by Lynn Hagen
“Where exactly is Serenity City?” Pat asked.
“The demon realm,” Mitch answered.
Pat glanced around. It looked like a normal city, but it was dark out, and he was still shaken from being pursued. To Pat, everyone looked like a suspect—even the guys shooting hoops across the street. His eyes widened when a guy strode down the sidewalk past them, walking a two-headed poodle.
“Now I’ve seen it all,” Pat murmured.
Directly in front of them, across the street, was Jake’s Java. Pat walked forward before Mitch grabbed his arm.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“To get something to drink,” Pat said. “I’m parched after that sky-high ride.”
“That guy said to wait here for the demon warriors,” Darren reminded them.
“I’m thirsty, too.” Moose walked across the street and entered the shop.
“Fine.” Mitch turned to Darren. “You wait here. We’ll be right back.”
“Who says I’m not thirsty?” Darren spread his arms, staring bug-eyed at them. “But you guys go ahead and think of yourselves while I stand here with a dry mouth.”
Pat pulled his hand from Mitch’s while the two argued. He was thirsty and didn’t feel like waiting for them to stop bitching at each other.
He nearly tripped over his feet when he walked into Jake’s Java and spotted Johnny, Cecil, Blair, and Oliver standing in line. “What’re you guys doing here?” Pat asked.
Cecil gave him a devilish grin. “Getting the best shakes ever.” He narrowed his eyes. “You better not tell anyone we’re here. I know how much you like to gossip.” He chucked a thumb over his shoulder. “Even worse than Johnny.”
“Hey, I’m standing right here,” Johnny argued. “And I don’t gossip. I just talk about people behind their back because it wouldn’t be gossiping if I said it to their face.”
“You just admitted you gossiped,” Blair pointed out.
“I did not,” Johnny huffed.
Pat chuckled. Seeing them made him feel a bit normal again.
“What’re you doing here?” Johnny eyed him.
“Getting the best shake ever.” Pat looked behind him and saw Darren and Mitch seated at a table. Mitch was watching Pat, and Darren was looking out the window. Moose had cut the line and was at the counter, and from the blush on the employee’s face, the guy was flirting.
Or smitten with Moose. The bear shifter was good-looking, after all.
Having lived in Brac Village his entire life, Pat knew who Hondo was when he walked into the shop. He wasn’t familiar with the three men following behind him.
Hondo stopped and talked with Mitch as Pat made his way to the counter, wondering if his money was any good in the demon realm or if he even had reception. As much as Pat hated to cancel on his mom, he knew he wouldn’t be able to show up tomorrow to help her.
Pat smiled when a strong arm slid around his waist. Mitch rested his chin on Pat’s shoulder, and fuck, the guy smelled amazing for someone who’d been laid up in a bed for three days.
“What’re you guys talking about?”
Pat snorted. “These four not getting busted for coming here.”
Johnny’s eyes widened. “How did you know we snuck here?”
“Duh,” Cecil said. “I just told Pat not to tell anyone we’re here.”
“My lips are sealed,” Pat said.
“Right,” Cecil said. “Your lips will be about as closed as the Grand Canyon.”
“I’m not that bad,” Pat argued. He loved whenever he was around the mates from the Den. They were always up to no good and always made Pat laugh. He couldn’t count how many times Cecil had come into the station just to hang out, making Pat’s day.
“Dude, you tell more business than a rag mag,” Oliver said.
“And you should know,” Blair countered. “You read enough of those trash magazines.”
“They’re entertaining,” Oliver said.
Pat loved that Oliver walked his own path in life. The guy had facial piercings, wore all black, and had chains dangling from his pant loops. He was the epitome of goth and didn’t care what anyone thought of him.
None of the mates seemed to care.
Cecil got into so much trouble that Pat was surprised Maverick hadn’t chained his mate to their bed twenty-three hours a day. Blair had a sordid past that involved prostitution and didn’t care who knew.
And Johnny. The guy lived in his own rainbow-colored world. From what Pat had heard, Johnny still believed in Santa, for fuck’s sake.
