The Demon is in the Details: Paranormal Women's Fiction (Supernatural Midlife Bounty Hunter) (Shrouded Nation Book 5)

THE DEMON IS IN THE DETAILS SUPERNATURAL MIDLIFE BOUNTY HUNTER SHROUDED NATION BOOK 5 BRENDA TRIM TIA DIDMON Copyright © April 2023 by Brenda Trim and Tia Didmon Editor: Cover Art by Fiona Jayde * * * This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writers’ imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction of this work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the authors. Created with Vellum CONTENTS 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 EXCERPT FROM Magic is Only Skin Deep BOOK #6 About the Author Also by Brenda Trim Also by Tia Didmon CHAPTER 1 The drive of shame. It was the vehicular version of running like a rabbit after you had amazing sex with a handsome guy or a warlock in this case. The biggest difference this time was that I had to face that magical man with perfect lips and an even better ass again. As my thoughts wandered to his other spectacular assets, I slammed on the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road. Damn it! The vehicle idled on the dirt road that led to the Thunder Rock Mine. I was well aware I was stalling. I wasn’t looking forward to my impending conversation. Hey, Greyson. Sorry I jumped you after my grandfather dosed you with Incubus hormones. I appreciate you saving my life and all. I didn’t mean to fuck and run, but a bounty hunter is busy. You know how it is. Add in the fact that his amazing and loving wife died a few months ago and there was no instance where that conversation ended well. I ran my fingers over the water bottle sitting on the seat beside me. There was a thrum of power that reminded me of Greyson. Did he leave a piece of himself in all his creations? Probably. Everything he made was precise and powerful. Just like him. My fingers moved to the steering wheel, clutching it until my knuckles turned white before I put the vehicle in drive and pulled back onto the road. In minutes, I was turning onto Raven. The main street in Ravenholde, where most of the shops were located. Here, supernaturals and humans intermingled with the latter, unaware of our world. That was largely due to the fact the area was like any other mundane place to shop, eat, and interact. Even Eve’s shop was frequented by mundanes who assumed she was a new-age wiccan selling natural remedies. I passed my favorite bistro. Danny’s had the best soup and homemade bread on the strip. It was too late for lunch and I still had a pocket realm to enter or I would stop for a bite. Anything to put off this errand. The magic that surrounded Scorchwood prison made even the strongest of stomachs wilt like week-old cut flowers and I had plans to add fuel to that fire. The traffic was light which was typical for late afternoon. People strolled between shops, cafes and various businesses, with parcels in their hands, smiling at one another as they passed. I had a scowl on my face while transporting a phoenix shish kebob to a supernatural prison. Practically the same, right? I passed the turnoff to the Moreau building and squashed the instinct to turn and waste more time. While I was sure that Carnell or my doppelganger buddies would deliver the magical urn that looked like a water bottle, I had to face my warlock sometime. I tried not to focus on my inner demon’s fixation. The warlock was anything but mine. My succubus’ voice was loud as I tried to keep my mind on the road. I didn’t hit a single red light before driving over Danshire Street and turning onto Scorchwood lane. The prison owned acres of landscaped property surrounding the facility. Mundanes believed it was a psychiatric facility. It was ingenious, really. Most were terrified of people with mental illnesses, so they stayed away even without the aversion spells. I grabbed my sunglasses from the open backpack on my seat when the sun blinded me. The natural countryside was dotted with boulders and well-groomed trees. Looks were deceiving. I was still astonished at what magic could hide. This area was no refuge for an escaping convict. The reality had teeth and claws that would rend flesh from bone. Not that anyone escaped Scorchwood. The prison was an intricate creation that not even the supernaturals in Ravenholde understood. It truly was ingenuity and magic at their best. The shiny oak sign with Scorchwood Correctional Facility engraved on its face hung by the road before I entered the barrier that took me to the pocket realm that housed the true prison. I entered the barrier that only those of the supernatural world could see. The invisible shield repelled human blood. Because I was one-third human, my stomach rolled like an unending wave. It was a million times worse on my first visit. The sweat froze on my spine, making me shiver. Were my human genes still dominant? I thought I was going to pass out on my first visit. I swallowed the bile in the back of my throat, worried the activation of my latent DNA had changed me more than I thought. As I