Chapter Twenty-Two

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Before Holt could think to act, Larkin spread her wings in a sharp movement that ripped open the net. She lunged at Holt, her wings still spread.

He caught her with a muffled oath, trying to rear back out of reach. But there was no evading the long beak that stabbed and bit at his face, or the curved razor-sharp talons that raked through cloth and skin. “Jesus, Larkin, fucking stop!”

She didn’t. She went at him like a harpy possessed.

The smell of blood blanketed her senses, fairly intoxicating her demon. It had wanted his blood and pain for so long . . .

A loud snarl. “Fuck this.” He punched her. Right in the fucking head. Then he grabbed one wing and yanked hard, snapping the fine bones there.

Motherfucker.

Unmoved by her screech of pain, he pulled at her wing even harder, causing more bones to give way with a sickening crack.

As his hands turned scorching hot in a telling move that said he meant to use his ability to melt her bones, she did as her demon craved.

She stabbed his eye with her beak and plucked it right out.

A rough sound of agony tore its way out of him, and his hands tightened painfully on her body.

She spat out his eye and shifted mega fast—healing her wing in the process. Larkin then slapped her hand on Holt’s head and shot out a blast of hell-ice chips. “Now you’re dead, fucker,” she spat as the chips sank through his skin, burst their way through his skull, and buried themselves in his brain.

His eyes shot open wide, and his breath stuttered. Feeling his grip on her weaken, she watched with supreme satisfaction as awareness began to fade from his eyes.

Whereas hellfire burned, hell-ice froze. The cold would spread throughout an organ wicked fast, freezing it—a heart, a lung, a brain, anything. And as that unnatural cold right then took over Holt’s brain, finally bringing every bit of activity up there to a sharp stop, his gaze turned unnaturally unfocused. He then slumped back, lifeless.

The van screeched to a halt so suddenly she stumbled.

Great.He’d probably given his henchmen a telepathic shoutout before death took him.

She moved off Holt’s lap and called to her wings. Large and midnight-black, they snapped out, heavy and so much stronger than those she sported as a harpy eagle.

Feeling no sadness at all about Holt’s death, she quickly lit his corpse up with hellfire, sorry that she didn’t have the time to watch him burn. He’d suffered too quick a death in her opinion. It majorly disappointed her demon that they hadn’t been able to torture him some, but it did love that it got to watch the life leave his eyes.

The van’s rear doors were wrenched open.

Larkin didn’t give the male demons a moment to take in the scene. She acted instantly—slamming up a hand and projecting a hail of hell-ice out of her palm.

They stumbled back in surprise. One ducked, but the other didn’t manage to avoid the onslaught. As the chips sank into his head, he swayed, his eyes hazing.

Before the dying sentinel had even dropped to the ground, the other male straightened and conjured a hellfire orb.

Larkin flapped her wings hard, emitting a bitterly cold, gale-force wind. It put out the orb, knocked him off his feet, and sent him sliding along the ground.

She leaped out of the van and landed in a crouch above him. Before he had the opportunity to attack, she slammed her hand down on his chest and fired a hail of hell-ice. The chips pierced through his skin and ribcage to plant themselves in his organs and veins. In mere seconds, he was dead.

Standing upright, she exhaled a long breath and reached out to touch Teague’s mind. Relief whipped through her as she felt that he was alive. Thank God.

Eager to get to his camp fast, she quickly dumped both corpses in the van and then lit it up with hellfire. It burned fast, consuming the entire vehicle and the bodies inside.

Done.

Satisfied there was no one around, she bulleted up into the sky and began heading fast for Teague’s territory. She flew hard, her pulse beating fast in her throat, her panic so all-consuming she was unaware of the passing of time.

When she finally crashed through the preternatural shield surrounding Teague’s land, the sounds of battle whacked into her. Jesus, it was loud. If it wasn’t for the shield, the noise would be heard from miles away, and there would be police gathered in no time at all.

Hovering high above Teague’s camp, Larkin drank in the sight below, blinking in surprise at the dead chupacabras littering the earth. The fuck?

The clearing was the picture of pure chaos. Hellhorses battled. Fallen angels attacked chupacabras. Hounds tore into each other—and yeah, if Teague hadn’t told her the truth about his pets, she would have been shocked at the sight of ten, redeyed dogs.

Not far away from where she hovered, two flocks of birds were going at each other hard, sending tufts of feathers everywhere.

She frantically scanned the mayhem for—there. She recognized Teague’s hellhorse straight away. You couldn’t miss the scar on its neck. It was locked in battle with who was most likely Ronin’s beast.