Pat had learned a lot about Mitch in the few hours they’d talked, but he had a feeling there was a dark hidden past his mate had avoided telling him about.
It had been in Mitch’s eyes.
After getting a mango-strawberry shake, Pat turned and smiled at Mitch. “I’m good to go now.”
Because Pat had to be or he would fall apart at the thought of two ancient hellhounds after them. He had lived a very uneventful life with very few hiccups in the road, and now he was on the run from creatures formed in Hell who wanted him and his mate dead.
Talk about taking a drastic turn in life.
“This way,” Hondo said when Mitch and Pat joined the group.
Moose was already by the table, sipping on a chocolate shake. The large cup looked dainty in the guy’s beefy hand.
Pat blushed when Mitch kissed his neck. He had dreamt of finding his mate and was glad Mitch was so sweet.
Not once had he complained about his injured arm, but no way was anyone that well-adjusted. Pat had a feeling Mitch was in denial. He just wondered how his mate would act when he finally gave in and realized he may never use his left arm again.
* * * *
Demonian had tasted the cheetah shifter’s blood and was able to track him, to an extent. He had felt Panahasi’s spells trying to block the shifter out, which made tracking him harder but not impossible.
“Where?” Syphon asked.
“Give me a second.” Demonian closed his eyes and used the shifter’s blood like a homing beacon. The guy couldn’t keep running forever. Sooner or later Demonian would catch up to them and make them pay for trying to kill him.
The bastard hadn’t a clue what he had been stepping into when he had come to that house. He hadn't the first clue why Demonian had killed that woman.
If the cheetah shifter had known why, the fucker would have thanked Demonian.
Part of the reason was downright evilness. Demonian couldn’t help that he was born a hellhound. Immorality was in his DNA. But he and Syphon were different, although some would argue otherwise.
Demonian did have a conscience. He did feel empathy, although he had been bred not to.
Syphon laid a gentle hand on Demonian’s arm. “Well?”
The thought of being taken from his mate was what fueled Demonian’s rage. Syphon was the opposite of him. The guy was softer, although he never showed that side of himself to anyone. He couldn’t afford to in the world they had lived in. Kindness got you killed.
Demonian opened his eyes and stared into his mate’s dark ones. Hellhounds weren’t supposed to feel love, empathy, or any soft emotions. But his heart swelled as he looked at his mate’s beautiful face.
Syphon was tall, muscular, with a head full of long black hair that he kept tied with a leather string. He was clean-shaven, with pouty lips and an aquiline nose.
He was what dreams were made of.
“They’re in the demon realm.”
“You know the avenues there are being guarded,” Syphon said. “How are we going to enter the demon realm without one of the warriors catching us?” Syphon squeezed Demonian’s arm. “I’m not going back to Hell. They’ll have to kill me first.”
“Don’t say that,” Demonian snarled. “I hate when you talk like that.”
“But it’s true.” Syphon narrowed his eyes. “I’m not going back so we can be hunted again. We’re strong but not strong enough to take on a legion of hellho
unds.”
“Lessors,” Demonian reminded him. “We’re firstborns. We’re stronger, smarter, and more powerful than they’ll ever be.”
“But we’re still outnumbered,” Syphon argued. “We were on the run all the time, never a moment’s rest. I refuse to live that way again.”
“We’re being hunted now,” Demonian said. “I can feel Panahasi’s presence close by. He’s hunting us. He wants to destroy us.”
“But we can’t be killed.” Syphon turned away and folded his arms over his chest. “When will we ever be left alone?”
“Never.” Demonian didn’t like being so harsh with Syphon, but he wasn’t going to candy-coat things. They were hellhounds, which meant, as long as they were in the human realm, they would get no peace.
And that was all the two wanted. But Demonian couldn’t let the shifter get away with trying to kill him. He also couldn’t let that bear shifter get away with setting him on fire.
“After this, we’ll find somewhere to live where no one will find us.” Demonian wrapped Syphon into his arms. “I promise you.”
With a nod, Syphon pulled from Demonian’s arms and walked ahead.
Demonian curled his hands into fists. If it was the last thing he did, he would make sure Syphon would never have to look over his shoulder again.
