 by Suzanne Wright.jpg)
Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 127527 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 638(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127527 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 638(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Teague Sullivan. Explicitly sexy and unquestionably alpha male, the mysterious hellhound is the perfect candidate for a fake relationship. More than happy to spend time with the pretty harpy, Teague agrees. But when a wager is made between them, and things start to heat up, Larkin can't seem to ignore their explosive chemistry- and neither can her demon.
But when old and new dangers creep up on them, and Teague's shady past starts to ring alarm bells; he must decide whether to trust Larkin completely or risk losing her forever.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER ONE
From her seat on the balcony, Larkin Yates heard a voice inside the VIP box screaming in delight, “It won! It won!”
Well, of course the hellhorse won. It always did.
Teague Sullivan’s steed was not only undefeated but considered to be the fastest of its kind. At the moment, it was also proudly holding its head high, exposing its elegantly arched neck. One of the racing stadium’s high-powered floodlights beamed down directly on the stallion, showing the steam wafting from its coat. A metallic black, the aforementioned coat was positively stunning and currently gleamed with a fine sheen of sweat.
Cheers rang out from the many spectators, particularly those that filled the tiered grandstand and stood behind the track’s perimeter fence. Few demons bet against Teague’s hellhorse, so there were rarely many boos.
Despite her foul mood, which was thanks to the annoying machinations of her friends and honorary brothers, Larkin found herself smiling when the stallion arrogantly tossed its long, lush, dark mane as it trotted off the track, swishing its high-carried tail.
There was something so very regal about hellhorses. They moved with grace and poise on those long, powerful legs, their sleek muscles rippling and flexing. They could honestly steal a person’s breath with how beautiful they were.
They could also scare the living shit out of a person. And not simply due to their all-black, wide-set eyes. Hellhorses were as predatory, conscienceless, and unforgiving as all demonic entities. Psychotic, too—as evidenced by their willingness to partake in this sadistic sport.
Hellhorse race tracks were full of nasty surprises, such as pits of bubbling lava or sharp spikes. The hurdles were high, wide, and dangerous to any who didn’t jump them just right. As such, a lot of pain was involved, and injuries were often severe.
So. Yeah. These entities were crazy.
Not that Larkin could judge. Her issue-riddled inner demon was all-out nuts.
Though hellhorses tended to suffer many wounds during races, few died. That was the thing about this most resilient breed of demon. They were quick to heal and hard to kill. Like really hard. She was quite sure they’d survive an apocalypse easily while every other living creature perished.
Breathing in the scents of dirt, horses, and concession food, she watched as the stadium’s staff members walked around the track, putting obstacles to rights and kicking clumps of fake grass back into place. All the while, she ignored the thread of delicious anticipation worming its way through her blood; she point-blank refused to acknowledge its source.
Gambling on hellhorse racing was just one of the many ways that demons could spend their time here in the Underground—a subterranean demonic playground located beneath Las Vegas. You could shop. Eat. Drink. Dance. Hit casinos. Watch shows. Partake in competitions. Stay at fancy hotels. Enjoy the fairground. The list went on and on.
And on.
As one of her lair’s four sentinels, she didn’t have as much spare time as the average demon. But she spent much of it in the Underground these days. Mostly to escape the irritating crap going on that was centered on her.
Hearing the glass door behind her slide open, Larkin felt her muscles tense. She had hoped to be left alone, and the people within the VIP box knew that well.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Piper striding toward her. Immediately, Larkin relaxed. The pretty dark-haired nightmare was one of only two people who weren’t on her shit list.
Piper gave her a soft smile, took the seat beside her, and held out a can of soda. “Here.”
Larkin tried returning the smile, but it was more like a grimace. “Thanks.” She took the can and flicked open the ring tab, hearing the liquid inside fizz slightly.
“I know they’re getting on your last nerve,” began Piper, “but they mean well.”
Larkin looked at her askance. “Did they push you to come out here and convince me to go talk to them?”
“No one pushes me to do anything.” Piper’s nose wrinkled. “Actually, correction: Levi tries it. I’m waiting for him to realize that it doesn’t actually work and never will. But we’ve been mates for nine months now and he hasn’t yet caught on.”
Larkin felt the side of her mouth kick up. Levi was one of her four honorary brothers. Like Tanner and Keenan, he was also a fellow sentinel while Knox was Prime of their lair. Each of the four males were all alpha . . . which had to suck for their mates at times, in Larkin’s opinion.
Take Levi, for example. He was not only Piper’s mate but her predestined anchor. Being extremely dominant and overprotective, the reaper did his best to maneuver the female tattooist and cover her in bubble wrap. Luckily for him, Piper found it cute rather than frustrating.
Every demon had an anchor—or psi-mate if you wanted to be more specific. It wasn’t an emotional pairing, merely a psychic one, though some demons did enter into relationships with their anchors. Whatever the case, they were extremely loyal to and protective of each other; deeply enmeshed themselves in one another’s lives.