Omens (The Dark in You Book 6)

by Suzanne Wright

  Suzanne Wright lives in England with her husband and two children. When she’s not spending time with her family, she’s writing, reading or doing her version of housework – sweeping the house with a look.

  She’s worked in a pharmaceutical company, at a Disney store, at a primary school as a voluntary teaching assistant, at the RSCPA, and has a First Class Honours degree in Psychology and Identity Studies.

  As to her interests, she enjoys reading, writing, reading, writing (sort of eat, sleep, write, repeat), spending time with her family, movie nights with her sisters and playing with her two Bengal kittens.

  To connect with Suzanne online:

  Website: www.suzannewright.co.uk

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/suzannewrightfanpage

  Twitter: www.twitter.com/suz_wright

  Blog: www.suzannewrightsblog.blogspot.co.uk

  THE DARK IN YOU SERIES

  Burn

  Blaze

  Ashes

  Embers

  Shadows

  Omens

  Copyright

  Published by Piatkus

  ISBN: 978-0-349-41634-2

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Suzanne Wright

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Piatkus

  Little, Brown Book Group

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  www.littlebrown.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  About the Author

  Also by Suzanne Wright

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Acknowledgements

  For everyone who was so understanding about the release

  date being set back—thank you for being so awesome.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Khloé Wallis downed her shot and then slammed her glass on the table. “All I’m saying is, Jack and Jill’s parents were plain mean to send the kids up a hill to get a tub of water.”

  “A pail,” said Raini, her amber eyes a little glassy.

  Khloé frowned at the succubus. “What?”

  “A pail of water.”

  “What’s a pail?”

  “Duh. A pan.”

  Awkwardly adjusting her impressive cleavage, Devon shook her head. “No, it’s a bucket. I think. Could be a vase. I like vases. They’re pretty. Sometimes.”

  Khloé lazily flicked her hand at the hellcat. “Whatever. The point is … if Jack’s parents had gotten up off their lazy asses, he wouldn’t have broken his leg.”

  “Crown,” said Raini.

  Khloé blinked. “What?”

  “Jack broke his crown, not his leg.”

  “Semantics, dude, semantics.” Khloé bopped her head to the music, feeling all warm and fuzzy and tingly. Maybe some wouldn’t go on a girls’ night out if they had to work the next morning, but demons didn’t require much sleep. In fact, they could go days without it. Which was super, because she loved hitting the Xpress bar with her girls. They always had a blast.

  It was an upscale hotspot within the Las Vegas Underground, which was a subterranean, demonic playground of sorts. It had everything—bars, clubs, rodeo, casinos, racing stadiums, the whole shebang. And as her cousin, Harper, was mated to the billionaire who owned it, they all had VIP access to their favorite spots—including the Xpress bar.

  Happy freaking days.

  Having grown up in the same lair, the four women had been close friends since they were kids. That was probably why they worked so well together. Their tattoo studio had become even more popular since they’d relocated to the Underground.

  Of course, part of the studio’s appeal was Harper. People wanted to say they’d been tattooed by the powerful Prime. She and Knox were the only mated Primes in the world—demons didn’t like to share power.

  Khloé wasn’t artistic like her girls, so she left the tattoos and piercings to them. She was happy working as their receptionist, and she was damn good at her position, even if she did say so herself.

  It wasn’t a typical job for a demon, considering they tended to seek out positions that provided them with control, power, challenges, and respect. Many were lawyers, entrepreneurs, stockbrokers, politicians, bankers, police officers, surgeons, people in the media, or CE-fucking-Os.

  Khloé liked power as much as the next demon, but she didn’t crave it. She liked “the smaller things in life.” The strange. The quirky. The fun. Which was why … “God, I badly want a bullshit.”

  Harper slanted her head, making her sleek dark hair tumble over her shoulder. “What?”

  “A dog that’s half bulldog, half Shih Tzu. I’d call it Winnie.”

  “Why Winnie?”

  “Because then I could sing ‘Winnie the Bullshit’ to him.”

  Devon’s face went all soft and she put a hand to her chest. “Aw, that would be so cute. I can just imagine little Winnie, barking and running and giving us his paw, like a good little bullshit. I think Tanner would love one,” she added, referring to her mate.

  Weaving slightly in her seat, Harper snickered at Khloé. “You’re too OCD to cope with a dog peeing and shitting and shedding hairs all over your house.”

  “We’ve been over this,” said Khloé. “I’m not OCD. I just value order and precipitation.”

  “Precision.”

  “That, too.” Khloé frowned at her glass. “Who the hell drank my drink?”

  “You did, dufus,” said Devon.

  Khloé felt her nose wrinkle. “You sure? My mind says no.” Raini leaned forward, making her striking blonde hair fall around her face like a curtain; the dusky pink highlights glimmered under the lighting. “Hey, want to know a secret?”

  Devon’s cat-green eyes gleamed. “Always.”

  “You didn’t hear this from me,” began Raini, “but I think we’re smashed.”

