Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

His head tipped back, Teague stood beneath the stall’s overhead shower with his eyes closed as the hot water pattered down on his tired muscles and still-healing injuries. Steam hazed the air, laced with the stadium’s complimentary sandalwood-scented shampoo.

Weekend races tended to be more intense. This particular Friday had been no exception. The afternoon race he’d just competed in—and won—had involved incredibly nasty hurdles. He’d come away with plenty of wounds, and all were stinging like a bitch. They were further aggravated by the soap suds and shampoo, since it had been impossible to ensure that every single injury avoided contact with the silky bubbles.

Despite the loud whirring of the fan above him, Teague could easily hear the many sounds that echoed throughout the locker room—laughter, playful smack-talk, the splatter of water on tile, the gurgle of pipes, the hiss of spray cans, the squeaking of shoes, and the clang of locker doors slamming shut.

With their enhanced sense of smell, his inner demon wasn’t fond of locker rooms. There were too many astringent scents, such as body spray, bleach, and citrus air freshener.

The hellhorse racing stadium naturally had a plentiful amount of locker rooms, given how many races took place per hour. Whenever competitors arrived at the stadium, they were assigned the same locker room as the other hellhorses of their gender who’d be competing in their race.

Some might think that such a thing was a bad idea since racers might not be all that nice to their competitors. But although on the track they might go so far as to pull dirty moves that included harming each other, that shit got left behind once the race was over.

There was a sense of camaraderie among hellhorses . . . though not always the most pleasant kind. As evidenced by the guy in the neighboring shower who persisted in singing really badly and letting out an evil laugh each time one of the others complained that their ears were bleeding. Another hellhorse was whining because there was no toilet paper in his stall, begging someone to toss a fresh roll to him, but the others only teased and laughed at him.

Yeah, in a bad situation, hellhorses often weren’t all that helpful.

As the water steadily drummed down on him, Teague’s attention drifted to the upcoming party. He figured it would be a blast, so he was looking forward to it. Some didn’t like descendants and considered them mutts, but he’d never understood why it mattered that their breed only came into being after fallen angels mated with demons. Who gave a fuck?

What he was most looking forward to was seeing Larkin. Touching her, kissing her, playing with her sanity.

He hadn’t seen her since they talked at the bakery a few days ago. He’d telepathically checked in with her daily, though. Not only to check that Holt hadn’t again approached her, but because he just liked talking to her. He saw no need to lie to himself about it.

Teague had hoped that Holt would at some point seek him out. It had to be killing the cambion to stay away, given how furious he was about the brand. But he had apparently decided to be on his best behavior to appease Larkin, because he’d not only kept his distance from Teague, he’d also ordered his minion to cease following him. It was a crying shame, really.

Having rinsed off the shampoo and soap suds, Teague turned off the spray and then pushed open the frosted glass door. The cool air whispered over him, making little bumps rise on his flesh. Stepping out of the stall, he swiped a cotton towel from the shelf, dabbed his face with it, and then wrapped it around his hips.

Crossing to the countertop, he swiped a hand over the steamed-up wall-mounted mirror and took stock of his wounds, probing each one. They were healing well, and the bruises were already a faint yellow.

Heading for the rows of narrow metal lockers, he padded along the beige tiled floor, leaving faint wet footprints behind; passing the sinks, urinals, and toilet stalls.

There were a few other hellhorses still lurking, talking and readying themselves to leave. One, Azaire, was leaning against the concrete wall with both a t-shirt and a roll of toilet paper in hand, grinning like a fool.

“Just pass me some fucking toilet paper!” hollered a voice from within the nearest stall. Beau.

Azaire let out a put-upon sigh. “Fine.” He threw the shirt over the door. “Here.”

Beau spluttered a curse. “That’s my tee, asshole.”

“It’ll feel nicer than any paper, I can tell you that,” said Azaire.

Shaking his head in amusement, Teague walked past them and turned down a particular aisle of lockers.

