AllFreeNovel
Share Us
If someone were to have asked Jeremiah what the biggest downside of being a Hellhound was, they’d probably expect something like being a supernatural pariah, or not having any kind of pack or family, or not being allowed in half the countries in the world because of his hellfire. And those were issues he’d faced most of his life.
The fact that he’d grown up between shelters and living on the streets because of those things should have been enough.
But no. The answer he’d give would be not being able to feel the heat enough to wake up when his goddamn bed was on fire. Of course, he learned his lesson years back when he’d woken up to a spray-down with a fire extinguisher the day the only decent foster family he’d ever had kicked him out. They didn’t want to believe him when he swore that he’d never intentionally hurt them.
But it hadn’t mattered, and he’d just felt more like a freak—a reject—after losing out on that family, and he’d been pretty sure no one would ever take him in again.
He’d learned to sleep with fire-retardant blankets, and he kept his door closed and locked everywhere he went after that. He could control it now that he was older, wiser, and well trained in defense, but when he slept… sometimes he slipped.
It didn’t really bother him as much anymore when the bright, orange glow behind his closed eyelids was fire instead of the morning sun, but it served as a reminder that he’d always be a little off-kilter when he had to deal with powerful politicians. He tried to keep his teams—his family—away from those in power, only because almost all of them were corrupt and not above exploiting the Trident Agency for their own gain—and they’d had everyone from presidents to kings attempt to use them as scapegoats when things didn’t go right.
The Trident Agency had set up shop on the border between the kingdoms of Midlona and Averna. Sirens and Gargoyles had formed a strong alliance hundreds of years before Jeremiah was even a thought in the universe, and they were two of the only countries who offered open sanctuary to almost all species. Neither kingdom blinked at the sight of a personal protection agency that employed a melting pot of creatures, in spite of the fact that both sides tended to stick to their own just like everyone else.
So when the queen of the Sirens called for help, he damn well fucking answered. Even if it meant he woke up the morning of the meeting bathed in hellfire.
There was no Hellhound community for Jeremiah to run to, even if he wanted to escape his current situation—not that he would. But it just wasn’t something that happened. Hellhounds had never been given a chance to form their own communities. In school, they learned about the one time three thousand years ago when Hellhounds attempted to form their own kingdom near the Angria Desert. They thrived for fifty years before a horde of Demons came in to raze them to the ground, scattering them to the winds.
Now, the few that remained could exist quietly, so long as they didn’t stir up trouble. But for the average Hellhound, a higher education was next to impossible, and getting a job doing anything but the most menial, demeaning tasks in a city was a damn miracle.
Jeremiah himself was a walking, talking contradiction. He was rich, he was powerful, he had contacts in high places, and people didn’t fuck with him. But he was still feared, looked at with disgust. It had taken years of working his ass off to get where he was, of expanding the agency into several teams and cultivating favors from high-ranking officials to make sure that if he or any of his people went down, they’d topple governments.
And he still didn’t always feel steady.
Taking a few deep breaths, Jeremiah pulled his fire back in, waiting for it to settle as a warm simmer under his skin, then threw back his blankets and rose. What he wanted more than anything was a quiet, lazy morning where he could drink coffee on his balcony and not have to think for a while.
What he had instead was a meeting with the goddamn queen and king of Midlona at eleven that morning because all five members of the family had been the victims of what appeared to be a coordinated attack. The eldest son, Remington, was off at Hillsland University, which was a fucking choice in itself, though Jeremiah told himself he wasn’t allowed to judge what the family did.
But Hillsland was also the most notoriously anti-Supe country on the planet, so why they allowed their half-Siren son to attend school there was beyond him.
He would put money on the attacks being orchestrated by some fanatic purist in one of their weird human churches over there, but he knew better than to assume it was the simple answer. Queen Grace and King James had stirred up controversy the day she rejected her arranged marriage to a well-born Siren lord and gave her hand to a human royal with no real fortune, power, or particular good looks.
It had pissed off humans and Sirens alike, so Jeremiah had to consider all angles.
Because when it came to politics, there was always more than one thread that needed to be unraveled.
Taking his time in a cold shower, he soothed his heated skin, then dressed in his usual attire—ripped jeans, a T-shirt, and his leather jacket. He always stood apart from the rest of his Alpha Team in their pressed suits and perfectly combed hair, but he’d long since realized it didn’t matter how he dressed or spoke or conducted himself. The moment anyone knew who he was—what he was—they wrote him off.
So why bother trying to please anyone?
He finger-combed his waves, not bothering to do much beyond add a little product to keep it from frizzing, thanks to the humid Midlona coast, and then he filled his travel mug with as much coffee as he could fit without it spilling over and snagged a piece of fruit from the bowl before heading out.
His motorcycle wasn’t parked far from his building, and he slipped his coffee into the little holder on the side before taking the fruit down in six enormous bites. He could feel eyes watching him. His neighbors hadn’t been thrilled when a Hellhound had bought the penthouse of their building, but he didn’t give a shit. He just kept his head down and waited for them to stop sending letters to his mortgage company about the risk of the building going up in flames.
It had been five years now, and while they still gave him a wide berth, they’d stopped overbuying fire extinguishers and demanding that the city install a couple of extra hydrants by the street. A few still scurried away if they came across him in the elevator or by the mailboxes, but he preferred the solitude to the endless chatter some of them exhibited with other tenants.
Swinging one leg over his bike, Jeremiah pulled out his phone and checked his messages. He only had two, both from Priest. He was the unofficial Alpha Team messenger, but only because he never stopped running his mouth.
Priest: Hope you’re all on your way.
Priest: The queen is hotter in person than she is on TV. Think she’d let me hear her Siren Song if I asked nicely?
Sunshine: Don’t get any fucking ideas. This is a big client, and we could use the cash after the last few pro bonos.
Priest: Aww. Hellhound’s all bark this morning. See you soon?
Jeremiah decided to ignore him—and the fact that someone had changed his name in the group chat again—and shoved his phone into his pocket before revving his engine and tearing off down the street. It was a long ride to the castle, which was just going to set up an even longer day, but he supposed that when it was all over and they uncovered whatever plot was threatening the royals, it would be worth it.
* * *
