EXCERPT :

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. Why would any sane woman marry a demon? Shoot, forget the why. How does a nice woman even meet a demon? It’s not as if demons are hanging out on MySpace or standing in line at Starbucks waiting to get their morning caffeine. No one’s ever locked eyes with a demon while pumping gas, right? Of course not—or so everyone thinks.

However, the truth is that the average Jane and Joe would be surprised at how many times they run into a supernatural being in the course of their daily routines. Jane has probably pushed her grocery cart by one and didn’t even know it. As for Joe, sometimes that monster of a boss really is a monster of a boss.

So go ahead. Scoff away. But keep reading and learn how I met my demon-other-half.

In my defense, a lot of factors played into my failure to recognize my future hubby as a creature of the heat. Heat as in Hell, that is. I didn’t know at the time of our wedding that my wonderful and caring husband-to-be was a demon. He didn’t bother mentioning this detail to me before the ceremony. But I can’t complain too much. I didn’t tell him about my alternate identity, either. Don’t all marriages have a few secrets?

Yeah, I know. You probably have a lot more questions. Hold your horses and I’ll explain right after I give you a little background info. Let me begin where it’s always a good place to begin—at the beginning.

My name is Jennifer Randall-Barrington. I picked up the Barrington part of my name when I married Blake. Yup, I’m the independent type and I wanted to keep my last name. These days hyphenating your name is considered almost normal─too bad I can’t use the word normal to describe the other aspects of my marriage.

To be honest, my life was already unusual before I married Blake. After all, not many people can say they work for a secret society whose primary mission is to protect humans against the evil creatures of the world. I’m not talking about murderers, rapists, drug dealers and other mortal vermin. Let the regular police force handle those scumbags. I’m talking about the undead evildoers like vamps and werewolves who cause the real havoc in this world.

I keep the streets of my hometown safe for unsuspecting citizens. Hey, I’m not asking for any reward or praise—although the occasional free mocha latte would be nice. People say they don’t believe in boogie men and monsters—although I know deep down they really do. They’re afraid of what goes bump in the night, trying their best to deny the existence of these flesh-eating, soul-sucking slimy things. I can hardly expect them to walk up and say “thank you”, can I? Still, a little gratitude every once in awhile would go a long way. Yet, even without any thanks, I’ll keep on sticking my neck out for the good of mankind. Why?

Because kickin’ evil butt is what I do.