mayhem commenced. Balls of hellfire, death orbs, and ripples of telekinetic power zoomed around the large space. Old elixir bottles smashed or exploded. Tables and chairs broke or splintered. Patches of rot and scorch marks stained the walls and floor.
The crowd of corpses soon divided. Most headed for Khloé, Jolene, and Ciaran, but the others came at Keenan, attacking with balls of hellfire. One clipped his shoulder, burning his tee and eating at his flesh. Another hit his solar plexus so hard it was like a scorching hot fist slammed into his chest and knocked the breath from his body.
His demon roared in anger, flexing its fists. Winded and clenching his teeth against the pain of his flesh charring and peeling away, Keenan retaliated with hellfire orbs of his own—his were hotter, more lethal.
The whole time, he kept a mental eye on Khloé. She was a force to be fucking reckoned with, tossing out waves, beams, and bullets of electric fire—making both him and his demon proud as fucking hell, even as they worried for her.
Enoch repeatedly targeted her, despite the fact that she was safely behind Jolene’s shield—as if he hoped that by attacking said shield hard enough, he’d eventually crack it.
The corpses’ numbers dropped fast. The blinded ones slumped to the floor. But, unhampered by pain or emotion, the rest forged onward, no matter how horribly wounded they were. Keenan could almost taste the sickening scents of rot, blood, seared flesh, charred wood, and burned rancid meat.
Tossing flaming orbs at the remaining puppets, he inched closer to Enoch and exuded dark pheromones that would fuck with his system and make the bastard feel sick, disoriented, and afraid. It took a few minutes for the pheromones to truly take hold, but Keenan saw the moment when Enoch fell victim to their effects. Sweat beaded his forehead, the color drained from his face, and his hands began to shake.
His forcefield didn’t falter. Yet. But it would.
Tanner’s hound charged into the saloon with a throaty snarl and crashed into the crowd of corpses. A millisecond later, Harper, Knox, Levi, and the hellhound rushed through the front door, their expressions hard as stone.
Tell me the puppets outside are out of commission, Keenan said to Knox as his lair members joined the attack.
They’re out, confirmed the Prime.
The air burned hot with the stream of fire that flowed from Knox’s palm, lighting up corpse after corpse. Harper lifted small objects, infused them with hellfire, and hurled them at their enemies’ heads while Tanner’s hound ravaged them with claws and teeth. Levi joined Jolene and Ciaran in attacking with telekinesis—lifting corpses and bashing their heads on the floor or against the walls.
The air rang with the sounds of electric fire crackling, hellfire spitting, wood splintering, corpses grunting and gargling, and voices crying out in pain or anger.
Enoch’s puppets stood no chance against so many foes. It was a massacre, really. Finally, all of them littered the floor, along with bits of skull, bone, and brain matter and, of course, the bodies of Thea, Gavril, and his two sentinels.
Only Enoch remained alive, still safe within his damn forcefield. A forcefield that was finally beginning to weaken. Sweat was pouring off Enoch who, his neck corded and his expression fierce, was clearly struggling to keep up the shield. But he was keeping it up—that was the problem. Even though he’d vomited twice and was obviously tiring, he’d held out.
Keenan reached out to his Prime again. The bastard’s stronger than I gave him credit for. Look, I know why you don’t call on the flames of hell in front of outsiders, I get why you won’t publicly confirm you possess that ability—hell, we’re in this situation with Gavril because people worry you possess it—but we need Enoch dead.
Don’t worry, Keenan, I won’t let your mate die, was Knox’s only response. Translation: he’d call on the flames if it seemed to be the only way to kill Enoch, but he’d give Khloé the chance to kill the fucker with the blade first.
Keenan ground his teeth. He understood, he did, but—
His heart jumped as Thea suddenly appeared behind Khloé, much as she had earlier at the stadium. This time, though, she held a jagged piece of glass to his mate’s throat. Fuck, he’d thought she was dead. His demon rumbled a growl, slinking closer to the surface.
“Oh, I really wouldn’t move if I were you,” Thea told her.
Everyone went still, raring to act but hesitant to risk that Thea would