor. She turned off both burners and picked up her dog as a new round of moaning and headboard slamming began next door. Her dreams—and worries—were bigger than a momentary heartbreak by a guy who could charm a chastity belt off a nun.

  “Looks like we’re gonna have to swing by McDonalds before hitting the library, Scourgie. You’ll have to hide in my purse again.” With only two hours before the law library closed, she didn’t want to fuss with getting gussied up. Besides, Mr. Charisma was already occupied next door, and she seriously doubted any hunky law students would be prowling the library this late on a Friday night. She shoved her papers and books into her bag, slipped on her fuzzy boots, grabbed her coat, purse, keys, and Scourge. She hustled out the door and…

  Bumped into a fantasy.

  “Whoa! Easy there, angel.” A deep voice rolled over her skin.

  A British voice.

  Hell in a handbasket.

  Nate.

  Jessie ducked her head and pushed out of his grasp because she wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup. Or a bra. Balls. Not a good call when you’re a double D. Déjà vu drifted over her from the day he’d moved in and caught her in the same predicament.

  Except that morning she’d been wearing nothing but a baggy white t-shirt and underwear.

  She pulled her book bag and Scourge in front of her like a Kevlar vest. Then noticed she’d knocked a bunch of grocery bags out of his hands when she’d barreled out of her apartment at Mach whatever.

  She and Nate bent down to the grocery bags and knocked heads at the precise moment the woman in Nate’s apartment reached her throat-ripping climax. Nate made a low sound like he was in pain, causing all the skin on Jessie’s upper body to prickle. Her gaze shot up to find his saturated blue eyes burning with intensity and his lips—oh wow—those beautiful lips just inches from her own. “Y-you aren’t home?”

  His ultra serious expression slid away as a slight dimple peeked beside his lips. Had she really spoken out loud? OMG, Jessie. Her face had to be drowning in an ocean of red. “What I mean is…” I’m so deliriously happy you’re not the one banging that chick into next
week.

  There was nothing she could say that would make this less awkward, so she handed him a red pepper, wondering what he planned to make with it. “Glad the eggs are okay, and sorry to plow you over,” she managed without stuttering again.

  He ignored the jug of pomegranate juice, Gruyere cheese, and various types of produce splayed across the floor, choosing to pet Scourge, the little traitor, who’d bailed from her bag and now had his front paws on Nate’s chest. “They’ve been a bit loud, eh? Good for them. I thought they’d be finished by now. How long have they been at it?”

  Her mouth gaped for a spit second before she recovered. “I am so not having this conversation with you.” The heat in his eyes made her suddenly aware of her pointy, unprotected nipples. She rearranged her scarf over her breasts the best she could. Then she reached for Scourge and stuffed him in back in her bag. “See you around, Nate.”

  She started to rise when he grabbed her elbow and helped her to feet. “Hey, where are you going so late anyway?”

  As casually as possible, she pulled a few more strands of hair out of her messy bun to flitter around her face. All the better to hide behind because these awful fluorescent hallway lights managed to point out every imperfection on your mug. “It’s not late for night owls like me. I’m heading out for a bite to eat before I hit the library.”

  Moans started anew next door. Nate stepped closer, raising Jessie’s heart rate tenfold.

  “Oh excellent! I’m a night owl, too, so I’d like to propose a deal for you, Jessica.”

  Of course he did.

  But she’d never tried a foursome, and tonight was damn well not going to be her first. Her glance raked him over, from his scuffed leather boots, up his jean-clad, muscle-bound thighs, to the snap-front olive shirt rolled to expose his sexy forearms—doesn’t he feel the cold? It’s like forty degrees outside—to those lips, all-seeing eyes, and carelessly artful mahogany hair. Talk about a total contrast to her oversized University of Minnesota sweatshirt, UGG boots, and spaghetti sauce-splattered yoga pants. Back away from the pretty man, Jessie. “I…I’m sorry. I really have to get to the library to study. Big test tomorrow.”

  He tilted his head to one side with a lazy smile that made her anything but relaxed. “With your dog?”

  “He was at the vet for shots this afternoon. I never leave him alone in case has a delayed reaction.” She glanced down at her baby. “ I know it’s silly.”

  “Not at all. It’s quite endearing. How about you allow me to help you? In fact, we can aid one another. You’ve got to admit, I can’t possibly go in and interrupt that.” He gave her a perfectly executed wink that he had to have practiced in a mirror. “Like I said, I thought they’d be sated by now. But since they’re not, and I have these,” he lifted his grocery bags, “let me cook us a quiche while you study. I promise not to be a bother.”

  “What?” He couldn’t be serious.

  “I’ll even quiz you after a while.”

  “Quiz?” she squeaked.

  “Sure. I’ll ask questions from the chapter you’re studying, and you can answer.” How did he get his eyes to twinkle like that? “Then I’ll feed you quiche,” he said.

  “Quiche?”

  “You know, eggs, cream—”

  She squeezed Scourge so hard he yelped. Come on, Jess, full sentences. “I know what quiche is.”

  “If you don’t like it, I can make something else. Trust me, I’m an experienced cook.”

  This was just…bizarre. “I like quiche,” she mumbled.

  “I remember,” he said, his voice deep and thick, trapping her in the memory of the day he’d moved in. How she’d babbled on about quiche of all things.

  She wondered, asininely, if a face could actually melt in a physiological response to embarrassment.

