Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

Standing in the airport terminal the next morning, Devon glanced at her watch. Her parents’ airplane had landed twenty minutes ago, so she figured they should have appeared by now. Well, they hadn’t.

The people around her were just as impatient, letting out heavy sighs, shifting restlessly, and repeatedly glancing at the large digital monitor displaying departure and arrival times … as if it would somehow tell them exactly when the passengers would walk through the automated doors.

Enzo and Lex were amongst the crowd—no doubt on Tanner’s orders. They’d been following her around all morning. She was also being tailed by two members of Jolene’s Force, Tyson and Rhonda. None were making any effort to look inconspicuous, clearly wanting people to know she wouldn’t be an easy target if they were dumb enough to make a grab for her.

She took another bite of the candy bar she’d bought from the vending machine. Well, one of the bars she’d bought. They wouldn’t do much for her figure, sure, but Devon was on the seafood diet. If she saw food, she devoured it. Best diet ever.

God, where were the damn passengers? Her feline didn’t like it there. Didn’t like being crowded by so many people. Didn’t like the cloying scents of perfume, cologne, and hairspray. It wanted to—

The automated glass doors slid open. People began to file out, carting luggage and carrying plastic carrier bags.

Devon craned her neck to look for her parents. Some passengers dashed over to members of the crowd while others breezed by and headed out. She danced from foot to foot, waiting. And waiting. And then Russell shuffled through the doors, grumbling to his mate about something while having some sort of fight with the handle of his suitcase.

Warmth blooming inside her, Devon’s lips twitched. He often grumbled. And sighed. And rolled his eyes. And shook his head in consternation. Yet, it was all somehow endearing. Russell was like a grouchy but cuddly teddy bear. And he seemed to have made it his life’s mission to leave his beloved armchair as little as possible. But every year without fail, the imp took his mate away for the weekend to celebrate their anniversary.

Unlike him, Gertie was always on the move. Cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, pottering around, working as a cook at the local school. She loved flea markets and garage sales; could sniff out a bargain a mile away—which Russell loved, because he was a major tight-ass.

Gertie often called him lazy and bone-idle, but it really didn’t bother her much. Probably because the hellcat had her own way of doing things and didn’t like anyone interfering. She also didn’t look much like Devon’s mother, despite that she was Pamela’s older sister.

His gaze found Devon and he brightened. “There she is.” Reaching her, he curled his arm around her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Hello, beautiful.”

Gertie kissed her other cheek. “Sweetheart, how are you?”

“Happy to see you both,” replied Devon. “How was New York?”

“Hectic. Rainy. We loved it. Of course, your father got us lost several times.”

“I was taking the scenic routes,” Russell defended. “I don’t get lost. I have a pigeon’s instinct.”

“You need a sat nav just to cross the street,” Gertie teased. “Not that you leave your precious chair often enough to do it.”

Russell huffed at her and then turned to Devon, who forced a smile. Whatever he saw on her face made him frown. “Something’s wrong.”

The man was far too observant. “I’ll tell you about it in the car.” Devon took the suitcase. “Come on, I’m parked at the terminal.” As she drove to their house, she relayed the entire story. Furious, they launched questions at her and berated her for not calling them. “If I’d told you about it, you’d have ended your trip early, and for what? There was nothing you could have done.”

“That’s not the point,” clipped Russell. “You’re our daughter—we have every right to know if you’re in danger.”

“You should have called, Devon,” insisted Gertie, her lips thin. “You’d expect the same from us.”

Devon sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Gertie made a pfft sound. “No, you’re not. You didn’t want us to come home early in case the trouble touched us, did you?”

“I was kind of hoping it would be resolved by the time you got back,” said Devon. “Hopefully Lockwood can shine some light on a few things, though I’m not optimistic about it.”

Gertie nibbled on her lip. “Have you told Drew about this?”

Devon eased her foot on the pedal as they approached a red light. “I’ll tell him when it’s over. The last thing I want is him in the general vicinity of Knox and Harper.” Her brother cared for Harper in his way and, jealous that she was mated to Knox, had tried coming between them—that hadn’t ended well for Drew at all. And since he wasn’t someone who learned his lessons easily, she couldn’t trust that he wouldn’t try it again.

Finally, she reached her parents’ house. Devon helped them haul the luggage inside, doing her best to ignore the disappointed looks they gave her. She’d expected their anger, and she figured they had a right to it, so she didn’t comment.

As Russell headed straight to his beloved armchair in the living room, Gertie rolled her eyes. “How did I know he’d do that? It’s just typical that he’d … What’s that on your hand?” She grasped Devon’s palm and studied the mark there. Her brows lifted. “Well, I’m guessing it was Harper’s bodyguard who marked you. I’ve seen the way you two are with each other.”

Devon had not just blushed. “Let’s not talk about the pooch.”

