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Holt lightly brushed one hand over the other. “You should probably know that, once the dust has settled, I have every intention of wiping Sullivan from this planet.”
A screech of rage exploded from her mouth just as her demon’s furious scream echoed around her head.
Holt let out a dark laugh. “Oh yes, he really does matter to you.”
Angry breaths heaving in and out of her, she glared at him. No way would he get even the chance to harm Teague. Holt would be dead soon enough. He just didn’t know it yet.
“So sad that it isn’t a two-way street,” he taunted. “His demon may have branded you—yes, I heard all about it—but that means little. Teague would never have committed to you, and neither would his beast.”
Her demon cracked its knuckles, raring to slam its fist into this fucker’s dick. Or maybe just pluck out his eye . . . and make him eat it.
Though Larkin wanted to screech at him yet again, she didn’t. Because she recognized what he was trying to do: Distract her. Anger her. Tire her out emotionally so that he’d be more easily able to power through the mental wall that stood between them.
Not happening.
Refusing to take the bait, she focused on the net once more.
There was nothing genuine in the look of sympathy he offered her. “I suppose you now know how it feels to want more from someone than they’ll ever be willing to give you. Not nice, is it?”
Snarky bastard.
“You may believe I’m wrong; may think that he cares for you as you do him. But even if he does, he wouldn’t have claimed you. Hellhorses rarely take mates, and it’s been said that Sullivan avoids relationships more than most do anyway. He prefers to simply sample whatever flower in the field he comes across.”
More determined to get to the prick than ever before, her inner demon renewed its efforts to surface, beating at Larkin’s insides.
“He’ll move on soon enough. He might ponder over your disappearance. Might even vaguely worry about it. But he won’t grieve it. Won’t put his life on pause to look for you. Not that it would do him any good if he did. He’ll never find you.”
Pausing, Holt leaned forward. “No one will ever find you. You’ll be with me for all time. Bound to me for all time. There will be no escape. Not physically, not psychically. And whenever you find yourself hating your life, remember that the blame for your situation lies squarely with you.”
Material split. Holt froze. The net’s buzz of power winked out. And Larkin inwardly smiled.
Sinking its teeth into the vulnerable throat of a chupacabra, Teague’s steed heard a voice bark out an order to shift. Its gaze sought Ronin. Narrowed. He and his fellow hellhorses were beginning to shed their clothes.
A sense of twisted anticipation coursed through the steed. It dropped the dead creature it held and turned to fully face its main enemy, conscious of its clan flanking it. The beast snorted in disgust at the cowardice of the invaders, who had waited until their opponents were injured and tiring before acting; until the only chupacabras left were presently toys of the Black Saints.
Panting hard, the steed puffed out a thin cloud of smoke with each breath. The fighting and blood loss had taken a toll on it, and the adrenaline-dimmed pain refused to be shelved any longer. But the thought of finally going head-to-head with Ronin’s beast energized the steed.
It yearned to sink its teeth into the flesh of the one who had brought this fight to its land. It was eager to wreak vengeance for every slight Ronin had ever committed throughout the years. Merely recalling those incidences made a red haze cloud its vision and a growl vibrate in its chest.
Naked, Ronin swallowed hard, as if nervous. He should be. His life had reached its expiry date.
Smoke and dots of floating ash began to build around the trespassers. When the smoke cleared, seven hellhorses stood in their place. The beasts shifted from foot to foot, neighing and shaking their heads.
Ronin’s stallion was slightly smaller than Teague’s demon. Less muscular. But it was powerfully built, and it stood solid and at the ready.
Unintimated, Teague’s beast boldly locked its gaze with that of its adversary. It was utterly confident it could take down its foe, even as it acknowledged that it would be no simple win. Teague’s steed didn’t care that it would be a challenge. It liked that.
The chupacabras had been too easy for it to defeat. But against another hellhorse, the beast had no great ‘edge’. Its venom would not be lethal to another of its kind, nor would the noxious smoke. This would be a battle of strength, speed, will, and power.
As it glared at its enemy, they both danced from foot to foot, each sizing up the other. Geared up to start the fight, Teague’s steed scuffed the earth with its hoof, kicking up a small cloud of dirt—a dare, a challenge, a taunt.
