The Dangerous Book for Demon Slayers

CRITICS PRAISE
NEW YORK TIMES
BESTSELLING

AUTHOR ANGIE FOX AND

THE
ACCIDENTAL DEMON SLAYER

"With its sharp, witty writing and unique characters, Angie Fox's
contemporary paranormal debut is fabulously fun."

—
Chicago Tribune

"This rollicking paranormal comedy will appeal to fans of Dakota
Cassidy, MaryJanice Davidson, and Tate Hallaway."

—
Booklist

"A new talent just hit the urban fantasy genre, and she has a genuine
gift for creating dangerously hilarious drama. Fox has created her own unique
flavor of the supernatural, and it's a weird one!"

—
Romantic Times BOOKreviews

"Fox's rollicking, paranormal romance is absolutely full of
laugh-out-loud humor, heart-pumping action and uniquely quirky
characters."

—Romance Junkies

"
The Accidental Demon Slayer
was an unexpected frolic filled
with smart-mouthed geriatric witches, a talking terrier, and a drop-dead sexy
griffin. I read this book in a day; it was hard to put down. Pick it up for yourself
and see."

—Night Owl Romance

"In the über popular genre of paranormal romance, just about
everything has been done before, yet
The Accidental Demon Slayer
keeps
it fresh and unique, carving out a place for itself."

—CK2S Kwips and Kritiques

MORE PRAISE FOR

THE ACCIDENTAL DEMON SLAYER!

"
The Accidental Demon Slayer
is a jackpot read for the
paranormal lover. Angie Fox offers up a plethora of hardened yet screwball
characters, wild and bizarre situations, spells and danger and powers galore,
and let's not forget a simmering pot of sexual tension."

—Once Upon a Romance

"Filled with colorful characters, this is not a Buffy rip off. It's a
fun romp with a definite hillbilly twang that will leave you in stitches. If
this is the start of a series, readers have a lot of laughter to look forward
to."

—Eternal Night

"Oh my,
The Accidental Demon Slayer
is a fun book! Angie Fox's
world and adventures had me laughing as the vivid and hilarious scenarios got
funnier and funnier."

—Merrimon Book Reviews

"
The Accidental Demon Slayer
is an entertaining ride."

—Romance Reviews Today

"Funny and action-packed with quirky details that make it a very
interesting debut… well worth a read."

—The Book Smugglers

THE HUNTED

I raised my eyes to find the hunter watching me.

Moisture glistened on his lower lip, making his hard features arrestingly
sensual. His amber eyes held an almost dazed quality, one of indulgence
and—if I read him right—satisfaction.

He dipped his head slightly, in a courtly gesture of greeting, and leaned
uncomfortably close. My fingers trembled against my switch stars as the beat of
the music anchored me to the here and now. I breathed in the light, spicy scent
of him, mixed with the sulfur of the demon.

"I wasn't expecting one so early," he said, his voice husky from
the kiss of the succubus he'd just destroyed. "Thanks for distracting
her."

Early? I drew back. It was nearing midnight. And as far as what he'd
done… "What are you?"

His mouth spread into a toothy Matt Damon grin, which would have completely
disarmed me if I hadn't known exactly what he was capable of. He held out a
hand, palm up. "You must be Lizzie."

"Who are you?"

"Call me Max," he said, his warm hand closing on my arm.
"Come with me, and I'll tell you everything."

Other
Love Spell
books by
Angie Fox:

THE ACCIDENTAL DEMON SLAYER

To my daughter Madeline, who
wants to be a

princess fairy author when she
grows up.

I'd like to be one of those, too.

This book wouldn't have been half as much fun without Jess Granger, my first
reader and great friend.

A big high five to Harley rider Brad Jones, who keeps the Red Skull biker
witches on the straight and narrow, and of course to Harley Boy and Cletus, the
biker dogs who taught Pirate how to ride. Now if they only hadn't taught him to
ride so fast…

Thanks to my brother, Mike Fox, for designing my website and also to Kit
Smith for setting up the
What's Your Biker Witch Name
? online quiz.
Without you two, it would be impossible to tell a Mantrap Marcie Steel Butt
from a Wino Wally No Brakes. And we all know how important that is.

Thanks also to Leah Hultenschmidt whose support for this series has just
been amazing. To Jessica Faust, who pulls off the combo of savvy and nice in a
way few people can.

Last but not least, I'm blessed with an amazing husband Jim, who only
occasionally uses my early manuscripts as coasters, along with wonderful
friends who (mostly) keep me in line: Aileen Crowe Nandi, Ben Terrill, Shirley
Damsgaard, Joanna Campbell Slan, Ann Aguirre, Diane Freiermuth, Teresa Bodwell,
Kathye Marsh, Matt Bernsen and Scott Granneman. And of course to Sally
MacKenzie who is always the first to pop into my e-mail inbox when there is
good news to be shared. Thanks, guys.

