There were many other rumors about Knox: that he was dangerous, calculated, notoriously sexual, and someone who lived by his own rules on his own schedule. It was also believed that he had the ability to call on and control the flames of hell, which was extremely rare. It was also scary, because nothing was impervious to the flames of hell.
Hearing her cell phone ring, Harper fished it out of her pocket and frowned at the name on the screen. It was Khloë. “Shouldn’t you be immersing yourself in ‘your zone’?” teased Harper on answering.
“I need you to come back here.” Pain dripped from her words, making Harper stiffen.
“Khloë, what’s going on?”
“Quickly.” With that, she ended the call.
“Khloë needs me for something.” Harper gave Ciaran her half-eaten hotdog for safekeeping, though they both knew he’d eat it. “I’ll be back in two minutes.”
Harper rushed to the end of the row, vaulted down the steps, and headed to the manned door that led backstage. The doorman, who knew her family well, said, “Khloë’s in room twelve. You’re not going to like what you find.”
Shit. Harper dashed down the corridor before reaching the door she was searching for. Stepping into the room, she came to an abrupt halt. Anger whizzed through her system. “Khloë, what the fuck?”
The small, olive-skinned girl’s attempt at a smile earned her a wince; she put a hand up to her split, swollen lip. Her clothes were torn and she was covered in bruises and scratches. Peeking up at Harper through one eye, she said, “It wasn’t my fault.”
Well that would be a first. Khloë had a tendency to get in deep shit. “Who did this to you?”
“Mona’s little group attacked me in the restroom a few minutes ago.”
“What?”
Mona was not only Khloë’s opponent but a bitch who had a hard-on for Khloë simply because she’d once slept with a guy Mona liked. Demons tended to hold a grudge.
“I wondered if maybe Mona put them up to it,” said Khloë. “But would she really think she’d get away with this?”
Yes, Mona would. The harbinger thought herself untouchable because her anchor was a demon within Knox’s Force. Demons were predominantly psychic creatures. They didn’t have soul mates, but they came in pairs. That meant they each had a predestined psychic mate, or ‘anchor’, who made them stronger and gave them the stability that prevented them from turning rogue.
By fusing their psyches, a powerful, unbreakable link formed between the demons. It wasn’t sexual or emotional, it existed on a psychic level. Demons were very protective of their anchors, but Harper didn’t give a shit who Mona’s anchor was – no one messed with her family.
“Where are Mona’s little bitches now?” demanded Harper, pacing.
Khloë’s expression was grim. “The doorman went searching for them, but they’re nowhere to be found – conveniently. They got what they wanted; I can’t go out there. I can’t fight like this.”
It was true. Not even their accelerated healing rate would have Khloë back to normal within the small timeframe she had. “No, you can’t,” agreed Harper. “But I can.”
Hearing a knock on the office door, Knox turned away from the reflective glass that provided him with a perfect view of the combat circle. “Come in.” Three of his sentinels – Tanner, Keenan, and Larkin – entered. Glimpsing the hard set to Tanner’s jaw, Knox knew he wasn’t going to like the information he had sent them to attain.
Setting his glass of gin and tonic on the desk, Knox said, “Tell me.”
Tanner halted directly in front of him, and the others flanked him. “More strays have gone missing than we thought. We checked to see if there have been disappearances in other areas, but it seems to only be happening in Las Vegas right now.”
The matter had only come to their attention a few days ago, since Knox didn’t monitor the population of strays – demons that chose to live outside of a lair. But it seemed that someone was simply plucking them from the streets. Strays weren’t under his protection, but that didn’t mean Knox liked anyone using Las Vegas as their own personal hunting ground. Unlike shifters, demons didn’t claim territories, but they were protective of the places where the demons of their lair resided.
Keenan pulled a flask out of his jacket that Knox knew was filled with vodka. The incubus was a heavy drinker, but since it didn’t affect his efficiency as a sentinel, Knox never called him on it. “Las Vegas is highly populated with demons,” the incubus pointed out. Demons liked bright lights, gambling, thrills, and adrenalin rushes. It made Last Vegas a popular place for their kind. “A perfect place to hunt strays.”
“The ones we spoke with are scared.” Larkin moved to the sofa beside the window. “Usually when there are crimes like this, you hear of at least one witness or one person who managed to avoid a kidnapping attempt. There’s been nothing like that. The strays that were taken weren’t weak in power, but they were easily taken.”
Knox leaned against his desk. “I have to wonder if Isla has something to do with it.”
Keenan frowned as he took a swig of his vodka. “Isla?”
“She’s been calling for changes that have been ignored up until recently. Those changes would offer strays protection. If they’re scared…”