Gertie’s mouth quirked just a little. “Fine. How about some tea? Or maybe vodka. I always feel better after a shot of vodka.”

“I’m good with tea—I’m driving.”

Gertie’s smile faltered. “God, Devon, I’m so worried about you. I can’t stop thinking about what happened.”

And this was another reason why she hadn’t called her parents. Gertie was the type to obsess over things. Devon put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not going to tell you not to worry—that would be stupid and pointless. But please know that I’m being as careful as I can be. And I’m not in this alone. I have more people protecting me than my ego can take, actually.”

Russell spoke, flicking through the TV channels with his remote control, “Well, I’ll be calling Jolene and demanding to know what else she’s doing to find the bastard who’s after you. And Finn needs to pull his finger out of his ass and get this shit sorted fast. He’s always been absolutely useless.”

“Jolene’s doing all she can—she always does,” Devon told him.

“But she’s not doing enough, or the threat to you would be gone.” Gertie rubbed at her temples. “Whoever spoke through Sheridan said they’d see you soon. They’re not going to stop, are they?”

“Mom, please don’t obsess over this.”

Russell snorted. “Like she could do anything else. Making me a coffee and something to eat might help keep her mind off it, though.”

Gertie sighed at him. “It wouldn’t kill you to fix yourself something to eat and drink, you know.” She cast a mournful look at the full suitcase. “I’ve got some laundry to do, and I’m not looking forward to it.”

Russell gave her a look that was pure false sympathy. “It’s not going to do itself, so you should probably get started.”

Gertie shot him a scowl that had no real anger in it. “So freaking lazy.”

“I’ve never pretended to be anything else.” He looked at Devon. “Have I, beautiful?”

She raised her hands. “Don’t bring me into this.”

“Hmm, yes, you know better than to get involved in—” Gertie gaped in horror when Russell elevated one leg and let out a horrid-sounding fart. “Oh, Russ, must you really do that?”

His eyes widened. “If I can’t fart in my own house on my own chair, where can I do it?”

“How about the yard?”

“Not a chance.” His nose wrinkled. “Oh, that reeks.” He took a folded newspaper from the coffee table and started wafting the air with it.

“Come on, Devon, let’s go spare ourselves.” Gertie herded her into the kitchen. Lowering her voice, she said, “I didn’t want to ask in front of Russell, because hearing her name always puts him a bad mood, but has anyone told Pam—?”

“No,” clipped Devon, stomach hardening. “There’s no need to.”

“Sweetheart, she has a right to—”

“There’s no need for her to know. It would do her more harm than good anyway.”

Sighing, Gertie gave a wan smile. “I suppose you’re right. So … why don’t you tell me how you came to be marked by that hellhound.”

“Um, how about no?”

“You want me distracted from everything that’s happening around you, don’t you? So distract me.”

Oh, the woman was diabolical at times. “Some other time. I have to get going.” She’d agreed to meet Jolene, Ciaran, and Tanner outside Lockwood’s office building in just twenty minutes’ time. “I’ll see you guys later.” After an exchange of kisses, hugs, and “be safes,” Devon walked down the cobbled path and over to her car.

Since she had time, she made a pit-stop at the gas station near her destination. As she refilled her tank, she noticed that both pairs of her “guards” were idling near the empty squeegee stations, talking with each other through the open car windows. Even with her hellcat hearing she couldn’t make out what they were saying over the sounds of engines idling, gas gurgling through hoses, and music filtering through an RV’s open door, but all four guards were laughing about something. Apparently, they’d bonded.

With a snort, she turned back to the pump just as it clicked off. She replaced the nozzle, recapped the gas tank, and wiped her hands with paper towels. Then, sidestepping a fresh oil stain on the hot pavement, Devon tossed the scrunched-up paper towels in the half-full garbage can and headed inside the station to pay for the gas. On her way back to the pump station where her car waited, she gave her guards a little wave, making sure they—

Tires screeched as a van came to a stop next to her car. The back doors flew open. Men leaped out and grabbed her.

Heart slamming against her ribs, Devon struggled like crazy as they yanked her into the van. “You mother—”

There was a sharp prick in her arm, an awful feeling of pressure, and then it felt like her blood was fluttering. And she knew … liquid mercury. The bastards had injected her with liquid mercury, knowing it would weaken her and prevent her feline from surfacing. Oh, fuck.

*

Rolling up his electronic window to block out the country music blasting from the BMW idling in front of him, Tanner continued to listen intently as Knox telepathically told him what he’d learned of Sloan’s most trusted sentinel, Colm. Which was basically nothing helpful.

It wasn’t uncommon for people to go to great lengths to delete any paper trails that led to their past—hell, Tanner, Knox, and the sentinels had done that very thing—but it could be fucking annoying at times.

