When someone says Buffy meets Bridesmaid in their book blurb, I take notice. Words like that get you put on the to-be-read pile ASAP. Such is the case with Deborah Wilde’s The Unlikeable Demon Hunter, which released just this Tuesday. Admittedly, I have a soft spot for heroines others call “unlikeable.” Complex and unapologetic heroines like Darian from the Shaede Assassin series and Chess from the Downside Ghosts books immediately come to mind, and I love them both. So, if we’re calling out the heroine as “unlikeable” in the title, I think I’m going to dig her.
If fun, sexy, paranormal reads are up your alley, you’ll want to read on. We have an exclusive excerpt from The Unlikeable Demon Hunter and a chance to win a signed copy!
I veered into the backyard to snap a few stalks off Mom’s aloe plant to apply to my still-throbbing chest. It was a gorgeous night, made more so by the fact that I was still alive. I raised my face up to the stars, calmed by their distant pulsing. All was peaceful and still until my shoulder blades tensed like someone was behind me.
The maybe-demon from Josh’s alleyway was back, having stopped about five feet away and triggering the motion sensor. What with Josh’s sister trying to kill me and all, he’d fallen off my radar.
Aloe gooped over my fingers, having clutched the frond hard enough to break it, and my terror and an intense curiosity resurfaced. There was no denying his compelling presence. Plus, he had those long lashes that were my Kryptonite. I opened my mouth to scream. Or drool.
He held a finger up to his delectable lips to keep me quiet, circling me with lazy strides, checking me out.
I’d have been offended by the blatant appraisal except under his intense scrutiny, my clit, Cuntessa de Spluge lit up with an electric zing. I found myself stroking the aloe stalks in an obscene manner. Even knowing he couldn’t see my blush since I was in the shadows didn’t kill my utter mortification at jerking off plant life in not-so-subtextual yearning.
He stalked toward me, his leather jacket rustling with each step.
I held up a hand to stop him, the faintest electric crackle pulsing off my skin.
He didn’t stop, didn’t slow. In fact, he kept up his steady approach until his hand covered mine. My magic shocked us both at his touch. I gasped and shivered as pleasure, not pain, rumbled through me.
Hand still clasped in his, he stared at me suspiciously, instead of in fear, but had I wanted, I could have broken his hold. Not a demon, then? He fingered the thin silver necklace I wore with surprising gentleness, toying with the cute floral pendant dangling off it that read “I will kick you in the balls if I have to.”
“Should I be scared?” Given how he sounded like sex, sin, and salaciousness–the true definition of a triple threat–I decided that yes, he was most definitely a demon.
I met his mocking gaze, my rooted stance and beating heart placing me somewhere between morbid fascination and noping the fuck out at warp speed.