He just stood back for the most part and judged her father’s declining sanity. Twice in the past twenty-one years Izzy—or her father, and her through him—had been targeted by demons. Both times due to her father’s idiotic, dangerous business practices. A handful of times other non-demonic, but still serious, threats had popped up. And Darr had handled them all with equal efficiency. In all honesty, though, she’d never really needed a full-time demonic bodyguard. And for the first decade and a half he’d been fairly bored with the work. Until one day he’d woken up and realized that little Izzy Duchane had matured sometime while he wasn’t paying attention. She still preferred to go by Izzy, her orange-red hair was still a mess when she woke up every morning, and she was still too trusting of strangers. But aside from the additional fact that she was, of course, still human, nothing else remained of the child he’d met just over two decades earlier. Izzy was thirty-two years old, full-bodied, confident, assertive, and a daily temptation.
