No matter how hard he tried to focus on something else, his mind just kept turning back to the mystery again and again. He’d been unable to concentrate during his meeting with the other sentinels earlier. He’d found himself sitting there, drumming his fingers on his thigh, his muscles cramping with the strain of fighting the urge to pace with the restlessness that gnawed at him.
The matter of Harry and Dale’s sickening deaths deserved a lot more mental space than he’d been giving them. He’d known them since they were small children; they’d looked out for each other at Ramsbrook; had been through tough times together. He’d only known Devon a handful of years, and yet she was dominating his thoughts.
But then, Devon had always had a way of slipping into his mind and fucking with his focus. Nobody had ever snagged his sole attention the way she did. Nobody. And he had the unshakable sense that no one else ever would. His thoughts always strayed back to her … just as they’d done now.
He swore. Honestly, he was fucking hopeless. If he wasn’t obsessing over the threat to her safety, he was obsessing over her. Over her taste and scent and how good it had felt to be inside her—he’d fantasized about it for so very long that it simply wasn’t possible to put it aside. She had a hold over him that he didn’t like. A hold she couldn’t be aware of, or she’d never have believed him capable of coldly using her.
He did see her point, though. There had been nothing smooth about his proposition. Issuing a time-limit, wording it the way he had … yeah, he could see how it might have rubbed her up the wrong way. But there was—
A sense of urgency rocketed through him, so strong it might have sent him to his knees if he’d been standing. His scalp prickled, and the hairs on his nape rose. Devon. Instinctively, he knew his mark on her palm was warning him she was in danger. And the telepathic call he received right then from Enzo only confirmed it.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
His demon roared.
His heart hammering in his chest, Tanner sharply yanked on the wheel, switching directions, and slammed his foot on the pedal.
*
The van raced off with a squeal of tires even before the bastards yanked the heavy doors closed. They shoved Devon to the floor, clearly certain she was no threat. How fucking wrong.
With a snarl, Devon sat upright and—knowing she had mere minutes before the liquid mercury would render her useless—freed the dark power within her that bashed against her ribs in a bid for freedom. She didn’t send out a tendril of it this time. No, she sent it out in a thick wave that struck as fast as a snake.
Eyes wide, one demon slammed up a hand and popped up a defensive shield in time to save himself. The other three yelled as the hazy vapor spread like fingers, snapped around their bodies, and lifted them off their feet. Backs bowed, necks corded, they roared with pain as bones shattered and veins popped.
The driver glanced around his headrest and spat a curse. “Fuck! Do something, Slade!”
Dropping his defensive shield, Slade dived at her, a syringe in hand.
Fuck that.
Her heart pounding hard in her chest, she unsheathed her claws and swiped out at the offending hand, slicing deep into tattooed flesh and scraping bone. Warm blood splattered her face … and the syringe dropped to the floor.
“Bitch,” spat Slade, his green eyes glittering with anger.
“Fucker.” She conjured a ball of hellfire and flung it at him. He slammed up his shield again, and the blazing orb winked out the second it met the shield. Well, shit.
He chanted something in a monotonous tone that made her skin prickle. It was an archaic language she’d only ever heard Millicent use that—
Pain smashed into her ribs, the breath gusted out of her lungs, and the hazy vapor dissipated in a flash. The other demons dropped to the floor of the vehicle with weak groans, barely able to move. And she … oh God, he’d put some sort of temporary block on the power, because she couldn’t access it.
Fear tightened her chest and made her stomach drop. A fear that grew as an overwhelming sense of heaviness began to settle over her, slow and insidious, thanks to the fucking mercury. Breathing hard, Devon awkwardly tried to scramble backwards as he advanced on her. She would have stood, but she sensed her legs wouldn’t support her weight.
She hissed at him. “Stay the fuck away from—” Her head snapped to the side as a psychic punch slammed into her jaw, all but dazing her.
He straddled her and pinned her wrists above her head. “I usually like fighters, but you’re starting to really piss me off.”
Devon battled against the weakness assailing her and tried bucking him off. She failed. Her feline hissed its fury, enraged that it was unable to take control; it wanted to shift into its own shape and take down this fucker with teeth and claws. Craved the taste of his blood in its mouth, longed to see the life leave his eyes. That sure sounded good to Devon.
Never a quitter, she kept on struggling against his tight grip, feeling her strength slowly fading away; feeling a need to sleep jab at the edges of her consciousness. All the while, the van continuously rocked and swayed, tires screeching as it sped through the streets, making one sharp turn after another.
“Fucking quit fighting,” he ordered, tightening his grip on her wrists. He scowled at the driver. “You said the mercury would knock her out instantly!”
There was the sound of a horrendous crash somewhere in the near distance.
“Shit!” barked the driver. “The imps just drove Mike’s van off the road!”
Mike? Wait, there were two vans involved in this shit? Wonderful.
Slade bit out a curse. “Tell me you’ve lost Thorne’s demons, Len!”
Len’s silence spoke for him.
The van sharply swerved, and Devon heard something skittering along the floor. Then she watched that same “something” roll to a halt near her head. The syringe.
Eyes lighting up as he spotted it, Slade transferred both her wrists to one hand and grabbed for the syringe with the other. Shit. A double-dose of liquid mercury could kill her. Maybe it was the anger, maybe it was the adrenaline, but Devon managed to scrounge up just enough energy to whip up her head and sink her teeth into his face, injecting him with her venom.
Roaring in fury and pain, Slade grabbed her head and rammed it hard on the floor of the van once, twice, three times.
The world spun around her, making her stomach roll. Suddenly, she no longer felt heavy. A sense of weightlessness took over, and a ringing sound filled her ears. Urgency beat at her to get up and do … something, but everything seemed so very far away.
Sleep. She needed to sleep. It was all she—
A mind touched hers, dark and familiar and fairly buzzing with panic. Let me in, kitten. Now.
She obeyed without thinking about it. A gasp flew out of her as Tanner seemed to pour himself into her, shocking her back to alertness, his rage and panic mingling with hers. And that gave her just enough strength to break the block that Slade had put on her power.
The dark force wriggled inside her, demanding freedom. With the last bit of psychic grit that she possessed, she lobbed it at the motherfucker. Slade’s eyes went wide as the vapor seized him tight.
Good girl, said Tanner.
Too tired to keep her eyes open, she could only listen as Slade’s bones snapped, his skin tore, and he roared in agony.