than I did. Said he knew all her secrets, including where she’s hiding her real mother, and that ‘that bitch Pamela needed to pay for the pain she’d caused.’”
Everything in Tanner stilled. Hiding? As far as he knew, Devon’s biological mother was dead. He looked at his hellcat, and his hackles rose. She was staring at Roth, her expression carefully blank, her posture rigid.
The fuck?
And then it occurred to him that Devon had never once told him that her mother was dead. He’d taken “gone” to mean deceased, and she hadn’t corrected him. Maybe he had no right to be pissed that she’d kept such a secret from him, but Tanner found that he was. His chest expanded as he took in a deep, centering breath. Later, he’d question Devon and Jolene later.
He turned back to Roth. “Did you notice anything strange about Flanagan?”
“He moved all slow and clunky,” Roth replied, sweating copiously now. “Like he didn’t have good muscle control.”
Which meant that Flanagan was most likely used as a conduit, just like Sheridan.
Sensing that Tanner was done, his hound pushed for supremacy with a feral growl. It didn’t want to take over Tanner’s body, though. No. It wanted the freedom to rip Roth apart with its own teeth and claws. And Tanner decided to let it.
Muscles tightening in readiness for the shift, Tanner said, “You’ve been very helpful, Roth. Now it’s time for you to die.”
Devon flinched as a wave of Tanner’s power swept outwards, carrying with it the faintest scent of—oh fuck—brimstone. And she knew what he meant to do before he even started shedding his clothes. Shit.
“Jolene, edge over to the wall,” urged Devon even as she grabbed the woman’s arm and subtly herded her aside. Her heart pounded as bones popped and cracked. And then Tanner was gone, and his hellhound stood in his place.
It shook its head and snorted. Raked the floor with one paw, leaving claw marks on the cement.
Keeping very still, Devon watched it warily. Jesus, it was one big, beautiful bastard. Broad and fierce and badass, it had muscles upon muscles. Its thick, coal-black fur stood on end as it growled at Roth, glaring at him through blood-red eyes. Nothing so savage and vicious-looking should possess a majestic air, but it just did.
It could also very well decide to attack her, hence why she slowly unsheathed her claws. Her feline? It wasn’t the least bit perturbed. In fact, it was eager to watch the hound rip their enemy to shreds. It even wanted to join in. Fuck that. The two entities would end up fighting to the death over their new toy.
A pitiful whimper escaped Roth. “Oh, God,” he said, his voice a mere whisper. “Please don’t—”
The hound let out a guttural roar that seemed to rattle Devon’s bones. Its veins suddenly glowed as if filled with liquid fire, and tiny red embers danced around its body like pixie dust—signs of its growing rage. And then it lunged, sending Roth’s chair crashing to the floor.
Roth let out a primal, bloodcurdling scream as the snarling hound brutally ripped into him. It clawed. Mauled. Slashed. Mangled. All the while, it ignored his cries, shrieks, and pleas for mercy.
She had a strong stomach, but she wasn’t gonna lie, the sounds of claws shredding flesh and teeth crunching bone made her stomach churn—especially when coupled with the sight of the hound digging Roth’s organs out of his body as if it were digging bones out of the ground.
The hound didn’t just kill Roth. It butchered him. And it didn’t back off until he was nothing more than a bloody mass of broken bones, severed limbs, and mushed organs.
And then it turned to face her, pinning her gaze with those blood-red eyes. Her skin tingled, and the hairs on her nape and arms rose. Shit.
“I’ll pop up my shield if need be,” Jolene whispered, “but I don’t think it will harm you.”
Yeah? Devon wasn’t so sure. Not while it was stalking toward her with its lips peeled back, exposing blood-stained teeth. It had the look of a predator that had chased down its favorite prey. Figuring that “Nice doggy” wouldn’t wash down so well, she instead said, “I’d like to have Tanner back now.”
Oh, that earned her a growl so rumbly it resembled an idling motorcycle.
Her feline gave it a half-hearted snarl, but it didn’t rise to protect Devon—didn’t believe it needed to. She took a deep breath. “Look, I appreciate you making mincemeat out of Lockwood—”