  “Really? Damn. I just wanted to get buzzed,” said Devon. “I like being buzzed. But I don’t like buzzing sounds. Makes me think of bees. Bees sting you. That’s just mean and—hey, Raini, you’re not listening to me. You gotta listen, because I don’t know sign language. Ooh, we should all learn sign language!”

  Harper’s eyes widened. “I’m totally up for that.”

  “And we should get more shots,” said Khloé. “I want shots. Anyone else want shots? Okay, shots it is.” She went to stand, but Harper grabbed her arm.

  “No more shots for you, missy,” said the sphinx. “You’re already blitzed. No, don’t tell me you’re not. You’re so gon
e, you didn’t even notice that Keenan’s been glaring at you for the past half hour—he’s standing at the other end of the VIP section with Knox, Tanner, and Levi.”

  Oh, Khloé had noticed. She always noticed Keenan Ripley. It was hard to miss over six feet of sculpted muscle, sinful hotness, and uber-masculinity. Especially when it was usually glowering at you. What fun.

  As an incubus, sex appeal was literally encoded in his freaking DNA. His compelling, hooded eyes were a striking shade of blue that made Khloé think of shimmering steel. They commanded your attention. Snared your focus. Made all your senses zing to life. And, for most people, they sent a powerful need rushing through your body with the force of a storm.

  Hypersexual beings with insatiable appetites, incubi radiated a preternatural allure that enchanted humans and demons alike. That allure drew their “prey” closer. It assailed their bodies with molten lust, muddied their thoughts, and subtly lifted their inhibitions.

  She’d always been resistant to preternatural allure, so his mojo didn’t work on her. But that wasn’t to say that he didn’t make all her feminine parts do a mighty cheer. Everything about him was inviting—his perfectly symmetrical face, his carnal mouth, and his short blond hair that glistened like flecks of gold. His smooth, sleepy, post-orgasm voice felt like fingertips teasingly trailing over her skin.

  His crooked, boyish “you can trust me” smile could loosen any girl’s panty-elastic, but it didn’t give him an approachable vibe. Not when he had “bad boy” stamped all over him. Yeah, Keenan was by no means harmless. He was a cunning, ruthless, cynical motherfucker who had an incredibly short fuse.

  He was also packing some serious heat in his jeans. She’d gotten a glimpse of his disproportionately large Johnson during one of her drunken mishaps.

  She wanted to dislike him. Wanted to dislike that cocky “I know who I am and where I fit in the world” swagger. Wanted to find that blatant danger he oozed a complete turn-off. Wanted to be immune to the alpha-male confidence that seemed ingrained in his very being.

  There was no such luck, apparently.

  Her demon liked him. Liked that he was a guy who never gave ground, never sought anyone’s approval, or ever showed weakness—that kind of strength and personal power was an aphrodisiac for her demon. It wanted to get all up in his business.

  Every breed of demon had a dualism to the soul. There was nothing easy about sharing your soul with a psychopathic predator that felt no empathy, remorse, guilt, or love. Especially when said predator could take control of your body whenever it pleased, making your eyes bleed to black. Thankfully, for the most part, Khloé was pretty in sync with her demon.

  Feeling the weight of Keenan’s gaze, she flicked him a haughty look that made his eyes blaze. Ha. She did like to prick at that volatile temper of his. Well, if she couldn’t fuck him, she could certainly fuck with him.

  “Oh yeah, Keenan’s throwing you glowers from hell, all right,” said Devon, gathering her long, ultraviolet curls in one hand so she could fan her nape.

  “In my humble opinion, Khlo,” Raini began, “the dude likes you. And I mean, likes you likes you. But I don’t think he likes that he likes you likes you. And I don’t like that he doesn’t like that he likes you likes you.”

  Devon raised her glass to Raini. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  “Seriously, what do you think his deal is?” asked Raini. “It’d better not be that he looks down on your family, Khloé.”

  “He wouldn’t be the only one,” Khloé pointed out. Her family was notorious for being what her grandmother and Prime, Jolene, liked to call “multi-talented.” Which, roughly translated, meant they were masters at all kinds of illegal shit—particularly forgery, embezzlement, and hacking into bank accounts. And they were utterly unashamed about it.

  “I don’t think it’s that,” said Harper. “I mean, I was a Wallis before I mated Knox. Keenan never made any shitty remarks about our family to me.”

  “Doesn’t matter either way,” said Khloé. He might be a decadent, drool-worthy enticement, but … “I already have one alcoholic in my life—I don’t need another.”

  Demons were predisposed to developing addictions, so Khloé knew plenty of compulsive gamblers, drug addicts, adrenaline junkies, and alcoholics. Sadly, her mother was one of the latter.

  Penelope drank to cope, to destress, to relax, to sleep, to calm down, to perk up, to pretty much anything. She hadn’t always been that way. It wasn’t until Khloé and her twin brother, Ciaran, were teenagers that it all went to shit.