I've had more than my share of those dreams where I show up somewhere naked.
My high school reunion, my cousin's wedding reception, double-coupon day at the
Piggly Wiggly—my goodies are on display. And in every dream, I've dealt
with it by pretending I wasn't the only leafless tree in the forest. I'm not
sure if it ever fooled anyone, but it got me through.

It's when I'm awake that the real trouble starts. I'm a demon slayer—as
of two weeks ago.

Lord help us all.

For me, being a demon slayer is kind of like showing up naked everywhere I
go. I have to let it all hang out and do my best with what I've got. Because if
I fail, I could get somebody killed… or worse. Believe me, I think of
that every day.

The Hairy Hog biker bar stood on an acre and a half of scrub brush, right
off Highway 40. The beer was cold, the pool table fixed and the jukebox jinxed
to play two-for-one Lynyrd Skynyrd. Not that we'd been able to enjoy it for
long.

We were blowing through Defiance, New Mexico, with my grandma's gang of
witches, the Red Skulls, on a somewhat sensitive, definitely secretive rescue.
Good thing the biker code didn't leave room for our hosts at the Hairy Hog to
be asking a lot of awkward questions.

We'd stopped long enough to buy a few rounds downstairs before bunking in
the attic. Well, some of us. I crept back into the bar with the sunrise and saw
that the rest of the "Freebird" crowd had opted simply to pass out in
their wooden bar chairs and on the stained concrete floor. From the look of it,
not to mention the smell, they'd spilled as much booze as they drank.

I fiddled with one of my silver stud earrings like I did every time I was
nervous. Just my luck the sleeping beauties weren't going anywhere.

Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the mule
. I hadn't wanted to do this in
front of people, unconscious or not.

"Pardon," I mumbled as I braced one hand on a rust-flecked
cigarette machine and eased a black boot up and over the very hairy man who
seemed to be using the selection knobs for a pillow. His mouth slacked open and
a snore rumbled in his throat. Of course he wouldn't have noticed if I'd
tap-danced across his whatnots, but I was raised as a good Southern girl and,
well, old habits die hard.

I blew out a breath and smoothed my purple suede skirt. Things would work
out. They had to. I didn't even want to think of what could happen otherwise.

Instinct had pulled me out of bed at dawn. I'd dressed quickly and strapped
on my weapons. My new demon slayer mojo gave me an insane attraction to
trouble. Right now, it was leading me to the long, dark hallway that ended at
the kitchen of the Hairy Hog. I cleared my throat against the stale cigarette
smoke crowding the narrow space, as if the worst wasn't right around the
corner.

My heels struck the floor like gunshots, but there was nothing I could do.
Chances were, whatever was in the kitchen knew I was coming.

Focus
. I touched one hand to the rough wood planks that lined the
hallway. The other, I rested on the round, flat switch stars at my belt. They
were the demon slayer weapon of choice, and let's just say I didn't go anywhere
these days without them.

My heart pounded. I focused my breathing, prepared for the attack. I could
see the danger like a dot of light in my mind.

A grinding, screaming machine kicked on.
Demonic robots
? I ran the
last three yards, kicked my way past a plastic trash can and threw the kitchen
door open.

"Eeeeeya!" I hollered, ready to strike.

Grandma lurched away from the sink, clutching a handful of her
Hairdo by
Harley
T-shirt. "Criminy!" she hollered in a rusty Southern
twang born from years of Metallica concerts and Jack Daniel's straight from the
bottle. "You want me to reach seventy-nine?"

"Stay where you are." Grandma wasn't the type to let herself get
ambushed. But there was something very, very wrong in here.

I scanned the small industrial kitchen. An exhaust fan rattled over the
stove. Dented pots hung from nails tacked into the wall and an ancient refrigerator
huddled in the corner. Crumbs littered the counter, along with empty pretzel
bags and a half-collapsed beer-can pyramid. The place reeked of overcooked
grease and sour mayonnaise. At least I didn't detect the sulfuric stench of
demons. "Cut the disposal," I said.

"Oh for the love of Pete." Grandma shoved her long gray hair out
of her eyes and flipped a switch. The metal monstrosity grumbled to a stop.

"Keep back," I ordered. A large pot rumbled on the stove. Perhaps
full of imps or other minions of the devil? I stalked the stainless steel
vessel of evil.

Grandma threw a skinny yet surprisingly strong arm in front of me.
"Don't open that. Those poached eggs have at least another minute
left."

"Well geez, Grandma." How could she be worrying about eggs at a
time like this? I surveyed the kitchen again. I had to be missing something.
The chill along my spine, the fear at the back of my throat, my basic demon
slayer instincts had never lied to me before.

"Did you know your left eye is starting to twitch?"

Grandma asked. "You need to chill out. You're tighter than a bull's ass
at fly time."

Sure. Relax. If I'd done that last week, Grandma would still be in the
second layer of hell. I was the slayer of the group—the only one who
could kill demons. I was also insanely attracted to anything that could chop
off my head, steal my soul or wipe out North America. And right now, no one
seemed to care but me.