One of the two guys there, Felipe, looked up from dabbing some kind of ointment on his burned arm. He smirked as he said, “Nice brand, Sullivan.”

Teague grinned. “Ain’t it, though?”

“So it’s true, huh? You’re dating Knox Thorne’s sentinel?” Felipe let out a low whistle. “You’re a ballsy bastard.”

So he was often told by guys whenever they glimpsed the brand.

Stopping at his locker, Teague twisted the dial this way and that to unlock it, and then pulled open the door. He wondered if Larkin knew that a lot of males had avoided dating her because they feared Knox so much—to hurt her would be to piss the Prime off, and few people were tempted to do that.

Teague wasn’t the type to let others keep him away from what he wanted, no matter what the consequences might be. Hence why he’d broken his word to Khloë. Which he hadn’t yet fessed up about, but he would.

He retrieved his duffel from the locker, slid an abandoned granola bar wrapper further along the wooden bench out of his way, and then dumped his bag on said bench. Speaking of granola bars, he was pretty sure he had one in his duffel. He was always both thirsty and hungry after a race. He’d already downed a full bottle of water, along with two power bars.

Gripping where he’d knotted his towel, Teague sat on the bench beside his duffel. He dug out a snack and a sports drink and then got to work on both.

Person after person left as he ate, until there weren’t many guys lingering.

Somewhere, a toilet flushed. Soon after, there was a gale of laughter followed by a full-on rant. Teague looked to his left as a chuckling Azaire and a furious Beau made their way to the door. Since Beau was wearing his tee, there was a good chance he hadn’t first used it to wipe his ass.

Probably.

After he’d demolished his drink and snack, Teague chucked both the wrapper and empty bottle in the nearby trash can. That was when Felipe and his brother said quick goodbyes to Teague, their shoes squeaking against the tiled floor as they crossed to the door.

Alone, he dried himself off and fished his set of fresh clothes out of his duffel. Once fully dressed, he dumped the towel in the bin that was set aside for used ones. He then zipped up the duffel, gripped the handles—

Smoke and brimstone.

Both Teague and his demon froze at the scent.

A shadowkin jumped out of the murky corner . . . quickly followed by a second humanoid.

Motherfucker.

They didn’t give him a moment to react. One attacked instantly—hitting him with an orb of hell-acid that caught him right on the face—while the other vanished behind the row of lockers.

Gritting his teeth with the searing pain, Teague pitched three balls of hellfire right at his attacker’s chest. Within him, his demon went postal. He bolstered his mental defenses, not willing to let his beast take over this time. Why should it get to have all the fun?

He half-turned his body so that his back was against the lockers. If the other shadowkin thought it could come at him from behind, it was wrong.

As the first humanoid recovered from the hellfire orbs, Teague effortlessly lifted the bench and hurled it through the air. The bench whacked the shadowkin hard, sending its head whipping back as it promptly hit the floor. He might not be able to injure this breed with an everyday object, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t feel the pain from the impact.

Sure enough, the other humanoid appeared at the other end of the aisle, its white eyes laser-focused on him. But he was ready for it. The ball of hellfire he’d conjured sailed through the air with a whoosh of sound and crashed into its chest. He hurled two more, but the bastard lurched to the side, causing both orbs to smack the concrete wall behind it.

The bench scraped the floor loud as the first shadowkin shoved it aside and jumped to its feet. Then both shadowkin glared at Teague, each holding a black swirling orb in one hand.

Great.

Wicked fast, he tore the door off an open locker and slammed it up, using it as a shield against one orb while he deflected the other with a ball of hellfire. More orbs came his way, and he pulled the same move each time—shielding and deflecting.

It didn’t always work. Patches of burning skin soon blistered courtesy of both hellfire and hell-acid. And when a flaming orb smacked right into a still-healing wound on his thigh, reopening it, he felt his upper lip curl back.

His inner demon didn’t push for supremacy this time; it merely sent Teague telepathic advice of what move to make next. And one particular image made him smile. Yeah, he could do that.

