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She heard a roar of fire outside followed by a guttural hellhound growl. Hope unfurled in her belly. Help had arrived, and that help would no doubt take down the army of puppets who were trying to get inside the saloon.
Moments later, Keenan dropped through the hole in the roof and landed a few feet away from her. Relief surged through her so fast it nearly made her dizzy. “Thank fuck you’re here,” she said.
His mind brushed hers, vibrating with rage. “Thank fuck you’re alive.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Seeing his mate alive and well—albeit injured—made something in Keenan settle even as a need for vengeance crept through him and infiltrated every cell in his body. He wanted to haul her to him and kiss her hard, but that could wait. It would have to wait. Even his demon, who was desperate to reach and touch her, understood that.
He noticed Asher’s partial form wink out just as Ciaran and Jolene teleported to Khloé’s side. The female Prime instantly slammed up her shield to protect them, blocking the barrage of death orbs that came their way.
Ciaran emitted a powerful blast of telekinetic energy that flattened his targets. Only Enoch, protected by his forcefield, remained on his feet.
You keep her safe, Keenan ordered Jolene, resisting the urge to wade through the corpses and get to Khloé’s side. He wanted to pile the pressure on Enoch by striking at him from another angle.
Don’t worry, Jolene told him. Enoch can’t reach her.
As a unit, they attacked the motherfucker and his puppets. Pure mayhem commenced. Balls of hellfire, death orbs, and ripples of telekinetic power zoomed around the large space. Old elixir bottles smashed or exploded. Tables and chairs broke or splintered. Patches of rot and scorch marks stained the walls and floor.
The crowd of corpses soon divided. Most headed for Khloé, Jolene, and Ciaran, but the others came at Keenan, attacking with balls of hellfire. One clipped his shoulder, burning his tee and eating at his flesh. Another hit his solar plexus so hard it was like a scorching hot fist slammed into his chest and knocked the breath from his body.
His demon roared in anger, flexing its fists. Winded and clenching his teeth against the pain of his flesh charring and peeling away, Keenan retaliated with hellfire orbs of his own—his were hotter, more lethal.
The whole time, he kept a mental eye on Khloé. She was a force to be fucking reckoned with, tossing out waves, beams, and bullets of electric fire—making both him and his demon proud as fucking hell, even as they worried for her.
Enoch repeatedly targeted her, despite the fact that she was safely behind Jolene’s shield—as if he hoped that by attacking said shield hard enough, he’d eventually crack it.
The corpses’ numbers dropped fast. The blinded ones slumped to the floor. But, unhampered by pain or emotion, the rest forged onward, no matter how horribly wounded they were. Keenan could almost taste the sickening scents of rot, blood, seared flesh, charred wood, and burned rancid meat.
Tossing flaming orbs at the remaining puppets, he inched closer to Enoch and exuded dark pheromones that would fuck with his system and make the bastard feel sick, disoriented, and afraid. It took a few minutes for the pheromones to truly take hold, but Keenan saw the moment when Enoch fell victim to their effects. Sweat beaded his forehead, the color drained from his face, and his hands began to shake.
His forcefield didn’t falter. Yet. But it would.
Tanner’s hound charged into the saloon with a throaty snarl and crashed into the crowd of corpses. A millisecond later, Harper, Knox, Levi, and the hellhound rushed through the front door, their expressions hard as stone.
Tell me the puppets outside are out of commission, Keenan said to Knox as his lair members joined the attack.
They’re out, confirmed the Prime.
The air burned hot with the stream of fire that flowed from Knox’s palm, lighting up corpse after corpse. Harper lifted small objects, infused them with hellfire, and hurled them at their enemies’ heads while Tanner’s hound ravaged them with claws and teeth. Levi joined Jolene and Ciaran in attacking with telekinesis—lifting corpses and bashing their heads on the floor or against the walls.
The air rang with the sounds of electric fire crackling, hellfire spitting, wood splintering, corpses grunting and gargling, and voices crying out in pain or anger.
Enoch’s puppets stood no chance against so many foes. It was a massacre, really. Finally, all of them littered the floor, along with bits of skull, bone, and brain matter and, of course, the bodies of Thea, Gavril, and his two sentinels.
Only Enoch remained alive, still safe within his damn forcefield. A forcefield that was finally beginning to weaken. Sweat was pouring off Enoch who, his neck corded and his expression fierce, was clearly struggling to keep up the shield. But he was keeping it up—that was the problem. Even though he’d vomited twice and was obviously tiring, he’d held out.
