Keenan had first met Thea after he’d been dumped at Ramsbrook House, a home for orphaned demonic children. Knox and the other sentinels had also resided there throughout most of their childhood.
Keenan had grown to care for her and, looking back, he could see that he’d felt challenged by her sky-high mental walls; he’d wanted to smash through them. When they’d all left Ramsbrook as adults, Keenan had asked her to come with him. But scarred from her own experiences with lairs, Thea had refused, intent on flitting from place to place, irrespective of the dangers that came with being a stray demon.
She’d reappeared in his life every now and then, but she never stuck around for longer than a few weeks, despite whatever promises she made. She also never told him when she was leaving. She’d quite simply disappear, like he wasn’t even worthy of a goodbye.
“She evidently heard you loud and clear when you said you were done, because she didn’t try to contact you directly this time,” said Levi, a reaper who was not only a sentinel but Knox’s bodyguard.
“Smart move on her part.”
“I don’t think she ever wanted to hurt you, Keenan,” added Levi. “I think she was just too messed up by her past to put down roots. She needed to feel free—especially after being stuck in the orphanage for so long.”
It was true that such an upbringing could leave a person with plenty of issues. Keenan couldn’t say he’d walked out of Ramsbrook a well-adjusted person. The militant, tyrannical staff there had thoroughly enjoyed throwing their weight around. They’d punished the slightest indiscretion, and those punishments had been harsh.
They’d been so domineering in their efforts to control the children that they’d pushed for mental submission—something Keenan had refused to give them, so his time there hadn’t been plain sailing.
He didn’t allow his past to massively affect his present, though. Nor did he dwell on his childhood much—after all, his life would be very different now if he hadn’t met Knox and the other sentinels.
“It’s sad that she didn’t get her shit together until it was too late,” said Tanner, a hellhound and fellow sentinel.
“Things turned out well for her in the end,” Keenan reminded him. “She has a mate and son now.”
“I poked into her life when I heard she wanted to speak with you,” said Levi. “She recently split with her mate. He cheated on her. I’d feel bad for her if she hadn’t betrayed your trust countless times. Karma comes for us all, I guess.”
“In that case, each of us is fucked,” quipped Keenan.
Tanner let out a soft snicker. “You’re not wrong there.”
“You’re certain you don’t wish to speak with her, Keenan?” Knox asked.
“I’m certain,” replied Keenan. “She has nothing to say that I could want to hear.” She was part of his past, and he intended for her to remain there.
“All right,” said Knox. “I’ll be sure to communicate that to her.”
Satisfied, Keenan nodded.
Knox’s gaze flitted to the table at which his mate sat. His lips thinned. “I think it’s safe to say that Harper’s going to crash pretty heavily when she gets home.”
Keenan glanced her way, but his eyes unerringly slid to the female imp on her left. His body tightened. His hands fisted. His cock stirred—it always did around Khloé Wallis.
She wasn’t conventionally beautiful, but there was something very bewitching about her. It was in the way she spoke, laughed, walked, and embraced life so fully. As sparkly and bubbly as a chute of champagne, Khloé was her very own party.
Her eyes were as gray and mysterious as smoke, and there was an ever-present glint of mischief in their depths. She was small and slender and had the smoothest-looking olive skin. He often found his gaze dropping to those perky breasts that made him think of apples, just as he often found himself watching that tight little ass as she walked.
His gut clenched whenever her bow-shaped mouth curled into a lazy, devilish, “I know something you don’t” smile. It made you want to be in on the secret; made you want to smile back. Made you want to feast on that mouth while tangling your fingers in the sleek, midnight-black hair she often tied in a high, unruly swirl.
If anyone could write a handbook on not giving a single rat’s ass, it would be Khloé. She had her own special brand of logic, was a magnet for trouble, had no sense of self-preservation, and could stir shit in an empty room.
Technically, she should annoy the fuck out of him. Particularly since she seemed to have made it her life’s mission to be a pain in his ass. She teased him, prodded him, riled him—all of which she seemed to take delight in doing.
And yet, he liked the fucking nutcase. More, he wanted her. He’d wanted her for years. He’d told himself over and over that it was best to keep his distance; that she wasn’t for him; that it would make him an asshole to run the risk of hurting her. All the while, he could feel himself weakening.