Chapter Four
The demon warriors had split Mitch and his team up. Moose had gone to Phoenyx’s apartment, and Darren had gone to Takeo’s. Mitch and Pat were in Hondo and Chris’s apartment.
Pat was in the kitchen with Chris, giving Mitch time to himself—time to finally sit down and think about everything that had happened so far. The time he had after waking up had been spent getting to know Pat and letting his mate get to know him.
Now Mitch was alone, and his sole focus was on his arm. He hadn’t told Pat how much pain he was in because he didn’t want to worry the little fox, but it felt as though someone was sledgehammering the left side of his upper body.
Mitch gritted his teeth, forcing himself through the pain as he tried to curl his fingers in. The goddamn things wouldn’t move, no matter how hard he tried. It was just his luck that the hellhound hadn’t been an ordinary one. Mitch had to go and fight against a firstborn. What had Nazaryth called him? Tenebris creaturae.
He didn’t care what fancy name they were called. If he ran into Demonian again, Mitch would cut those fucking heads off and bury them as far from the body as possible.
This was not how he had wanted his mating to go. He had planned on picking Pat up from work, taking him back to his cabin, and spending the rest of the night claiming him.
Instead he had turned himself into a useless pile of shit who couldn’t even hold a gun since his left hand was the one he used for shooting.
Sweat dotted his brow and upper lip when he gritted his teeth and tried to once again curl his fingers in. He wished shifting would heal him, but that hadn’t worked. According to Pat, Mitch had been in his cheetah form for three days until he had shifted back just before waking.
If three days hadn’t been enough time, he was fucked.
Mitch snarled softly when his fingers remained straight. As badly as his mind was willing, his body wasn’t cooperating.
When his phone rang, Mitch had to damn near twist himself in half to get it from his left pocket. He looked at the screen, saw it was his dad calling, and then sent the call to voice mail.
There was nothing the two needed to talk about, and especially not at a time like this. Not when Mitch felt vulnerable. His old man disapproved of Mitch’s line of work, and if he found out what had happened, shit would hit the roof. Mitch was not in the mood to deal with him.
“Am I interrupting anything?” Pat asked when he stuck his gorgeous head into the guest bedroom. Just seeing his smile made Mitch’s chest tighten.
“Just my anger and frustration.” Mitch tossed his phone aside. “Forewarning, I’m not good company right now.”
Pat strode in and closed the door. “Lucky for you I deal with emotional people all the time.” He plopped next to Mitch, and the scent of strawberries engulfed him. When Pat spoke again, his voice was calm and soothing, like a mother who sang soft lullabies to her baby. “I know this can be frustrating. I once broke my arm, and since I was at school, around humans, the nurse at the school took me to the hospital and I had to have a cast on. I couldn’t shift and heal. My teacher would have wondered how my arm healed so fast, so I was stuck for six weeks wearing the damn thing.”
“That isn’t the same as this,” Mitch groused. “You were using subterfuge because of humans. Six weeks and your cast came off. I may never get use of my arm again, and in my line of work, I’ll have to retire.”
“Would that be so bad?”
Mitch wished Pat would stop using his lulling voice. He was too angry and didn’t want to be calmed down, not even when Pat ran his fingers over the side of Mitch’s head.
“I run dark-op missions. You can’t do that with a lame fucking arm.” Would his cheetah have a limp leg? The thought horrified Mitch. He loved running in his cat form, lived for it. What if he was never able to run again?
His stomach shrank as his mood soured even more.
“You own the business,” Pat pointed out. “You can hire a guy to take your place in the field and run things from your office.”
“Stop making sense,” Mitch snarled. “I don’t want to hear the voice of reason right now. I want to stew in my anger, plot my revenge, and become an asshole who bites everyone’s head off because I can’t move my arm.”
“At least you have goals.” Pat smirked. “That’s a start.”
Goals? Was his mate seriously saying that? Mitch wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or snarl at that statement.
He leaned his head to the side and studied the buoyant shine in his mate’s green eyes. “Are you always so optimistic?”