The only thing that pointed to Colm being the one who killed Harry and Dale was that he was often sent by Sloan to execute traitors. But Colm had never been known to mutilate them beforehand. He allegedly liked to get the deaths over with quickly.

Did Sloan’s plants know much?

I’m not sure, replied Knox, his telepathic tone edged with irritation. They killed each other before either could speak.

Tanner blinked. They what?

It must have been a suicide pact, or maybe Sloan ordered them to die rather than pass on any information.

They obviously didn’t trust that they could hold out against any pain you dealt them. As the traffic light turned green, Tanner switched gears and drove forward. He wasn’t far from Lockwood’s office building, where Jolene might already be waiting with Ciaran. He knew that Devon hadn’t yet arrived there, or Enzo would have notified Tanner by now—just as he’d notified him of every move that she’d made that morning since leaving her apartment.

Someone silenced Harry and Dale,said Knox, but there’s nothing to suggest it was Colm, or even that it was someone who worked for Sloan. This may have nothing to do with the other Prime.

Tanner twisted his mouth. Muriel insisted that her brother and Harry weren’t in contact, but Dale was real protective of her; if he and Harry were involved in something that could have endangered her, Dale would have kept it from her.

True. It’s not a coincidence that he and Harry were killed in the exact same manner—I’m sticking with our theory that they both knew something they weren’t supposed to know.

Or someone is targeting people from Ramsbrook. I can’t think why anyone would, but it’s possible.

If that were the case, there’d be more bodies. So far, only Harry and Dale …Knox trailed off, and there was a long pause. My meeting is about to start. We’ll talk again later. Let me know how things go with Lockwood. If he’s uncooperative, bring him to my Chamber.

Will do.If the array of torturous machines and sharp implements couldn’t convince Lockwood to part with what he knew, nothing would.

Tanner telepathically reached out to Enzo. Has Devon left the gas station yet?

She just went inside to pay, Enzo replied. I’ll let you know the second she makes a move. Enzo didn’t add, Just as I’ve done since this morning, but Tanner heard it in his tone.

Did Tanner need to check in with the other male so often? No. But having someone watch over her didn’t give Tanner the reassurance that it should have done, because it meant trusting someone else’s eyes and ears and instincts with something as important as her safety. That wasn’t so easy to do. Especially now that he knew the person who wanted her wasn’t deterred by their past lack of success or by his mark on her palm.

Rolling back his shoulders, he relaxed his death-grip on the steering wheel. She had four people tailing her, he reminded himself. Four people watching not only her but her surroundings, ready to act upon the slightest hint of a threat. And yet, he couldn’t help worrying about her.

His frustration mounted with each hour that passed when the cloud of danger continued to color her life. It might not have been so hard to stop obsessing over it if Tanner felt close to unearthing the identity of the bastard who wanted her, but he was utterly fucking clueless. He was a hellhound; hunting was in his blood. But his superior tracking senses didn’t help much when dealing with someone who was speaking through others.

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.

The van skidded to an awkward halt, making him topple sideways. Her mind distantly registered the driver’s door being pulled open, Len screaming in pain, and the sounds of flesh smacking flesh. And then the back doors of the van were heaved open.

She tried fighting the tug of sleep as people piled into the vehicle, but it was no use. A dark, smoky scent with notes of cinnamon spice wrapped around her just as the lights winked out.

*

Fighting to keep his touch gentle when all he wanted was to punch something, Tanner carefully scooped up Devon’s unconscious form and cradled her against his chest. The warm weight of her in his arms unraveled one of the many knots in his curdling stomach.

Jesus, she was so still and pale. But she was breathing, he reminded himself. She was alive. And not on her way to some fucking stranger who may or may not want her dead.

Tanner closed his eyes as a wave of relief hit him so hard that he was surprised his balance didn’t waver. Fuck, kitten, you gave me a scare, he said, even knowing she wouldn’t hear him.

He quietly let out a slow, centering breath. When he identified and found the fucker who was behind all this, Tanner was going to put him through a world of blinding pain. And with his centuries-worth of experience in torture, he knew a great many ways to make someone suffer deeply without killing them too quickly. It was a skill he took pride in.

Sweeping his gaze over her kidnappers, he noticed that the only one still breathing was now trying to army-crawl his way to the doors, bloody and broken. Tanner snarled. Motherfucker. The other male’s nails scrabbled at the floor of the vehicle as Tanner yanked him backwards by his broken ankle.

Still holding tight to Devon, he flipped the bastard over and snapped his hand tight around his throat. That was when his hound pushed for supremacy.

Seething, the entity lifted its captive and hauled him so close they were nose-to-nose. Nostrils flaring, the demon chuffed out a breath. A thick, dark gray, noxious mouthful of air dived up the male’s nose and poured down his throat. He jerked, eyes wide and panicked. Coughed, hacked, struggled. Then his eyes rolled back in his head.