The fight was ugly. There was raw power in every lunge, every bite, every slam of hooves. Muscles bunched and flexed and shimmered with both sweat and blood.

Though Teague’s demon was dominating the duel, it wasn’t satisfaction she felt. No, a surge of anger swooped through both her and her demon. Why? Because it was a walking mass of injuries.

Its face, neck, and shoulders were covered in bites. Puncture wounds were here and there. Burns and blisters and scorch marks could be seen on the front of its body. And there were also lots of deep gashes, particularly on its muzzle, legs, and flank—likely courtesy of chupacabra-claws.

Hissing through her teeth, she clenched her fists. If it hadn’t been a hellhorse—a creature hard to hurt and even harder to destroy—it would likely have been in a terrible state, if not dead.

Ronin really needed to die. She had every confidence that he would. His beast was slowly backing up under the pressure of the brutal assault, clearly outmatched. The hellhorses flanking it were also struggling against their opponents. Good.

Sure that Teague’s demon didn’t desperately need intervention, she quickly took another glance around, wanting to be certain that Ronin didn’t have any extra minions waiting in the trees. She wouldn’t put it past the spineless little shit.

Nobody appeared to be hanging around. The only chupacabra left—there were half a dozen or so—were surrounded by the Black Saints. The fallen angels sported some injuries but were . . . well, they were doing a whole bunch of stuff. Mostly just playing with their prey. Literally playing with them.

The Black Saints would let them run but then teleport in front of them and either punch their muzzle, wrestle them, or shoot them with crackling weird-ass balls of ultraviolet fire.

They also did a lot of laughing. And occasionally sank their teeth into the creatures’ necks, whatever that was about. She didn’t think they were drinking blood, but it was hard to tell. Surely not.

Basically, they were in no rush to end their fun.

Well, all right.

A pained squawk made her glance to the right. Ravens were still fighting in the air, and two appeared to have fallen to their death. Fuck, she hoped they weren’t from Teague’s flock—there was no way for her to tell simply from looking at them.

Similarly, she couldn’t tell the bloodhounds apart from the ones who’d evidently come along with Ronin. All were covered in puncture wounds and deep gashes at this point. Two were limping, and one was missing an ear.

She didn’t try to help either the ravens or the hounds, worried she’d hurt the wrong ones. Instead, she switched her focus to the hellhorse battle. It was still nothing short of ugly. Teeth scraped and sank deep. Hooves kicked and slammed. Hellfire consumed and scorched.

Her demon fairly rubbed its hands, eager to watch Teague’s steed and its clan lay waste to the fuckers who’d dared come here to kill them. Wanting to speed things along, Larkin decided to jump in.

Attacking from above, she threw up her palms and let out a volley of hell-ice. The chips zoomed down through the air and sank into the backs and flanks of the enemy-hellhorses. The steeds flinched and whinnied in pain. Her demon drank in the sounds with a sadistic smirk of delight.

Since she was at such a distance away from her targets, Larkin wasn’t sure if the chips would embed themselves deep—they might merely settle an inch or so beneath the skin. But they’d still sting and ache like crazy.

A couple of the hellhorses that had been hit peered up and spotted Larkin. She waved, beaming while her demon flipped them the finger. The steeds had no way to retaliate and needed to keep their attention on their battle, so they went right back to it . . . but not before one of them first let out a loud neigh that seemed like a call.

A squawk was the only warning Larkin got before an oversized bird bulleted through the air toward her. Since Teague’s flock wouldn’t attack her, it could only be one of Ronin’s.

Sharply turning its way, she threw an orb of hellfire at it. Missed. Ugh.

She emitted a rain of hell-ice chips at the winged fucker, smiling at its screech of pain. Then she rocketed toward it. The raven’s pace faltered, as if it hadn’t expected her to meet it head-on.

Another raven came out of nowhere and slammed into the side of her would-be-attacker, unbalancing and knocking it aside. The little shit somehow managed not to drop to the ground, but nor did it come at Larkin again.

It didn’t get the chance.

A bunch of ravens descended on it. Feathers and pained screeches peppered the air, delighting her entity—it was thoroughly enjoying itself right now, loving the ‘show’.

Figuring Teague’s flock didn’t need her aid, Larkin turned back to Ronin and who were likely his unit. Raising her hands, she targeted them again. Chips of hell-ice arrowed down and burrowed into their flesh. Some flinched and kicked out with their back legs.

Between sending out clusters of hell-ice, she slammed the hellhorses with orbs of hellfire. She paid particular attention to the legs, wanting to ensure said legs failed them fast.