He flicked a look at his ‘shield’—the metal door was corroded badly from the hell-acid that fairly dripped from it. He threw the door like it was a frisbee. It sailed through the air and smacked the humanoid in the throat, splattering hell-acid right at the fucker.

The shadowkin staggered back in what appeared to be both pain and shock, shaking its head as if it could also shake off the pain.

His demon chuffed, rather pleased.

Teague’s peripheral vision screamed at him in warning.

He ducked, narrowly avoiding the thick tentacle that then smacked into the locker above him. Rising sharply, he gripped the tentacle tight and, ignoring how it burned his palm like a bitch, he yanked hard.

The humanoid wasn’t expecting that, wasn’t braced for the move; it fell to its back and skidded along the wet floor, writhing in pain as hellfire blasted from Teague’s fist all the way down its tentacle and into its body.

While the other shadowkin attacked with more hell-acid, Teague concentrated on the humanoid that was already at his mercy, volleying orb after orb of hellfire at such close range that the little shit stood no chance. Teague kept going, even as hell-acid slammed into his arm, shoulder, scalp, and leg, eating through cloth and flesh.

Finally, the humanoid went limp. Dead. Teague dropped the tentacle and turned to the second shadowkin . . . with just enough time to dodge the beam of hellfire that would have otherwise buried itself in his throat.

He and the remaining shadowkin then went at each other hard, neither willing to lose. The air rang with the hissing of flames, the sizzling of acid, and Teague’s grunts and curses.

As another beam came toward him, he leaped to the side, inadvertently placing himself in front of the other wooden bench. The humanoid planted itself at the opposite end of the bench, braced as if to jump on it.

That was the shadowkin’s mistake.

Teague slammed his foot down hard on the bench, making it lurch up like a see-saw. The other end caught the humanoid beneath its chin, sending its head snapping backwards with such force that its neck would have broken if it had bones.

Then Teague was on the little shit, taking advantage of its distraction. He launched ball after ball of hellfire. Its body flinched and arched again and again with each impact.

Finally up close to his attacker, Teague snapped his flaming fist around its throat and hit it in the chest with a high-powered orb. And another. And another, causing flames to spread along its body.

It jerked and bucked and kicked its legs.

Until it didn’t.

He dropped the corpse to the floor and lit it up with yet more hellfire, wanting no trace of it to be left behind. The other humanoid was already mostly ashes.

Teague took stock of himself, cursing. He was covered in blisters, scorch marks, and bad burns. Patches of his clothes were corroding and charred. He not only had a fresh bunch of wounds, but some of his earlier injuries were now worse than before.

Fucking wonderful.

He glared down at the corpse at his feet, noticing there wasn’t much of it left. Good. He didn’t—

His head snapped up at the sound of excited voices. Two tall males barged into the locker room. Taking in the situation, they stopped dead.

The blond frowned. “What in the delightful fuck went on in here?”

“Some demons teleported in and went at me,” said Teague, grateful there was no way to tell at this point that those demons were shadowkin—it would raise too many questions. “Probably lost a bet and didn’t like it.”

The second hellhorse rolled his eyes. “Typical.” And then they went back to their conversation. Well, his kind weren’t fazed by much.

Still, his clan were going to be pissed.

Standing in the center of her living room, Larkin exchanged an exasperated look with Harper as the females sitting either side of the sphinx squabbled like kids. The argument had sparked to life after Khloë brought up her Aunt Mildred—a woman who Devon insisted did not exist. It didn’t matter to the hellcat that Khloë, Jolene, and Ciaran repeatedly stated she was mistaken. No, Devon insisted they were bullshitting her. And since imps took such joy in dicking with people, there was every possibility that she was right.

Knox, Keenan, Tanner, and Ciaran stood near the floor-to-ceiling window, ignoring the squabble while discussing mundane topics. As soon as Teague, Levi, and Piper arrived, Ciaran would teleport them all to the monastery. The male imp would likely stay, despite not being invited. His kind didn’t let stuff like that get in the way.

