“I only agreed to broker the deal because I knew the attempts to take her would fail!” he burst out. Roth jerked with a loud cry as three ugly rake marks appeared on the side of his face. Devon heard his skin tear, saw his blood seep to the surface. And then the wounds healed, leaving no sign that they were ever there.
Her brows shot up in surprise. Her feline twitched its tail, impressed. “You didn’t give a rat’s ass if they failed or not,” Devon accused.
Breaths bursting in and out of him, Roth shook his head hard. “No, I planned to contact Jolene and tell her everything if someone managed to get their hands on you, I swear!”
There was the horrid sound of skin tearing as Roth once again jerked against the rope. Claw marks spanned his upper chest, deeper and more jagged than the last. Yet, they healed just as quickly.
“Who came to you to broker the deal?” Devon asked.
A drop of sweat dripped down the side of Roth’s face. “I never met him before. He’s a cambion. A stray. He said he wouldn’t harm you.”
“His name?” demanded Jolene.
He hesitated, averting his gaze. Then he cried out again as his head whipped back and rake marks appeared on his throat—they’d sliced so deep she thought he’d choke on his own blood. But then they healed.
Jolene leaned toward him slightly. “His name?” The words seemed to bounce off the walls they echoed so loud.
Roth took a shuddering breath and rasped, “Ryder Flanagan.”
Devon didn’t recognize the name. There were three possibilities, as she saw it. Sheridan had used a different name, Flanagan was the person behind all this, or Flanagan had merely been used as a conduit just like Sheridan. “Describe him.”
Panting, Roth swallowed. “He had a buzz cut. Tall. Well-built.”
Not Sheridan then, Devon thought.
“Where do we find Flanagan?” Tanner asked Roth, the urge to hunt once more pounding through him.
“I don’t have his full address. He said he lived in Nevada.” Roth licked his lips. “I tried warning him not to go through with it; tried telling him about all the people who’d try to avenge the hellcat, but he cut me off. He said he knew more about her than I did. Said he knew all her secrets, including where she’s hiding her real mother, and that ‘that bitch Pamela needed to pay for the pain she’d caused.’”
Everything in Tanner stilled. Hiding? As far as he knew, Devon’s biological mother was dead. He looked at his hellcat, and his hackles rose. She was staring at Roth, her expression carefully blank, her posture rigid.
The fuck?
And then it occurred to him that Devon had never once told him that her mother was dead. He’d taken “gone” to mean deceased, and she hadn’t corrected him. Maybe he had no right to be pissed that she’d kept such a secret from him, but Tanner found that he was. His chest expanded as he took in a deep, centering breath. Later, he’d question Devon and Jolene later.
He turned back to Roth. “Did you notice anything strange about Flanagan?”
“He moved all slow and clunky,” Roth replied, sweating copiously now. “Like he didn’t have good muscle control.”
Which meant that Flanagan was most likely used as a conduit, just like Sheridan.
Sensing that Tanner was done, his hound pushed for supremacy with a feral growl. It didn’t want to take over Tanner’s body, though. No. It wanted the freedom to rip Roth apart with its own teeth and claws. And Tanner decided to let it.
Muscles tightening in readiness for the shift, Tanner said, “You’ve been very helpful, Roth. Now it’s time for you to die.”
Devon flinched as a wave of Tanner’s power swept outwards, carrying with it the faintest scent of—oh fuck—brimstone. And she knew what he meant to do before he even started shedding his clothes. Shit.
“Jolene, edge over to the wall,” urged Devon even as she grabbed the woman’s arm and subtly herded her aside. Her heart pounded as bones popped and cracked. And then Tanner was gone, and his hellhound stood in his place.
It shook its head and snorted. Raked the floor with one paw, leaving claw marks on the cement.
Keeping very still, Devon watched it warily. Jesus, it was one big, beautiful bastard. Broad and fierce and badass, it had muscles upon muscles. Its thick, coal-black fur stood on end as it growled at Roth, glaring at him through blood-red eyes. Nothing so savage and vicious-looking should possess a majestic air, but it just did.
It could also very well decide to attack her, hence why she slowly unsheathed her claws. Her feline? It wasn’t the least bit perturbed. In fact, it was eager to watch the hound rip their enemy to shreds. It even wanted to join in. Fuck that. The two entities would end up fighting to the death over their new toy.
A pitiful whimper escaped Roth. “Oh, God,” he said, his voice a mere whisper. “Please don’t—”
The hound let out a guttural roar that seemed to rattle Devon’s bones. Its veins suddenly glowed as if filled with liquid fire, and tiny red embers danced around its body like pixie dust—signs of its growing rage. And then it lunged, sending Roth’s chair crashing to the floor.
Roth let out a primal, bloodcurdling scream as the snarling hound brutally ripped into him. It clawed. Mauled. Slashed. Mangled. All the while, it ignored his cries, shrieks, and pleas for mercy.
She had a strong stomach, but she wasn’t gonna lie, the sounds of claws shredding flesh and teeth crunching bone made her stomach churn—especially when coupled with the sight of the hound digging Roth’s organs out of his body as if it were digging bones out of the ground.
The hound didn’t just kill Roth. It butchered him. And it didn’t back off until he was nothing more than a bloody mass of broken bones, severed limbs, and mushed organs.
And then it turned to face her, pinning her gaze with those blood-red eyes. Her skin tingled, and the hairs on her nape and arms rose. Shit.
“I’ll pop up my shield if need be,” Jolene whispered, “but I don’t think it will harm you.”
Yeah? Devon wasn’t so sure. Not while it was stalking toward her with its lips peeled back, exposing blood-stained teeth. It had the look of a predator that had chased down its favorite prey. Figuring that “Nice doggy” wouldn’t wash down so well, she instead said, “I’d like to have Tanner back now.”
Oh, that earned her a growl so rumbly it resembled an idling motorcycle.
Her feline gave it a half-hearted snarl, but it didn’t rise to protect Devon—didn’t believe it needed to. She took a deep breath. “Look, I appreciate you making mincemeat out of Lockwood—”
Little red embers floated around its body once more, and she figured it hadn’t been the best idea to remind it of Roth. The hound snapped its teeth, making blood and foam spatter on the floor … and on her shoes.
That was it, Devon had had enough. “Fuck you, Fido, I haven’t done shit! Now quit snarling and spitting at me, I’m not in the fucking mood.”
The growling faded. The embers winked out. There was pure silence. And then it was butting her hand with its big fat head, wanting … attention?
“Oh, you cannot be believed.” But she sheathed her claws and cautiously stroked it, ready to snatch her hand back if it tried to bite her. Instead, it leaned against her, rumbling a contented growl. In seconds it had gone from a killing machine to a big, shaggy dog.