Her peripheral vision caught movement. Two chupacabras had managed to evade the Black Saints and were attempting to flee. Larkin angled her body toward them and flapped her wings hard, emitting a harsh gust of air that flattened them to the ground. She blasted them with balls of hellfire, keeping them pinned in place.

Viper and his brothers were soon on the little shits. After giving her a nod of thanks, they . . . uh, well, they gripped the chupacabras hind legs and dragged them back to where they’d been playing with them. Clearly, they were still in no rush to end their prey.

Deciding she’d leave them to it, she turned her attention back to—

A loud yelp made her glance at the hounds. Four were circling a canine, protecting it from the others of the opposing side. It wasn’t dead, but its chest was very weakly rising and falling. Her stomach rolled. She sure hoped it wasn’t from Teague’s pack.

Refocusing on the hellhorses, she saw that Ronin’s beast and those flanking it had backpedaled even more. They weren’t simply tired, they were beginning to panic. They knew they were being overpowered, and they had no way to escape the situation they’d put themselves in. Well, ha.

She sent another hail of hell-ice at the bastards. She did it again. And again. And again. Hurting them. Distracting them. Coming at them from the rear so they had no way of evading attack.

A hellhorse on Ronin’s side went down, and its opponent immediately pounced—stomping on it, setting it alight with hellfire, delivering savage kicks to its head.

Another of Ronin’s friends went down, followed quickly by another. One by one, the others in their group joined them on the ground . . . until only Ronin’s steed was left standing.

Though Teague’s clan had killed their opponents, they didn’t leap on the surviving foe to aid Teague’s hellhorse. No, they stepped away. In a haze of smoke and ash, they shifted shape as the last two battling hellhorses went at it.

Observing the duel closely, Larkin quickly realized that the reason Ronin’s steed hadn’t yet been defeated wasn’t that it was some tough motherfucker. No, it was still on its feet—well, hooves—because Teague’s demon was choosing to drag the duel out. It wanted to have its fun and make its foe suffer.

Considering that Ronin had plenty to pay for, it wasn’t a surprise.

She didn’t aid Teague’s steed, knowing it would want to finish this itself. Instead, she lowered herself to the ground near his clan, who were tugging on jeans even as they watched the duel.

As she and the six males circled the fighting demons, five bloodhounds gathered close. All were battered and bruised, and some were limping. The other hounds were either dead or dying, as were five ravens. The live birds had congregated on nearby branches, looking worse for wear but not fatally wounded or—

Ronin’s hellhorse went down.

Her pulse leaped. Her demon clapped its hands with morbid glee.

The steed dragged itself upright, clearly in pain. She expected Teague’s beast to lunge and deliver the killing blow. It didn’t. Oh, it gave the fallen stallion a vicious kick all right. It simply made no attempt to kill it. Her hellhorse apparently wasn’t done yet.

Pulling her wings tight to her body, she let them ‘go’ and kept a close eye on Teague’s demon. She sure hoped he’d hurry this along, because her demon really wanted to join him, and Larkin just knew it would act like a weirdo if it did.

Time drifted from Teague’s steed as it got lost in its private battle. Attacking. Punishing. Terrorizing. Prolonging the agony. Not in any rush whatsoever to stop.

The taste of blood sat on its tongue. The thrill of battle pumped through its veins. The craving of pain and triumph came from deep in its soul.

Every counterattack from Ronin’s stallion was as weak as it was desperate. The demon was losing and knew it. Was dying and knew it.

Teague began pushing for supremacy. The demon ignored him, caught up in the duel. But Teague kept on pushing and pushing and pushing. Snarling at the persistence, the steed took its annoyance out on its opponent, bombarding it with more savage kicks.

Ronin’s bucking demon went back to all fours in an awkward move that made a rear leg buckle. It struggled to get to its feet. Failed. Struggled again. Failed once more.

Satisfied, Teague’s hellhorse snarled down at its prey and shot it a scathing look. It was during that one unguarded moment that Teague surged to the surface, forcing the demon to subside.

His teeth gritted, Teague breathed through the pain as his demon’s injuries became his own. Fire raced over several parts of his body. Aches seemed to have settled in his bones. Sweat trickled down his face, making the cuts there sting.

Ignoring the aches in his fatigued muscles, Teague honed in on his half-brother, whose own beast then retreated.

Ronin rolled onto his back, the move stiff and awkward. But he didn’t even attempt to get up. He lay there, heaving in gulps of air, injured in too many places to count.

For so long Teague had imagined seeing this male so bloody, bruised, and broken. Ronin had given Teague’s mother no peace. Had made life hell for her. Had taunted, insulted, and spat at her on a regular basis, blaming her for Soren’s infidelity; for how his parents had from then-on slept in separate beds; for how their relationship had eventually deteriorated until there was nothing left of it.