Really, Knox didn’t need to be teleported anywhere—he had a similar gift that allowed him to travel in such a way. However, it was a gift he only used around the few people he most trusted, and those didn’t include the descendants. Demons generally weren’t open about all their abilities, particularly Primes.

Neither Asher nor Anaïs would be coming along to the party. It was one thing to be allied with a lair, it was another thing to trust them with your young. So both sets of parents had chosen to leave their child with babysitters at Harper and Knox’s home. Their estate was impenetrable. In their position, Larkin would have made the same call.

If she was honest, she wasn’t sure she’d make a good mother. She liked kids, she just wasn’t maternal by nature.

The first time she’d been given a doll, she’d stared at the plastic infant, not entirely sure what she was supposed to do with it. She hadn’t at all liked its overly wide eyes.

So she’d buried it.

Not normal, no, but it had made perfect sense to her back then. Well, Larkin had let her inner demon guide her a lot in those days. And when said demon discarded something, it did it in a definitive fashion.

This included people.

It was even more unforgiving than Larkin. If someone in their life messed up, the entity no longer had any time for that person—they ceased existing for the demon. As proven by how it had literally zero interest in its own psi-mate due to his betrayal.

She hadn’t seen or heard from Holt since their little confrontation at the bakery. Predictably, Knox and her fellow sentinels had been furious about it. As had their mates, who’d all agreed that Holt should be drawn, quartered, skinned, and decapitated—and preferably all while alive and sobbing.

Her demon was certainly up for it.

She knew that, despite his betrayal, some would still struggle to understand how her demon could want to harm its own anchor. Wish him dead, sure. But be prepared to kill him? Not so much. After all, it went against every instinct a person had toward their psi-mate. But her entity’s supremely vindictive nature completely overrode those instincts.

Of course, its aforementioned nature made relationships difficult for Larkin, because everyone made mistakes. Nobody was perfect. That didn’t matter to her demon. It would discard people just as easily as Larkin and her entity had once been discarded.

On one level, she was glad of its reluctance to trust and connect. Because it meant that its habit of collecting pretty things didn’t extend to collecting people. That was good, since it was pathologically possessive of whatever it owned and point-blank refused to share those belongings with others.

She suspected this came from growing up in a children’s home. You didn’t have many things that were purely yours, and people tried to snatch from you whatever you did have. As such, her demon was something of a hoarder and stashed its belongings in hidey holes around Larkin’s apartment.

You couldn’t exactly stash people, but you could certainly monopolize their time and attempt to isolate them. She worried that her entity would attempt such a thing with any person it chose to collect. That would be bad, so it was better this way even if it did make relationships complicated for Larkin.

A knock came at the front door, pulling her out of her thoughts.

She crossed to it, opened it wide, and felt her pulse briefly stutter as she found Teague stood there. He looked all self-assured and sexy and business-casual in his gray shirt and black slacks. Her ovaries got a little faint, and her demon slinked closer to her skin.

He gave her one of his slow, languid smiles. “Hey, baby.”

Her belly did an excited roll at the endearment, even though there could be no real feeling behind his choice to use it. “Hey.”

He didn’t wait for her to step aside to allow him entrance. He stalked forward, pushing into her personal space and forcing her to back up. Cupping her hips, he mule-kicked the door to close it and very blatantly eye-fucked her.

Her hormones pathetically aflutter, she resisted the urge to tense under his scrutiny. The others—who she could feel staring at them—would easily see it.

“You look incredible.” He swept his gaze over her once more. “I do like that dress on you. I’d rather it was off, though, so I can do wicked, wicked things to you.”

Tanner cleared his throat. “We’re right here,” he clipped.

Teague blinked at him. “That’s . . . nice.”

Larkin snickered.

“Settle down, pooch,” Devon told her mate. “You promised Larkin you’d leave him be tonight so they could enjoy the party, remember?”

Tanner clamped his mouth shut. His gaze lowered to the harpy wing brand, and he gave a disapproving shake of the head. Keenan and Levi looked equally unapproving.

