Devon almost flinched as memories slapped her.
Her little fists pounding against the rear passenger window.
Sweat dripping down her temples.
Her mouth dry and sticky.
Her voice hoarse from shouting for help.
An infant’s cries and struggles.
Martina winced. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up. Sticking my foot in my mouth is sort of my thing, as you know. I just mean that—”
“Do you have any vodka, Martina?” asked Beck, Jolene’s anchor. “I think Devon needs something stronger than tea.”
The blonde tilted her head slightly. “I’m pretty sure we have some in the outside bar. Let me go check.” And then she was gone.
Devon gave Beck a too-quick smile. “Thanks.”
“My aunt means well,” said Khloë, idly tracing the scars on the wooden surface of the island. “She just doesn’t always think before she speaks.”
Raini raised a brow at the petite, olive-skinned imp. “Kind of like you?”
Khloë pursed her lips. “Kind of like me,” she agreed, unashamed. Yeah, well, Khloë didn’t really do shame. Or awkward. Or discreet. Or impulse-control. Or have any hesitation to say exactly what she was thinking.
A fist pounded on the front door.
“That’s probably Harper.” Raini pushed to her feet. “I’ll get it.” Her flip-flops slapped the hardwood floor as she strode out of the room, hips swaying. In her faded Harley-Davidson tank, scuffed blue jeans, and plain white flip-flops, the blonde wasn’t whatsoever dressed to impress. As a succubus, she didn’t need to put in any such effort; she naturally oozed sex.
Devon overheard Raini greeting, “Oh. Hey.” She sounded surprised, but not unwelcoming. “Devon’s in the kitchen.”
Moments later, Adam and Hunter rushed into the room, looking harried. Well, hell. She’d held off on calling Adam about what happened, wanting to wait until she had some answers. Clearly someone had called him.
The two males were very different but complemented each other well. Adam, a super talented hair stylist, was incredibly fashion-conscious and had an enviable dress sense. Hunter, a fabulous chef who was planning to start his own catering business, probably wouldn’t dress so stylishly if Adam didn’t go shopping for him so often.
Adam crossed straight to Devon and hugged her. “My girl.” He rocked her from side to side. “My poor baby girl.” His body vibrated with rage. “Why didn’t you call me? I shouldn’t have heard this from Beck.”
Devon shot the blabber a quelling look.
Beck shrugged. “If it was Jolene, I’d want to know what happened.”
Sighing, Devon looked at Adam. “I was waiting until I had some info to share. We have a lot of unanswered questions.” And she hadn’t wanted to send him into a blind panic.
Adam was like a close friend, big brother, and treasured confidant all rolled into one. He was always there for her, loyal and supportive and protective. Of course, he also pried into her private life and could be quite the meddler.
All anchors were possessive of one another, but it probably should have seemed odd that a gay male could be possessive of her, and vice versa. Their relationship … it was kind of like when you were close and purely platonic friends with an ex—you had no sexual interest in each other, but there was an emotional intimacy there that you didn’t get with an average friend. Which was kind of why demons were often jealous of the closeness their mate had to their anchor. Fortunately, Devon didn’t have that problem with Hunter.
Whenever she saw the couple together, she was struck by how well they suited. Her demon envied them that, just as it envied Harper and Knox. And Devon had to wonder if that was what had triggered the feline’s desire to find a mate of its own—something that spooked the shit out of her. It wanted that same devotion and connection. Wanted a family of its own, which could be a major freaking issue, since Devon had never gone into heat.
Most of her kind first went into heat in their late teens, and then did so three times a year from that point onwards. But here she was in her late twenties, and she’d still never experienced it. Which she could only take to mean that she was infertile—something that pained her every single day. But then, if it was meant to be some sort of punishment for what happened so long ago, it was kind of fitting.
She’d never told anyone about her suspicion that she was infertile, and she’d love to never have to. But if she met someone who she even considered taking as a mate, she’d have to tell them. Would she blame them if they then walked away? No. But it could certainly lead to her demon lunging for their throat.
For Devon to take someone as her mate, both she and her feline needed to accept him. Like every dark entity that lived within demons, her feline was incapable of love. It did, however, sometimes form attachments to people—and it never let them go.