Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115886 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115886 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
“He doesn’t seem to be operating on all cylinders right now, so there’s no knowing what he’ll do.”
“Keenan’s right, Khloé,” Harper cut in. “And I’m annoyed that I didn’t think of it myself. The guy may confront you or Grams. Maybe even both of you. You could probably kick his ass on your worst day, but he’s a Lazarus demon—they’re practically impossible to permanently kill. Just be careful.”
“I always am,” said Khloé.
Keenan snorted. “No, you’re not.”
“Well, we can pretend I am.”
His eyes narrowed again. “Why did Jolene need your help with Enoch? You’re not one of her sentinels or a member of her Force. Why call on you?”
Khloé shrugged one shoulder, nonchalant. “You’ll have to ask her.”
“I’m asking you.”
“I know. I heard you.”
He muttered a curse. “Do you have any idea how exasperating you can be?”
“Where’d you learn that big word?”
He ground his teeth so hard she almost snickered. Oh, he was just too easy.
“I feel all warm and squishy inside when you get this way.” She lifted her cell phone from the table and aimed it at him, as if she’d snap a picture.
“Don’t you dare,” he all but barked.
She rolled her eyes. He positively despised having his picture taken. She’d asked him about it once, and he’d said, “You take photos to record memories. People take them of me because they like what they see—that’s all. After centuries of that shit, it gets fucking old.”
She’d have branded him dramatic if she hadn’t seen how many people—humans and demons alike—covertly took photos of him in passing, just as they might any incredibly hot guy. It seemed harmless enough, but Khloé had to admit that she wouldn’t whatsoever like perfect strangers snapping pictures of her.
“You’re no fun, Keenan.” She looked away, dismissing him. “I really should have stolen a donut.”
Watching as the imp closed her mouth around her straw and then sucked in her cheeks, Keenan felt his dick twitch. Jesus, the woman could make him hard without even trying.
After hearing from Harper what went down with Enoch, he’d wanted to see for himself that Khloé was fine. He also wanted to understand why Jolene would call on her for aid, but it was clear that Khloé had no intention of telling him shit.
No surprise there. Nothing could ever be that simple with Khloé Wallis.
He’d seen her fight in the Underground’s combat ring a few times, so he knew she was strong. But he’d seen nothing to suggest she was a power in her own right. The fact that she wasn’t part of Jolene’s ranks only supported that idea.
Many demons, including himself, kept some of their abilities quiet just to keep others guessing. He knew she had wings, could control most minds, was wicked fast, and possessed the standard ability to conjure hellfire. He wondered what other gifts his little imp possessed.
His demon studied her carefully, trying to sense just where she sat on the power spectrum. It wasn’t easy to gauge a person’s strength, but his demon had always been good at that. With Khloé, however, it was stumped.
It was also pissed that she hadn’t called Keenan about the Enoch matter. But then, why would she? She might be under his protection, but she didn’t accept said protection. And she’d never share lair business with outsiders unless cleared by Jolene to do so. His inner demon understood that, but it didn’t care for rationality. As far as it was concerned, she should have called them.
The entity hadn’t wanted to leave her last night. It constantly bugged him to seek Khloé out, to take what they both craved, to make her theirs. It considered the whole thing a done deal, and it wanted Keenan to get with the program.
Her bracelets jangled as she lifted her hand and curled stray strands of hair around her ear. The rest of her hair was gathered in a messy bun. Khloé kept her home and workspace freakishly tidy, but you’d never know it to look at her. When it came to her appearance, she was nowhere near as attentive, always combining ill-fitting clothes from different eras.
Her tees often featured quotes or pictures, and her skin-tight jeans were often ripped or bejeweled. Then there were the headbands, random bracelets, and dangly earrings.
Sometimes she wore dark pieces. Other days she was one big pop of color, just as she was right then. She always looked cute and quirky and, some-fucking-how, stylish. He honestly didn’t know how she did it, but he strongly suspected she didn’t work it so well on purpose.
Maybe it was a mistake to have made their little wager, considering it would be utter torture to stop at only feeding from her, but he didn’t intend to back out. If he couldn’t have her, he could at least have one taste of her; he could see her come just once.