See, this was why Larkin had extracted a promise from them to behave. They would otherwise have bitched about the mark. It was one thing to know it existed, it was another thing to see it for themselves. Knox was the only one who seemed to have little interest in the matter. Seemed being the key word.

“Hey, Teague!” Khloë gave him a big wave from her seat on the sofa.

He flashed her a warm smile. “Hey there, gorgeous.”

Keenan looked at Larkin, his lips pressed tightly together. “It really doesn’t bother you that he calls another woman ‘gorgeous’?”

Khloë shot the incubus a look of annoyance. “Stop trying to stir the pot. That’s my job. I like it. You can’t have it.”

As the mated pair began to argue, Teague returned his focus to Larkin and lightly dragged the tip of his nose up her throat. “Damn, you smell good.” You smell even better when you’re wet for me, he telepathically added.

Her stomach did another crazy flip. Oh, so that’s how tonight is going to go?

Releasing her hip, he slid his hand up her side. If you’re asking if I intend to dedicate some of our evening into taunting the holy hell out of you, the answer is yes. As if to emphasize that, he swiped his thumb over the outer side of her breast through her dress—the touch was featherlight but made her nipples tingle. You made it clear that I needed to step up my game. I’m a man who rises to every challenge.

I didn’t challenge you. It’s all in your head.“We’re just waiting on Piper and Levi. They should be here any—” She cut off as a rhythmic knock sounded on the door. “And here they are.”

Shortly after Larkin let the couple inside her apartment, Ciaran teleported their entire group to the outside of the monastery. The building was tall and wide, constructed of pure stone. There was a beautiful cathedral nearby, along with what looked to be an expansive cemetery.

The double doors leading to the monastery’s massive hall were wide open, and two descendants were manning them. Offering them hellos and tips of the chin, Larkin and her group filed inside the dimly lit space.

The party was already in full swing, so maybe someone had decided to start it early. If it wasn’t for the music blasting, the array of food on the long-ass tables, and the demons gathered on the makeshift dance floor, it would not have been easy to guess that there was a celebration going on.

There were no banners or fairy lights on the white, roughhewn stone walls. No balloons stretching up toward the high-vaulted ceiling that boasted broad beams. No foil party curtain that dangled down the arched opening on the other side of the large space.

There were some lanterns and votive candles here and there, along with stunning floral centerpieces that were made up of red and black roses, but that was pretty much it.

Sidling up to her, Teague planted his hand low down on her back, resting the heel of his palm right above her butt. The bold touch was a little too proprietary for her liking, but her demon had no issues with it.

Larkin shot him a quick look. “Watch where you put your hand.” She wasn’t going to let him take advantage of their necessity to engage in a little PDA.

His gaze locked on the aforementioned hand, he said, “I am watching. You have no idea how many fantasies I’ve had about your ass.”

“Just my ass?”

He shrugged, meeting her gaze. “The rest of you is all right, I guess.”

Larkin discreetly elbowed him hard, but he only chuckled.

Pulling her flush against him, he put his mouth to her ear. “I think I proved the other night that it isn’t only your—”

“We’re not going to talk about what happened the other night.”

He bit her earlobe. “Why not?”

She dug her nails into his chest. “Because I said so.”

“Why do you say so?”

“Because I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why don’t you?”

Larkin pinched his side, her lips flattening when he chuckled even as he flinched. “Behave.” She glanced around, taking in the many guests. Most were descendants, but there were some imps hanging around.

The Black Saints were also there, including their president, Viper. The fallen angels had formed an MC club straight after falling over a year ago, from what she’d learned. There wasn’t much to learn about the Black Saints.

She knew they were allied with Maddox and Raini’s lair, and she knew they owned a club that had quickly become quite popular. While it was rumored that Viper could be a fallen archangel—perhaps even one of the infamous seven—he’d allegedly never confirmed or denied it.

Teague slid his hand all the way up her spine and then idly plucked at the wispy little curls on her nape, his own gaze scanning the hall. There was nothing sexual about his touch. And yet, her skin began to heat and prickle.

