A Demon And Her Scot (Welcome To Hell) by Eve Langlais Read Free Book Online Page A

really care. Once I hand you over to Lucifer, you and he can hash it out. Me, I just want to get home and watch the season finale of Game of Thrones .” And have a long hot shower followed by a round with BOB to cure her sudden urge for Scottish meat.
    It seemed she wasn’t the only one who could pry. The Scot, no longer so reticent, prodded her. “How did a lass like ye become a hunter?”
    “What do you mean a lass like me?”
    “Look at ye.” He waved a hand vaguely in her direction. “Ye are much too pretty for one.”
    “Are you implying because of my looks I’m not good at my job?”
    “Ye seem better suited to a different lifestyle.”
    “If you say pole dancer or whore…” She put a hand on the leather-wrapped grip of her axe.
    “Calm down, lass. I said no such thing, although, ye would make a killing in either profession. I just meant, with your obvious feminine attributes, a lass like ye shouldn’t have to work.”
    A giggle slipped past her lips. “Did you just imply I’d make a good trophy wife?”
    “Aye. A pampered one, of course,” he added with a wink.
    “Are you proposing?”
    His turn to stumble, but thankfully , they’d reached level ground, so she didn’t have to stop his brick house of a body from falling down the cliff. “I’m not husband material.”
    “Why not? You’re a man. You have a castle, of sorts,” she added as she eyed the stone tower with its patched and thatched roof.
    “Did ye not hear? I was married once.”
    “Let me guess, she was the love of your life, and once she died, you swore to never love again.”
    “Oh, I swore to never get married again, right after I killed her.”
    And with that shocking announcement, he strode into his abode, leaving her with her jaw hanging.
     

Chapter Six
    Why Niall dropped that bombshell he couldn’t have exactly explained. The lass had taken him aback with her jesting about proposing. More shocking, he’d immediately pictured the violent hunter in a gown of plaid—his colors, of course—striding toward him with a wildflower bouquet, a fierce smile on her lips, and the axe strapped across her back. A wild bride for an untamed Scot.
    An insane fantasy.
    He barely knew the lass. Wanted to fuck her, yes, but marry? Like bloody hell. But he’d meant what he’d said to her. Warrior woman or not, the huntress of many layers deserved a pampered lifestyle, her every wish catered to. It was how he would have treated such a treasure. How he would have treated Fionnaghal if she’d not betrayed him.
    Entering his simple keep, his nose tickled at the dust layering the sparse furniture. What a change from the castle he’d lived in when alive. Back then, only the most lavish of items would do. Rich tapestries had covered his stone walls, and gleaming and carved wooden furniture with plump cushions graced every room. He drank from gold goblets, ate from fine porcelain plates, and had broken more than a few when his temper was roused. He’d employed only the best chefs and servants to serve his needs. Money meant nothing to him, so he spent it without care. Why not? He’d no progeny to deed his wealth to. No woman to spoil. In the end, everything he’d fought for, all he’d achieved, everything he’d bought didn’t bring him happiness. Didn’t give him back the soul he’d bartered. Didn’t give him peace. And it certainly never found me love.
    Once dead, he descended to the pit where he’d expected his mood to change. Wrong. All his emotional baggage came along with him. There was no escape , and he discovered he couldn’t abide hanging around other people, even the damned. He’d taken this simple keep from the demon who owned it, wanting to live as far away as he could from everyone. The solitude proved worse; hence why he’d taken up residence, almost permanently, in the bar. Biding his time. Waiting for…what?
    An end to his existence?
    For the sense of betrayal to fade?
    For a certain lass to arrive?
    She sneezed