The demon watched, detached, as violent convulsions wracked its captive’s body harder and harder until, finally, the life leached out of him. Satisfied, the entity dropped the corpse. Aware of the four gazes on it, the hound peeled back its upper lip, warning them to keep their distance. Then it retreated.

Once more in control, Tanner cricked his neck. He raised a brow at the four demons who were watching him warily.

Lex blinked hard. “I’ve heard of hellhounds breathing out smoke or sleeping gas, but nothing so poisonous that it can kill.”

Tanner only shrugged. He didn’t use the ability often because he preferred combat, just as his demon did. But he hadn’t been willing to put Devon down for a second—not even to kill that little fucker. Had the guy not been so close to death, Tanner would have kept him alive to question him.

“Is she all right?” asked Rhonda, flexing her fingers.

Feeling his jaw harden to stone, Tanner held Devon closer to him and glared at the imp. “She’s fine.”

Rhonda winced at his curt tone. “We didn’t do our job, I know. It just all happened so fast …”

Tyson put a supportive hand on the female’s shoulder. “This fuck up is on all four of us,” he said, his eyes briefly darting to Enzo and Lex, who both nodded.

Yeah, and Tanner wanted to rip them all a new ass hole, but this wasn’t the time or place. What they all needed right then was action. Humans would have noticed the kidnapping and the crash, and steps would need to be taken to cover up as much of the demonic activity as possible—which was why he’d telepathically reached out to Knox and the other sentinels, who were now all on their way, as he drove.

They’d done this dance many times before. Knox mostly took care of tweaking memories, Larkin would edit or delete any incriminating CCTV footage, and the others would stage the scenes in whatever ways were necessary … just as Tanner often did. Today, though, he was sticking with Devon.

Rhonda scrubbed a hand down her face. “I haven’t panicked like that in God knows how long.”

Tanner could say the same about himself. By nature, he wasn’t an emotionally overreactive person. He was in control of his emotions, and he was always steady in times of stress or danger. But when Enzo told him that Devon had been taken, his mind had turned into a whirl of chaos.

With adrenaline pumping through his veins, he’d sped around the streets like a fucking crazy person, desperate to get to her—his mouth dry, his heart pounding, his ribs feeling too tight. His only comfort had been the knowledge that her kidnappers would have been ordered not to harm her, just as the others had been.

He’d managed to close in on the van just as the imps took the other vehicle out of the equation, but the car collision had caused a block in the road, so he’d had to abandon the Audi and pursue the first van on foot. And when he’d merged his mind with hers and realized how close she was to unconsciousness, he’d nearly lost his shit.

His hound had gone ballistic, demanding freedom, craving vengeance. The only thing that had stopped it from bashing its way to the surface was the shock of the sight it found when Tanner hopped into the van. Three of the bastards that had taken her were dead on the floor of the vehicle, and the other was barely alive—all looked like they’d been trampled on by a freight train. Several times.

Now, he knew just how sharp his kitten’s “claws” really were. The power inside her was as dark and hungry for violence as the hound that lived within him.

Enzo picked up a syringe and sniffed it. “I don’t recognize the smell.”

“It’s liquid mercury,” Tanner told him. The damn stuff was leaking from her pores, tainting her luscious scent. The injection would keep her unconscious for a few hours, maybe longer. “They already hit her with one dose of it. Looks like they were thinking of hitting her with another.”

“Wouldn’t that have killed her?” asked Lex, checking the pockets of the deceased and getting a good look at their bruised, bloody faces.

“Yes,” replied Tanner. “They probably only brought the second syringe as a spare in case they lost the first. But when they realized they were dealing with someone far more powerful than they’d been prepared for, they were willing to use the second syringe, even if it meant killing her.”

Lex sighed. “None of these guys have any ID or cell phones on them.”

Because that would be too easy, wouldn’t it? Tanner took a brief look around and then spoke to Enzo and Lex. “Find out who this van belongs to and who the fuck they were.”

“It’ll be done,” Enzo assured him.

The van rocked slightly as Keenan hopped inside. His brows shot up as he took in the scene. “I’m guessing she’s fine, since you haven’t gone off the deep end.”

It had been a close call. “She’s fine … albeit drugged up to her eyeballs with liquid mercury.”

“Liquid mercury?” Keenan echoed. “Fuck me.”

Hearing sirens blaring in the distance, Tanner said, “I need to get her out of here.”

Keenan nodded. “We’ll take care of everything and feed the authorities a false story—you concentrate on Devon.”

With a nod of thanks, Tanner exited the van with Devon still in his arms. He needed to get her somewhere impenetrable. Somewhere where she could recover in peace. Right then, there was only one place he trusted her to be safe.