Annoyed by how frazzled her body got around him, Larkin huffed at the big bastard. “Would you give me some space?”

“Why, you feeling faint from all the seductive pheromones I’m giving off?”

God, he was a loon.

He gave her a sympathetic smile. “I have that effect on women. I wish it wasn’t so, but yeah, it happens all the time.”

“Sometimes, you make me want to scream right in your face. Do you know that?”

He shrugged. “You’ll get used to it.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You’ll get used to that, too.”

Larkin was about to pinch him again, but then Khloë materialized in front of them.

“Girl, you gotta stop bitching at him,” she told Larkin. “The guys are noticing, and they think he’s upsetting you. Tanner’s debating storming over here.”

Even as Larkin planted a smile on her face and leaned into him, she said, “I can’t help it, Khloë. He does and says things that drive me to rag out his hair. And mine.”

His lips curved, he nuzzled her temple. “You don’t know how happy you make me.”

Larkin barely fought the urge to grind her teeth. “See what I mean?” she asked Khloë.

“Hey, I was being nice,” he said, all innocence.

When he dipped his head as if to kiss her, she planted a hand on his chest. “Nu-uh.”

He grinned. “Why? You don’t trust that you won’t lose control and jump me? Or are you more worried that you’ll swoon right here in front of everyone?”

“Yeah, that’s what it is,” Larkin deadpanned. She turned back to Khloë, who was glancing from her to him.

The imp perched her hands on her hips. “You guys have fucked, haven’t you?”

Larkin scratched at her cheek while Teague twisted his mouth.

Khloë gaped at him, her nostrils flaring. “I can’t believe you.”

He frowned at the imp. “It’s your fault.”

Khloë’s brows flew up. “Excuse me?”

“You wanted me to play her fake boyfriend. It’s important that everyone buys that the relationship is real.” He gestured from himself to Larkin, adding, “How else could we have been sure we wouldn’t feel and look awkward having sex in front of other people unless we first practiced in private?”

Her lips parted, Khloë stared at him for a moment. Then her hands slipped from her hips as she inclined her head. “Valid point.”

“Thank you.”

She looked at Larkin. “Remember, ease up on the bitching.” With that, she headed back to her mate.

Staring after her, Larkin felt her mouth drop open. Had that actually just happened? Seriously?

She’d expected yelling and threats and curses and finger-pointing. Instead, Khloë had actually accepted his bullshit excuse. And it was bullshit. At least to Larkin. But to those two crazy-ass demons, it apparently held merit. And she didn’t see how.

“Valid?” Larkin echoed, her gaze snapping to Teague. “How is it valid when there’d never come a time when we’d have sex in public even if we were an actual couple?”

“There are lots of situations in which that might happen.”

“Give me one.”

“A dirty game of Truth or Dare.”

Okay, he had her there. Demons took that to the next level, so things could get out of hand fast—she’d witnessed that for herself. “Give me another.”

“There are a few clubs in the Underground where people fuck right out in the open. Private parties are even held in those places. I’ll bet you’ve been to at least one of those clubs in the past.”

Actually, she had. “I’m done with this conversation.”

“In other words, you can’t deny I’m right and you don’t want to hear more examples that prove it?”

“In other words, we need to find Raini and Maddox so we can thank them for inviting us and all that courtesy jazz,” Larkin corrected. Well, lied.

His brow creased. “We can grab some food first, right? I’m starving.”

So was she, as it happened. “Yeah, we can do that.”

They crossed to the nearest table and each grabbed a paper plate. They shuffled along, piling bits of food onto their plates. Sensing someone come up on her other side, Larkin glanced to her left. Recognizing Raini’s father, she tipped her chin and said, “Hey, Lachlan.”

The imp gave her a nod. “Nice spread they’ve got going on, isn’t it? Teague, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I’m with my girl,” he told Lachlan, likely having no idea that his comment made her belly feel all warm. “Where’s your mate?”

