throat, and she was genuinely surprised she didn’t smell blood. It felt as if the blade sliced through her skin as it traveled over her chin, along her face, and toward her eye.
Nostrils flaring, she jerked her head back, but there was no way of avoiding the—
It stopped again.
Devon shuddered out a breath. God, it was going to be so satisfying to watch this bastard die. So very, very satisfying. The fuck of it was that although the buzzing against her wrists and ankles had faded a little more, it wasn’t enough for her to break free. It was, however, enough for her to release a little of her own power.
Slowly and cautiously, she sent out a vine-like tendril of dark power. He couldn’t see it, of course. But, as its wielder, she could. The hazy vapor slinked its way across the ground like a snake, heading right for him.
At her command, the vapor came to a stop near his foot. It coiled, tensed, ready and raring to pounce. She might have released her hold on it right then if he wasn’t a strong incantor. He could easily combat a tendril of such power—sadly. She just had to hope that whoever was coming to collect her didn’t arrive before the energy rope faded and she could release the rest of the dark force that writhed in her belly.
For the first time, she wished her anchor bond was emotionally invasive. To have her mind so strongly linked to someone else’s yet be unable to reach out to them … Fuck if that wasn’t shitter than shit at the moment.
All demons had a predestined psychic mate who anchored them, preventing them from turning rogue—something they were all at risk of doing, considering how much of a struggle it could be to maintain dominance over the cruel entity that lived within them. There was nothing sexual or emotional about the bond. It was only a psychic construct, but demons still struggled to be apart from their anchors for long periods of time.
Devon was incredibly close to her anchor—so close, in fact, that Adam and his partner, Hunter, had switched to her lair six years ago. Both guys were uber protective of her, and they’d lose their shit if they could see her right now.
“Had enough pain?” Psycho Stanley asked.
Sensing he thought he’d scared her, Devon couldn’t help it—she laughed. It was a slow, raspy sound that built until her shoulders shook.
His gaze flared. “Something funny?”
“I was just thinking how much of a mistake you made taking this job. It won’t matter how strong you are or how carefully you covered your tracks. My disappearance will be traced back to you, and then you’ll pay for this.”
“No one can trace me.”
“Not even a hellhound?” she challenged. “One of Knox’s sentinels is a hellhound. He’ll find you.”
“I assume you’re referring to Tanner Cole. Are you forgetting he’s also Harper’s bodyguard? Knox is hardly going to send him on a mission to find a she-demon who isn’t even from his lair. His mate’s safety is far too important to him.”
“Yeah, but Tanner considers me under his protection.” Which annoyed her, in all honesty, but that wasn’t something she needed to share with this asshole.
“If that were true, you’d carry his mark. I bound your hands earlier. If you bore his mark, I’d have seen it.”
Because hellhounds left their brand in the center of a person’s palm. They could only mark someone if both halves of their soul wanted to protect that person. Tanner might be protective of her, but his inner demon wasn’t—hellcats and hellhounds had a natural aversion to one another.
That was okay, though; she didn’t need or want Tanner’s protection. Didn’t want his attention either. But the devastatingly hot hellhound seemed intent on driving her insane. Each time his mind touched hers, he whispered teasing comments to her …
How’s my little kitty cat?
Missing me?
Need any cat litter while I’m at the store?
I picked you up some balls of yarn—you owe me, kitten.
She’d been dealing with that shit for years. In the beginning, her inner demon had hissed and spat, outraged by his psychic touch merely because he was a hellhound, its natural enemy. Nowadays, the feline merely curled its upper lip in a lazy snarl. The demon no longer felt compelled to rip out his lungs, since it was relatively certain that he meant Devon no harm.
“You still haven’t answered my question, hellcat. What. Is. Knox?”