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.
“You look exhausted,” said Hunter, reaching around Adam to stroke her hair. Then he flicked her forehead hard.
“Ow.” Devon rubbed the spot to soothe the sting.
“You gave us a scare, Dev,” Hunter complained.
“Not on purpose.”
Adam released her. “Have you told your parents yet?”
“They’re out of town,” she reminded him. “I’ll wait until they get back.”
Devon had always felt that she had two moms—Pamela, who loved her but was unable to take care of her, and Gertie, who was Pamela’s older sibling. Both sisters were hellcats and had been very close as children, which might have been why Gertie hadn’t hesitated to take Devon in and raise her as her own.
Although Gertie and her mate, Russell—one of the most hilarious imps Devon had ever met—were biologically her aunt and uncle, they were her parents in every way that counted. They were currently celebrating their anniversary in New York, and Devon had no intention of spoiling their short trip.
A foot kicked open the back door and then Martina walked inside, holding a tray of small glasses. She placed it on the island. “Shots, anyone?”
The entire table seemed to descend on the tray.
Adam set his empty glass down. “What do we know about the incantor?”
“Maverick was a bounty hunter who often sold rare objects on the black market—particularly the bones, blood, eyes, or organs of certain demonic breeds,” said Jolene.
Recalling the many knives and blood stains at the cabin, Devon suspected he’d often taken a little something from each of the people he’d kidnapped. “Our best bet of finding out who’s after me is to get our hands on the broker. Jolene’s sentinels searched the cabin and looked through Maverick’s cell phone, but they didn’t find anything that could help identify the bastard. So far, no one has turned up at the cabin to retrieve me, which is a surprise. I had thought they’d have arrived by now.”
“I sent someone to find your car, Devon,” said Jolene. “I doubt it will be too far from where Maverick snatched you.”
Adam’s brow wrinkled. “Wouldn’t he have wanted to dispose of it to cover his tracks?”
“His priority will have been getting her to the cabin,” Jolene pointed out. “He probably left the car in the woods near the highway where she was taken, intending to go back and deal with it later.” She frowned as the doorbell rang three times in quick succession, as if someone was jabbing it hard with their finger.
“That has to be our Harper.” Martina’s heels click-clacked along the floor as she sashayed down the hallway. Moments later, she said, “Hi, Harper, it’s good to see you.”
“Where’s Devon?” the sphinx demanded.
“In the kitchen.”
Footsteps stamped along the hallway. Harper marched into the room, her face like thunder. “What in the fuckety fuck is wrong with the world? Tell me you know who’s responsible for this, Grams.”
“I wish I could,” Jolene told her.
Knox breezed into the kitchen and exchanged nods with everyone before giving Devon a speculative glance. “You look well for someone who had a run-in with an incantor.”
Devon shrugged. “He was instructed not to harm me.”
“But he did,” Harper ground out, staring at the angry marks on Devon’s wrists.
“Really, Harper, I’m fine,” Devon assured her.
The sphinx’s eyes flashed. “Do not use my own therapist tone on me, Clarke. How can you be fine? You were kidnapped and held captive.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“Don’t be a smartass, this is serious.”
Devon opened her mouth to assure Harper that she was taking it very seriously, but then she stilled as a familiar scent drifted into the room. Her pulse spiked and her stomach twisted into knots. And then he was slowly prowling into the kitchen with a fluid, arrogant grace.
He always prowled. Broody. Watchful. Intense. Uber-hot.
All eyes immediately landed on him. Well, of course they did. Darkly sensual and deliciously ripped, Tanner Cole was built for sin, sex, and seduction. An apex predator that was dominant through and through—the trait seemed built into every cell, muscle, and bone.
He was all confidence and smolder and masculine power. Exuded a bold, audacious air that said, “I do what I like, I go after whatever I want, and I don’t give a hot shit if you approve or not.”
Behold, ladies and gentlemen, the elusive alpha male.
All six-feet-plus inches of him throbbed with a lethal, animalistic sexuality that could reduce any girl to mush. Devon had been battling it for so long that she’d developed a tolerance to it. Ha! Such wishful thinking. She had no such tolerance for it. She was, however, good at hiding how deeply it affected her. That was something.
But, God, it would be a lot easier if he wasn’t so dangerously seductive. He possessed a mouth so carnal, she figured it would be an absolute sin not to fantasize about it. His smooth, short hair was just a few shades darker than the light stubble that shadowed his strong jaw. Sleek, tanned skin covered all those lickable, roped, perfectly defined muscles. So many, many muscles …
Damn, his testosterone levels had to be through the roof.
Oh, had she mentioned that she hated him? Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. She wanted to hate him. Technically, it should have been easy, considering he latched onto any opportunity to stomp on her hot buttons. He could also be a pushy bastard. A little self-centered and arrogant in a way that skated the edge of assholeness. Which should have been a major turn-off. It wasn’t. She couldn’t help but respect that he was so supremely comfortable in his own skin that he didn’t change his behavior to please others.