Female hellhounds, however, were different. More nurturing and parental. They did the bulk of the childrearing, and they sought a male who met the qualities they were looking for: strength, power, loyalty, etc. Females often had at least two children before they took a permanent mate, since their inner demon could take a long time to settle down.
“Now, back to the matter at hand,” said Tanner before either Knox or Levi could push him any further on the annoying subject. “I guess we’ll need to take care of Harry’s burial.”
Sobering, Knox nodded. “It will need to be a quiet one. Most of our lair had no clue he was one of us. I think it—” He cut off, muscles tensing. He had that faraway look in his eyes that told Tanner the guy was telepathically communicating with someone.
As the air thickened with rage, Levi exchanged a look with Tanner and said, “This is going to be bad.”
Knox bit out a curse and turned back to them. “That was Harper. It seems we have another issue.”
“What kind of issue?” asked Tanner.
Knox studied him for a long moment. “It’s Devon.”
Every cell of Tanner’s body seemed to brace itself for impact. Uneasy, his hound pushed close to the surface. By sheer force of will, Tanner kept his tone even as he asked, “What about Devon?”
CHAPTER TWO
Perched on one of the stools around Jolene’s kitchen island, Devon felt her lips twitch as Khloë ranted about “dumbass, monkey-loving, goat-fucking, shit-for-brains incantors.” Sitting beside the imp, Raini nodded along, her amber eyes hard. Harper, who was on her way to Jolene’s house, had been just as pissed when Devon relayed the evening’s events over the phone. The four of them had been close friends since childhood, and they all worked together at the tattoo studio that Harper and Raini co-owned.
“Here.” Jolene set a steaming mug in front of Devon and then slid onto a stool, patting her perfectly styled updo. No matter whether she was relaxing at home or attending a meeting, Jolene always dressed in a smart blouse, chic skirt, and high heels, emitting an inborn grace and elegance. In her chest beat the heart of a fiercely protective lioness. A rather shrewd, vengeful lioness who proudly let her crazy flag fly and could start a riot at a monastery.
Devon cupped the hot mug with her hands. Steam wafted from the herbal tea and whispered over her face. “Have you heard from your sentinels yet?”
“Only to say that no one has showed at the cabin looking for you. But they will sooner or later.”
After dealing with the incantor, Devon had found her purse in the cabin’s den and used her cell phone to call a teleporter-friend from her lair, Ciaran. He’d not only teleported her to Jolene’s house, he’d then teleported Jolene’s sentinels and five members of her Force to the cabin. They were now all lying in wait for the broker’s men. They’d also searched the cabin and learned that the incantor had gone by the name of Elliot Maverick.
“My sentinels will make the bastards talk; we’ll find out who brokered the deal, and then we’ll discover who was behind the kidnapping.” Jolene’s eyes briefly bled to black, indicating that her inner demon was straining to surface and take control. The Prime might sound calm and composed, but she was no doubt far from it. Devon would bet that the woman was plotting all kinds of delightful ways to punish the fucker responsible.
The Prime didn’t possess a lot of scruples. But then, most imps didn’t, which was why their lair didn’t have the best reputation, and their “laws” were pretty simple. They went along the lines of “Thou shalt not kill without covering up the evidence” and “Thou shalt not steal, lie, or cheat unless thyself is confident thou will not get caught.”
Sipping her tea, Devon let her gaze drift around the room. Jolene kept it immaculately clean. There no sauce splatters on the wall tiles or backsplash. No dishes piled in the sink. No crumbs on the tiled floor or cup rings on the cherry wood counter.
Despite being so orderly, the room didn’t lack personality. Not with the keepsakes and framed photos that lined the shelves and the hand-drawn pictures that had been attached to the fridge by magnets. A great treasurer of memories, Jolene had mementos and framed photos in almost every room.
Taking the stool beside Devon, Jolene’s daughter, Martina, gave her hand a gentle squeeze. The astonishingly beautiful imp was just as batshit as her mother and seemed to find joy in setting things on fire. To each their own.
“Thank God Millicent put those protective wards on you,” Martina whispered. “Mom wasn’t so happy about it back then—the process is a painful one for all involved in the spell, and you were just a child. But I could understand why Millicent never wanted you to ever again be in a position where magick could trap you.”