  When he reached for her doorknob, she finally shook out of her stupor. “No, wait!” Why would he make her quiche? She pointed to his door. “Go in there and tell them to take their party elsewhere. Good grief, they’ve been at it for two and half hours already.”

  “Look, here’s what happened. My mate Dorian got to town and didn’t take the time to find a hotel room before he hooked up. When he asked to use my place, I didn’t realize he was so depleted. My apologies.”

  Depleted? What an odd way to describe horny, but whatever. Scourge squirmed in her bag. “Well, by now I’m sure he’s dulled the edge enough to wait fifteen minutes to find a hotel for the rest of the night. I’d kick them out if I were you,” she said.

  Nate shrugged. “I don’t want to pester them when they’re having such a grand time. Come on, Jessica. I’d love to feed you.” His eyes mapped the contours of her body from top to bottom. He smiled when his gaze made it back to hers. “I promise it’ll be good.”

  Oh, wow. This guy was a walking innuendo. TWTA: Trouble With a Tight Ass. Good looks do not preclude homicidal intentions, Jess. Ted Bundy had been a reasonably handsome guy with loads of charm, too.

  So they said.

  Did serial killers cook quiche, though?

  A tiny voice inside her head told her to open her door and hold on the for the ride. Jessie peered into Nate’s eyes looking for the tell-tale vacancy she’d read about in her undergrad abnormal psych classes. She shivered when she found the opposite of vacancy. So much depth there, she could fall right into his eyes. Her fingers tightened on her bag strap. “Okay, you can come in, but only for a little while.” Heart thumping overtime, she turned to unlock her door, then cringed when she saw the ungodly mess she’d left in the kitchen. “Crap. I forgot how I left the place. Guess this isn’t going to work after all.”

  When she turned around, he was in her space. Like right there. She tilted her head back to look at him and swallowed hard. Oh man, he smelled good. Layered notes of leather and vetiver and a vivid memory of the ocean from her childhood. One from when times were actually good with her mother.

  “Any cook worth his or her salt gets used to rip-roaring messes. You’ve got a doozy. Guess it’s your lucky day I’m here.” He tapped her on the nose and walked in.

  Twenty minutes later, the stove sparkled, the quiche was baking, and Scourge was fast asleep on Jessie’s lap as she shuffled her Constitutional Law notes on the table. Not that she’d been able to concentrate with Nate’s fine ass moving around her kitchen like he owned the place. Of course, she could always hope that osmosis worked because Lord knew she’d practically burned a hole in the pages looking at them.

  At least things had finally quieted down next door, so she’d begun to relax.

  Nate sat down across from her and handed her a glass of Gewürztraminer. “Sorry, it’s all I have at the moment.” One side of his lips lifted. “Cheers.”

  Her glass clinked against his before she sipped the wine. “It’s nice. I’m a bartender, but I don’t drink much, so this is a treat.” She gestured to the oven. “Hey, if you want to go home now, I can bring the quiche over when it’s ready.”

  “Tossing me out already?”

  “I thought it’d be more like a get out of jail free card for you.”

  He tugged on a coil of hair by her ear. “Are you kidding me? I’ve been trying to think of a way to ask you out since way before the mailbox incident last week.”

  When her pen fumbled to the floor, she was thankful Scourge was on her lap to give her hands something to do. “That was not my fault.” Her overheating face said otherwise, however. It took a special kind of stupid to get your hair stuck in a metal mailbox. “I’m telling you, poltergeists live in those little black holes. But anyway, thank you again.” She took back-to-back gulps of wine. Seriously, why was he here? She’d bet a whole week’s bartending tips that she was frumpville compared to the other girls who crossed his path on a daily basis.

  He stood up from the table, and just like that, her fairy tale was about to end. He would leave now, but that was A-okay because prince charmings didn’t compute in her world. She had bills to pay, grades to maintain, an uncle to avenge, gr
andparents to care for, new employers to impress—

  “Bring your glass and come here, Jess.” He held his hand out to her.

  “Where are we going?”

  His slow smile mocked her. “Do you always need to know all the answers before you leap?”

  “Yes. Prosecutors always press for the truth.”

  He winked, sat down on her couch, and patted the cushion next to him. “So, no defense law in store for you.” It wasn’t a question. “Gonna save the day as a prosecutor then. That’s brilliant.”

  That slight English accent was terribly alluring. As was the invitation to sit next to him. She chose her favorite threadbare chair instead. Scourge soon claimed her lap. “I’ve never asked, but are you from around here?” she asked. He’d moved into the building exactly forty-seven days ago. She remembered it well because it was the same day Uncle Mason had called to tell her he’d been manipulated into selling his nightclub.

  “More or less.” He swirled the sweet, woodsy liquid in his glass.

  It was the first time he’d spoken that he hadn’t looked her in the eye. Her curiosity was piqued. “Meaning you’re from Minnesota in general? Or you were born elsewhere, but you’ve been here a while?” The latter seemed more likely because of his accent.

  “I bloom where I’m planted. Now tell me, why law?”

  She opened her mouth to call him on his evasive answer, then closed it. This wasn’t Moot Court, and acting like a pit bull tended to get exhausting after a spell. Not to mention, it wasn’t the best way to get to know a guy. She drank the rest of her wine and settled back into the chair. A pleasant tingling began to wind about her legs. “I want to be a voice for vulnerable populations—battered women, children, the elderly, disabled veterans.”