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)
When its prey’s struggles grew weak, the steed breathed out a powerful blast of hellfire, setting the humanoid alight. The flames quickly and greedily ate its body and consumed its brain.
Puffing thick noxious air out of its nostrils, the hellhorse watched as the shadowkin steadily became a puddle of ashes. Only then did the beast retreat, allowing Teague to resurface.
Cricking his neck, Teague looked down at what was left of his attacker. With a sharp wave of his hand, he eased away the small blaze of hellfire and ground his teeth. God, he was pissed. Not only with his inner demon—who gave a haughty, unapologetic chuff—for surfacing here, but with the shadowkin who’d attacked him . . . and with the bastard who’d sicced him on Teague like a fucking dog.
Once the ashes began to scatter with the breeze, a now-naked Teague returned to his bike. The shift had burned his clothes to cinders, leaving not one scrap of cloth behind.
He righted his bike. It didn’t have a scratch on it, since it was protected by the same magickal wards as his helmet. He fished spare clothes out of the saddlebag and quickly pulled them on.
His helmet was no longer roasting hot, but there was no way he was wearing it over the damn acidic burns on his jaw and scalp. Instead, he shoved it into his saddlebag and then mounted the bike.
He’d known that more shadowkin would likely be sent his way. He’d known they’d be forced to attack him while he was away from his territory, since the border of black salt kept them off his land. But he hadn’t expected to be blindsided while driving.
As he rode home, each slap of the breeze against his corroding flesh hurt like a mother. The injuries began to heal fairly quickly, but not so quickly that they were gone by the time he arrived at the camp.
Sitting across from each other at the picnic table, Saxon and Leo looked up as he drove into view. So did Gideon and Slade, who had each claimed one of the logs surrounding the firepit. All four males went completely still as they took in the state of him.
The moment Teague parked his bike outside his wagon, Leo slapped his playing cards down on the picnic table and said, “Mother of bleeding Christ, what happened to you?”
Teague tossed him a grim smile. “Shadowkin.”
His clan mates cursed, not quite overriding the calls of alarm coming from the ravens perched on the oak branches—they puffed up their feathers and flapped their wings.
His face hard, Slade rose from the log and took stock of him. “Where did it attack you this time?” he asked as Gideon called out to the rest of their clan.
Teague dismounted the bike with a grunt, a few aches from the crash making themselves known now that the adrenaline was fast bleeding from his system. He gave quick pets to the dogs that surrounded him as he replied, “In the middle of the road, not far from here.”
Feeling his tee sticking to some of his injuries, Teague whipped it off, grinding his teeth at the fiery licks of pain. A collage of bruises, scorch wounds, blisters, and patches of acidic burns, his body was not a pretty sight right then. “It knocked me off my bike.”
The front door of Archer’s wagon burst open. He and Tucker stepped out onto the porch, followed by a cloud of smoke and the unmistakable scent of marijuana.
Archer glared at Gideon. “What’s with the shouting? Must there be shouting? Really?”
Gideon pointed at Teague. “I personally think that another shadowkin attack is something to yell about.”
Tucker winced in sympathy and descended the wagon steps. “Damn, T. It hit you with hell-acid, huh?”
Teague grunted in confirmation.
“Where’s the little shit now?” Tucker asked.
“Dead,” Teague replied, dropping his ruined tee on the seat of his bike. “My demon killed it.”
His brows snapping together, Saxon laid down his cards. “Your demon? You let it free on a damn public road?”
“I didn’t let it do anything.” Teague crossed to a log and plonked his ass on it. “It took control before I had the chance to fight it for supremacy.”
Tucker scowled at Saxon. “Would you not jump down the poor guy’s throat?” There was a slight creak as he sank onto one of the lawn chairs. “He’s got hell-acid eating at him as we damn speak.”
Saxon shot him an unimpressed look. “Pipe down, little man, I wasn’t talking to you.”
His mouth flattening, Tucker clenched the arms of his chair. “I’m five-foot-eight, as you well know. That makes me average height, as you well know. Just because the rest of you are taller and bulkier than me does not make me short. So fuck you, Van Diesel.”
Saxon’s face went hard. “I don’t look anything like Van Diesel.”