Page 47 of Siren’s Secret

“You… really want me,” Wave whispered. “Me. Not my powers. Me.”

Jarred gulped and nodded. Now he was biting back tears because the pure disbelief that accompanied her statement broke his heart. His Claimed had never imagined someone wanting her just for her.

“Come here, love,” he choked out. The ease with which she walked into his arms nearly brought him to his knees. “I’ll kill anyone who ever tries to hurt you ever again,” he vowed, pressing kisses into her hair.

Wave sighed softly, nuzzling against his neck. “I believe you.”

Chapter 24 – Hellion

They weren’t finding anything. Absolutely nothing. There was no record of Wayla Stormwell, but there was one for Wayla Spinwell. One so well-crafted that Hellion hadn’t been able to break it even when he knew it was fake.

Hellion had reached out to his contacts, but so far, they hadn’t heard anything back. Marc hadn’t had any luck with his channels either, not that either of them had expected otherwise. Information gathering wasn’t Marc’s strong suit.

The whole house was tense. Jarred was out somewhere, Grant was sulking, Zahir was still recovering, and Sinister was in one of his moods. Hellion had been ready to kick his ass in training until he got a text and finally fucking relaxed a bit.

Still, there was an uneasy feeling of things hanging in balance. Hellion grumbled as he stared at the empty coffeepot. “Why’s the coffee always gone?”

“’Coz you drink it,” Grant snapped.

“What crawled up your ass?” Hellion growled back.

“You idiots.”

“Wh—”

The doorbell ringing cut Hellion off. He frowned. It was late, so who the fuck—

“Aren’t you going to open the door?”

“No,” Hellion replied. Sure, he was feeling petulant, but so what? Someone else would open it. Once he heard Hazard moving into the foyer, he lifted a brow at Grant, who just snorted. The air in the house shifted and Hellion spun on his heel, bracing, just as Hazard led a demon in.

“Prince Marchellion Burningstar,” the demon greeted him formally, and Hellion fought hard to keep his face passive. No one called him by that name at the Academy.

“Lord Esserieh Brokenstar,” he greeted his father’s right-hand male and long-time lover. It paid to be courteous to Esserieh. The male had no tolerance for disrespect, jokes, or back talk. He was one mean fucker and rarely left the Hell Realm. The fact that he was here now didn’t bode well. It was like his black form and gleaming horns sucked all the air and light out of the room without him even trying. When the silence continued, Hellion cleared his throat. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“I’m here to deliver a message,” the demon said, his tone cold.

“For who?”

Esserieh looked like he wanted to smack the back of Hellion’s head like he had done plenty of times when he was growing up.

“You, Marchellion.”

“Had to make sure,” Hellion muttered. “Shoot.”

“Stop looking.”

“What?” Now he was completely baffled. Grant was leaning forward, looking intrigued. Hazard just looked slightly pained, and Sinister was texting furiously. Hellion had no doubt that the rest of the Powerhouses were being informed.

“Fuck,” Sinister muttered under his breath and marched out of the room. Hellion heard the front door open and some murmuring. Then there was a slight squeal and someone running.

Wayla, of all people, ran into the room with Jarred on her heels and, to Hellion’s utter horror, she barreled straight toward Esserieh.

“Uncle Essi!”

One of the most feared demons in Hell turned to meet her with a tooth-baring grin and spread his arms. Wayla crashed into him like a cannonball and Esserieh absorbed it easily. The whole room, probably the whole campus, held its breath.

“Droplet,” he said, then pushed Wayla back a step. “I see you still haven’t learned any manners.”