Teague’s mother had never blamed Ronin or defended herself to him, despite that Soren had lied to her; convinced her that he and his partner were separating. She’d been so ashamed of herself for her naivety that she’d taken Ronin’s abuse almost willingly.

Though Teague had made a deal with Soren to keep her safe from Ronin’s antics, Teague had always sworn to himself that he’d one day beat the asshole bloody. So he felt nothing but grim satisfaction as he stared down at the male who could have been a true brother to him if he wasn’t instead determined to hate him.

“You shouldn’t have come for me, Ronin,” said Teague. “You should have just gotten on with your life and pretended I never existed.”

Lines of pain carved into his pale face, Ronin swallowed. “How could I, when I was being constantly compared to you and always coming up short in other people’s estimations?” he sniped.

“Considering you’re dying right here from wounds I gave you, I’d say that their estimations were bang on the mark. But you already knew that they were right. It’s why you never wanted to duel with me, and it’s why you brought chupacabras with you tonight.” He gave the male a look that called him pathetic.

Ronin shook his head. “I didn’t bring them here to weaken you. I just wanted to see you suffer awhile before I ended you.”

Teague’s beast snorted. “You had no confidence that you could end me.”

An agonized cry burst out of Ronin, whose eyes went wide as his head snapped up. His gaze slammed on something behind Teague, darkening with anger.

Glancing over his shoulder, Teague saw that Larkin’s demon had shoved a chupacabra spine through Ronin’s leg.

It blinked at him, its brow knitting. “What?”

His beast nickered, amused. Teague supposed he should have expected that her crazy-ass entity would involve itself. He turned back to Ronin. “Was coming at me really worth it? Your friends are dead. Your hounds are dead. Your ravens are dead. Your hired help is dead. And soon, you will be as well.”

Ronin’s lips trembled, baring his grinding teeth. “If you hadn’t had backup—”

“Your backup would have overrun us all,” Teague finished. “Which, of course, was your plan. You should have known better than to think that I wouldn’t be prepared for such a move.”

Ronin slid a look at the Black Saints, who stood clustered together a few feet away. “What are they?”

“Don’t you worry about them. They certainly aren’t worrying about you.”

Ronin went to speak again, but then another scream tore out of him.

Teague didn’t need to look to know that his harpy’s demon had probably rammed a quill into Ronin’s other leg. Still, Teague did look. And yeah, he was right.

His face red and scrunched up in pain, Ronin stuttered out a breath. “People will look for me, Teague. They won’t ignore my disappearance. They will search. Especially my father. He will know to look at you for this.”

Teague pursed his lips. “I don’t see why he would, unless you told him you were coming here. Which I doubt. He would have put a stop to it, because he’d have known you wouldn’t survive it.”

Ronin looked as though he’d argue, but then he swallowed, a brief glint of vulnerability in his eyes. “He was ashamed.”

“What?”

“When he heard from others that I’d lost my position, he was ashamed.”

And that had no doubt been a contributing factor into why Ronin had been determined to see through his plan to execute Teague. “Does his pride really mean so much to you?”

“You say you never wanted it. But why else would you have joined the Wild Hunt, when you knew it was what he wanted for me?”

“My decision to be part of the Hunt was nothing to do with him or you. I didn’t set out to steal your future and be better at it than you could, if that’s what you think. I never thought about either of you when I accepted the position.”

Ronin’s lips compressed into a line. “I might have been fired, but the Dark Host will still seek to avenge my death.”

“Maybe. But only if they know you’re dead. They may even come here asking questions. They’ll never learn what happened, though.” Teague caught the jeans that Saxon threw to him. Pulling them on, he hid a wince as the denim chafed the fast-healing wounds on his legs. “We’ll never be held responsible for the deaths of you and your unit. Did you forget that we’re damn good at cleaning up after ourselves?”

“I think he did,” said Larkin’s demon, skirting around Teague, a spine in each hand. Pausing near Ronin’s head, it smiled so very, very sweetly at him. Then it shoved a spine into his left shoulder.

He cried out, arching his back, almost choking on a scream.

Flexing its hand around the other spine, her demon held it directly above his head and then looked at Teague. “Can I burst his eyeball?” it asked, no emotion. “I’d like to feel and hear it pop.”

Teague stifled a smile. “Maybe in a few minutes.”

Appearing somewhat disappointed, it used the tip of the spine to peel back Ronin’s upper lip. “I like his teeth.”

Jesus.