“Only on sunny days.” Pat pressed his hands between his knees. “I’m sorry that I’m a glass-half-full kind of guy.” He pulled one of his hands free and flopped it at Mitch. “It’s a dreaded curse I have had to live with my entire life. I have even learned that optimism can be contagious, so be careful around me, or you might catch it.”
Mitch glanced at Pat without turning his head. “You’re getting on my nerves right now.”
Pat gave Mitch a heart-stopping smile. “Good.”
Mitch’s gaze dropped to Pat’s mouth. The man had the prettiest lips he had ever seen. His cheetah purred, which made the sound rumble through Mitch’s chest.
Pat’s smile slipped as his face became flushed and his eyes filled with need. “I really like that sound.”
“My cat wants to get closer.”
Pat chewed the side of his lower lip as his gaze slid heatedly over Mitch. “What does the man want?”
Mitch had opened his mouth to reply when he felt a tingling sensation in the tip of his pinky, like a bunch of ants were just below the skin. He refused to get excited. He didn’t want his hopes dashed if nothing came of it. Mitch would rather adjust to the idea of never using his arm again than being let down if only his pinky regained feeling.
“I want”—Mitch slid his gaze back to Pat’s perfect mouth—“the same thing.”
Pat turned sideways to face Mitch. His right leg was bent, resting on the bed, and his hands were in his lap. Mitch turned to face him, as well.
His sexy little fox shifter looked uncertain as he lifted his hand and trailed his finger over Mitch’s collarbone. The touch sent rioting shivers through Mitch as another rumbling purr escaped. His gaze locked onto the tip of Pat’s pink tongue as it glided over his bottom lip, leaving a wet trail behind.
Mitch groaned but didn’t make a move. He was allowing his mate to explore at his leisure as the man’s breathing grew faster. He wanted to see how far Pat would go before backing down.
If he backed down.
He sat very still as Pat’s hand dropped to Mitch’s waist then slid under Mitch’s shirt. His fingers we
re warm as they glided up to Mitch’s pecs, his palm ghosting over his skin.
Pat wasn’t the only one breathing a little faster. Mitch’s body grew feverish as his cock hardened. Everywhere Pat touched made Mitch’s skin tingle as his heart pounded in his chest. Shudders of pleasure wracked his body as Pat tweaked his nipple.
Their gazes met, and Mitch had never wanted anything so badly in his life.
“Why aren’t you touching me?” Pat’s hand moved to Mitch’s neglected nipple, rolling the hard nub between his fingers.
“I’m enjoying this too much.” He ran the back of his hand over Pat’s trapped erection and smirked when he sucked in a quick breath.
His mate scooted closer, thrusting his hips forward as Mitch squeezed Pat’s dick. Pat’s cock throbbed as Mitch squeezed again.
Pat stood, breaking their connection, then yanked his underwear and slacks down his legs before he kicked the material free. When he sat back down, Pat peeled his socks off and tossed them aside, but Mitch was too busy staring at his mate’s jutting cock and the fiery red hair nestled at his groin.
Pat kept his hairs trimmed because they lay flat against his skin. Fuck. Had he ever seen a more beautiful sight? Pat’s cock was hard, long, and blushing red as it jerked slightly under Mitch’s gaze.
Mitch stood and tried to undress, only to become frustrated. Trying to take clothes off one-handed was not graceful and easy. His fingers fumbled with the snap of his jeans as Mitch became increasingly agitated.
“Let me help.” Pat removed his own shirt and threw it aside before he guided Mitch to lie down.
“I don’t need help taking my goddamn clothes off,” Mitch snarled.
“I think you’ll change your mind.” Pat winked as he grinned. “But if you keep being all growly, I’ll leave you all hard and needy as I get my rocks off.”
“You’re the devil,” Mitch said as he imagined Pat jacking off as he stood over him. The image made him even harder.
“You’re gonna learn just how devilish I can be.” Pat lowered to his knees, making Mitch do a half-crunch to see what his mate was up to. He unlaced and removed Mitch’s shoes and set them aside, but his hands moved slower as he took off Mitch’s socks.