“Over in the corner lecturing Martina on the evils of stealing wallets from unsuspecting descendants.” Lachlan shook his head in judgment. “You can’t leave Martina alone for five minutes. Typical Wallis female.”

Just then, Raini appeared with a beautiful smile. “Larkin, Teague—thanks so much for coming. I really appreciate it. I know descendants aren’t the most welcoming toward outsiders, but I am determined to make them mingle just fine with my friends and family.” She turned that smile on her father. “Behaving yourself?”

Lachlan let out a tired sigh. “You don’t have to keep an eye on me. I already promised I wouldn’t purloin anything.”

Raini’s brow flicked up. “I just watched you stuff a gold goblet in Mom’s purse.”

“For safekeeping. It’s only wise to hide it from your Uncle Bram. You know he likes collecting goblets.”

“What I know, dear father, is that you’re full of shit.”

Affronted, he bristled. “This is your lair. If I steal from them, I steal from you. Do you honestly think I’d ever do that?”

“Well, you’ve done it before, so don’t give me that wounded look. I can’t count the number of times my stuff mysteriously disappeared when I was a kid. Bikes, video games, DVDs, stereos.”

“You’d outgrown them.”

“How does one outgrow a TV?”

Lachlan shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I don’t question these things. Anyway, I only did that to keep your skills sharp. It’s a standard Campbell exercise. And I always replaced what I took with something better.”

Larkin frowned. “Keep what skills sharp?”

“Booby-trapping, of course,” he replied. “If you’re going to protect your things from being taken, you need to lay clever traps. My Raini is excellent at it.”

Larkin suspected that by ‘things’, he meant ‘ill-gotten goods’, since imps often kept them stored in warehouses and would lay all kinds of traps. “I guess there’s no one more paranoid that they’ll get robbed than an actual thief.”

“You got that right,” muttered Raini.

A short time later, Larkin and Teague slowly walked around the hall, eating and talking with whatever cluster of people they came across. Well, he talked more than she did, being that he was a social butterfly.

She very soon learned that, though descendants might by nature be wary of other demonic breeds, they were clearly big fans of Teague. They smiled at him, pulled him into conversation, talked about his races, and even asked for damn selfies.

A few women tried discreetly ogling him, but Larkin didn’t fail to notice. She knew those bitches would be all over him if it wasn’t for the brand on his neck. And, unfair to him though it might be, she was at that moment terribly glad that her entity had marked him.

Her demon smirked at that, though said smirk faded as one particular female leaned a little too close to Teague.

Worse, the brunette touched his arm, saying, “I don’t know if you remember me; we met once years ago. Anyway, I was hoping—”

“If you touch him again I’ll stab you in the fucking eye,” Larkin told her, her voice as calm as it was flat.

The descendant’s gaze danced from her to Teague. “Oh, you two are . . . ?”

“Yeah,” Larkin replied, considering throwing her empty plate at the woman.

The brunette stepped away with a respectful nod. “Got it. Backing off right now.”

Wanting to get away from this particular group, Larkin crossed to the nearby trash can and binned her plate.

Following her, Teague did the same, a grin toying with the edges of his mouth. His mind brushed against hers. You’re hot when you get all possessive.

I’m not possessive of you. It just would have looked strange if I hadn’t reacted that way.Ha, what a load of ole shit.

His lips tipped up. He telepathed her an image. No, not a mere image. It was a memory of her sitting naked on the edge of her bed, staring at an equally naked Teague with pure feminine possession in her gaze.

Feeling her face heat, she lifted a brow. What’s your point?

His smile widened. If it makes you feel any better, you’re not the only one feeling possessive.

Oh, her demon liked that. Annoyingly enough, so did Larkin. Which made her growl.

Another snapshot of a memory appeared in her mind. One of Larkin on her hands and knees, his cock—all slick and shiny—half-buried inside her.

No. No, they were not doing this. They were not going to torment each other this way like they had at Jolene’s house. Because Larkin feared she’d be a sexual mess at the end of it.