Ronin stared at the entity, horrified. “What the fuck?”

It met his gaze and giggled.

Teague couldn’t help but shudder, so he wasn’t surprised when Ronin recoiled from the creepy sound. Eager to get this over and done with, he conjured a lethal orb of hellfire and raised a brow at Ronin. “Any last words?”

He snarled. “I have no regrets about coming for you. I may not have won this duel, but I have won the bigger battle.”

Teague frowned. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you will not be able to stay in this realm,” he replied, his eyes gleaming with delight. “I have exposed your presence here. There is a renege group of fallen angels in Vegas—one of whom might even be an archangel. You and I both know how much angels despise hell-born creatures, don’t we? I left a message at their MC compound. I informed them that hell-born hellhorses have made a home for themselves here, and I gave them the location of your camp. They will come for you.” Ronin lifted his chin, smug as a motherfucker.

Feeling his lips kick up, Teague looked around the clearing, glancing at each face. They all started to laugh.

Ronin scowled. “What could possibly be so amusing?”

Grinning, Viper rubbed at his jaw. “Fallen angels, huh?” He gestured at his brothers. “Yeah, that would be us.” He glanced at Teague. “You didn’t tell me he was funny.”

Teague shrugged. “I haven’t seen him in a while. Forgot about it.” Orb still in hand, he took a few steps closer to the male sprawled on the ground in front of him.

Ronin looked like he’d try to scoot backwards, but the spines held him in place. He lifted a palm. “Wait—”

“No.” Teague lit him up with hellfire. The flames whooshed up his body, covering every inch of him, burning and consuming.

Ronin screamed and screamed and screamed, his body bucking and writhing as much as the quills would allow.

No one spoke. No one moved. They all simply watched and waited.

Or that was the intention, anyway.

Larkin’s demon rammed the chupacabra spine through Ronin’s eye and into his brain. His screams became gurgles, and his struggles turned weak and awkward. Then his flaming body sagged, lifeless.

Her entity wrenched out the spine, pulling out a ruptured eyeball with it, causing blood to spatter across the ground. Then, seeming rather pleased with itself, the demon finally retreated.

Puffing out a breath, Larkin grimaced at the eyeball and tossed the spine aside. She turned to Teague, and her face darkened. “You look awful.”

He hauled her close, ignoring the twinge of his wounds. “You give the best compliments.” He dabbed a quick kiss on her mouth.

Viper eyed his injuries. “Want me to take care of those?”

Teague shook his head. “They’ll heal quick enough.”

She cocked her head at the MC president. “What is that ultraviolet shit you were tossing around earlier?”

“Nothing as cool as hell-ice,” replied Viper. “Nice gift you got there.”

Teague held his hand out toward the president. “Your aid was appreciated, though I think it would be safe to say it was more that you wanted an invite to the party than that you felt compelled to help us.”

His mouth quirking, Viper shook his hand. “You didn’t need our help. You only didn’t argue about us being here because you knew we’d turn up either way.”

“Why did you help tonight?” Larkin asked him. “Really?”

Viper arched a brow. “Why would we fight creatures that come crawling out of hell when they have no business doing so?” He shrugged. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Her brow furrowed. “They tried invading the upper realm when you guys lived up there?”

“More often than you might think.” Viper stuffed his hands in his pockets. “They probably always will, even though it never gets them very far.”

“You and your brothers keep an eye on things here in this realm now,” she guessed. “You watch out for signs that some might be around.”

“Do we?” Viper asked, airy.

She flapped an unimpressed hand at his evasiveness. “Whatever. Just remember not all hell-born who come here do so with ill-will.”

Viper held up his hands, his expression serious. “I’ll only have an issue with those who do. You don’t need to worry that I’ll come for your hellhorse.”

“If that changes and you target him, I’ll come for you.”

Viper smiled. “You know what, I like you.”

“So you should. I’m fucking amazing.”

He laughed and then turned to his brothers, who all stood around looking casual as you please even while injured and boasting streaks of blood on their skin and clothes. They looked not one bit unsettled by the evening’s experience. More like amped up. As if they’d just left a concert or live sports’ event or something.

Once the fallen angels had tended to the bloodhounds—like Maddox, they had the ability to heal wounds—they offered to help the ravens. The stubborn avians were having none of that, though. As such, the Black Saints then teleported out of the camp.

Teague swept his gaze over the clearing, taking in the bodies, ashes, and gore. “Let’s clean up.” As a thought occurred to him, he frowned at Larkin. “What took you so long to get here?”

She lightly scratched the corner of her mouth with one nail. “Huh. Funny story.”