  Harper nudged her with her elbow. “Knox says he’s sure that Keenan could easily give up drinking if he really wanted.”

  Khloé sighed. “Yeah, yeah, so you’ve said before. But no one carries around a flask of vodka if they’re not dependent on alcohol, so I ain’t buying his denials. I will, however, buy us shots. Seriously, we need shots. I’ll go get—Oh, I love this song! Girls, this is our jam! We gotta dance.”

  “Not on the table, Khloé, not on the table!”

  *

  “You’re sure you don’t want to hear what Thea has to say?” Knox asked Keenan, watching him with that piercing gaze. “Not that I believe you should. I was glad when you cut all ties with her, you know that. She’s not a bad person, but she’s never been a healthy presence in your life. I just want to be sure that you won’t second-guess your decision later. I don’t want this playing on your conscience.”

  Keenan almost snorted. “My conscience isn’t that well developed,” he pointed out. “I don’t know why she’d suddenly reach out to me via you, and I can honestly say I’m not the least bit curious about it. That won’t change. She’s walked in and out of my life too many times, always giving me the same spiel, never meaning a fucking word of it. I’m done listening to it. I told her that the last time she came knocking at my door.” That had been six years ago, and the memory made his demon clench its fists.

  Keenan had first met Thea after he’d been dumped at Ramsbrook House, a home for orphaned demonic children. Knox and the other sentinels had also resided there throughout most of their childhood.

  Keenan had grown to care for her and, looking back, he could see that he’d felt challenged by her sky-high mental walls; he’d wanted to smash through them. When they’d all left Ramsbrook as adults, Keenan had asked her to come with him. But scarred from her own experiences with lairs, Thea had refused, intent on flitting from place to place, irrespective of the dangers that came with being a stray demon.

  She’d reappeared in his life every now and then, but she never stuck around for longer than a few weeks, despite whatever promises she made. She also never told him when she was leaving. She’d quite simply disappear, like he wasn’t even worthy of a goodbye.

  “She evidently heard you loud and clear when you said you were done, because she didn’t try to contact you directly this time,” said Levi, a reaper who was not only a sentinel but Knox’s bodyguard.

  “Smart move on her part.”

  “I don’t think she ever wanted to hurt you, Keenan,” added Levi. “I think she was just too messed up by her past to put down roots. She needed to feel free—especially after being stuck in the orphanage for so long.”

  It was true that such an upbringing could leave a person with plenty of issues. Keenan couldn’t say he’d walked out of Ramsbrook a well-adjusted person. The militant, tyrannical staff there had thoroughly enjoyed throwing their weight around. They’d punished the slightest indiscretion, and those punishments had been harsh.

  They’d been so domineering in their efforts to control the children that they’d pushed for mental submission—something Keenan had refused to give them, so his time there hadn’t been plain sailing.

  He didn’t allow his past to massively affect his present, though. Nor did he dwell on his childhood much—after all, his life would be very different now if he hadn’t met Knox and the other sentinels.

  “It’s sad that she didn’t get her shit toget
her until it was too late,” said Tanner, a hellhound and fellow sentinel.

  “Things turned out well for her in the end,” Keenan reminded him. “She has a mate and son now.”

  “I poked into her life when I heard she wanted to speak with you,” said Levi. “She recently split with her mate. He cheated on her. I’d feel bad for her if she hadn’t betrayed your trust countless times. Karma comes for us all, I guess.”

  “In that case, each of us is fucked,” quipped Keenan.

  Tanner let out a soft snicker. “You’re not wrong there.”

  “You’re certain you don’t wish to speak with her, Keenan?” Knox asked.

  “I’m certain,” replied Keenan. “She has nothing to say that I could want to hear.” She was part of his past, and he intended for her to remain there.

  “All right,” said Knox. “I’ll be sure to communicate that to her.”

  Satisfied, Keenan nodded.

  Knox’s gaze flitted to the table at which his mate sat. His lips thinned. “I think it’s safe to say that Harper’s going to crash pretty heavily when she gets home.”

  Keenan glanced her way, but his eyes unerringly slid to the female imp on her left. His body tightened. His hands fisted. His cock stirred—it always did around Khloé Wallis.

  She wasn’t conventionally beautiful, but there was something very bewitching about her. It was in the way she spoke, laughed, walked, and embraced life so fully. As sparkly and bubbly as a chute of champagne, Khloé was her very own party.

  Her eyes were as gray and mysterious as smoke, and there was an ever-present glint of mischief in their depths. She was small and slender and had the smoothest-looking olive skin. He often found his gaze dropping to those perky breasts that made him think of apples, just as he often found himself watching that tight little ass as she walked.

  His gut clenched whenever her bow-shaped mouth curled into a lazy, devilish, “I know something you don’t” smile. It made you want to be in on the secret; made you want to smile back. Made you want to feast on that mouth while tangling your fingers in the sleek, midnight-black hair she often tied in a high, unruly swirl.