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)
“Unfortunately, since I know you will hate me for it and slit my throat whatever chance you get—even if it means you’ll turn rogue in the process—I have no choice but to keep you prisoner.” He let out a weary sigh. “My hope is that there will come a day when you understand, when you forgive me, when me and our bond mean enough to you that I can free you without worry that you will harm me or yourself. Until then . . . well, until then you’ll exist in a cage in my home. It’s really the only way.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
No sooner had Teague said, ‘I’ll take that as a yes’ than Ronin had hurled the hellfire orb at him. It hissed and spat as it whooshed through the air as fast as any bullet.
Sharply leaning to the side, Teague managed to dodge it. The orb crashed into a tree behind him, causing pieces of bark to clang against one of the wagons.
That was when the tension in the air seemed to explode.
Shedding his tee, Teague emitted a sharp, distinctive whistle and then sliced a hand through the air. His bloodhounds hurtled across the clearing, heading right for Ronin’s hounds, while the ravens flew at the intruding flock at top speed.
Similar gestures from Ronin had his own hell-animals moving. Casting Teague a dark grin, he lifted his chin. “I’d tell you to enjoy watching your pets get torn apart, but you’ll be a little too busy being torn apart yourself.”
Kicking off his shoes, Teague had to smile. “You really think a pack of chupacabras will take us down?” He shook his head and then shoved down his jeans and underwear. “My demon will end whatever stands between it and you. And when you’re forced to free your steed in your own defense, it’ll ravage your demon until the steed retreats out of terror. Then?” Teague pinned him with flinty eyes. “Then I’ll kill you.”
Flushing, Ronin glanced over his shoulder at the waiting pack and called out, “Now!”
Snarling, the chupacabras charged, fast and focused. So fast that dirt clouded the air as they skidded to a non-too-smooth halt when the Black Saints teleported in front of them.
The fallen angels pounced both figuratively and metaphorically. Some wrestled the creatures to the ground. Others slammed them with glowing, ultraviolet balls of fire.
Shift, Teague telepathically ordered his clan, who were now as naked as he was. As one, they released their beasts in billows of ash and smoke.
As the gray haze cleared, Teague’s hellhorse flattened its ears and bared its teeth at the intruders. Every beat of its heart pumped rage through its veins. A rage that wound its muscles tight and caused a pounding in its ears.
The steed stared down the leader of the trespassers. Ronin. A male the hellhorse had long ago decided had lost his right to live.
He would die tonight. Those who had arrived with him would die. The steed wanted their blood in its mouth and under its hooves. It wanted to bite and tear and maul them.
And it would.
Several chupacabras skirted around the fallen angels. They rushed at the steed’s clan, their flaming eyes narrowed, their lips peeled back, their muzzles covered in foam.
Pawing the ground, the hellhorse let out a roar-scream that was a pure battle-cry. The steed then galloped toward the approaching chupacabras, knowing its clan would follow. It went for the broadest creature, exhaling a stream of hellfire.
A high-pitched yelp tore out of the chupacabra as flames engulfed it, causing its pace to falter. But only briefly. It came at the steed again with a vicious growl.
The chupacabra leaped up to bite into the hellhorse’s neck. The steed flinched its head back, narrowly missing the creature’s jaws, and rammed a hoof into its attacker’s chest. A whine gusted out of the chupacabra as it flopped to the ground.
Baring its teeth in a satisfied grin, the hellhorse moved swiftly. It stomped on the creature’s skull, neck, and flank, avoiding the sharp spines. Bones snapped and crunched beneath its hooves, and the cloying scent of blood poured into its nostrils.
Dead.
Abandoning the corpse, the steed turned to the nearest chupacabra—it was aiding its pack-mate in attacking one of the hellhorse’s clan. The steed lunged and closed its jaws around the chupacabras’ head. It bit hard. The skull caved in. Blood squirted into the hellhorse’s mouth.
Relishing the taste of blood and death, it dropped the corpse just in time to brace itself for impact—another chupacabra was almost upon it. They collided, all hooves and paws and teeth. The fight was ugly and brutal.
The steed snarled as the burn of sharp claws raked its skin. Feeling warm liquid trickle down its coat, it bit into the creature’s muzzle, injecting its venom into its bloodstream. Venom that weakened it fast. Before long, the hellhorse was holding its foe’s neck in a lethal, suffocating bite.