Apparently, an effective tactic because before my hunger subsided, I ran out of imps to feed on. My growling tummy protested the end to our impromptu buffet. Then again, imps weren’t the only living things around. I glanced down and licked my lips.
Hellhounds stood on their hind legs and their front paws scrabbled at the crate I stood upon. Five by my count. Five big burly bodies with rapidly beating hearts and coursing blood.
I retained enough wits to know I shouldn’t jump down among them. However, what if I leaned down and grabbed one by the scruff?
A big, muscled, and vicious dog proved harder to handle than an imp. The weight of the hound was much greater, not to mention the beast was stronger and more capable of fighting. Its jaws snapped in my direction, clamping shut with the strength of a steel trap. Thankfully not on any of my limbs, but it came close. It glared at me. It drooled. So did I, though. Once I had it atop the crate, I wrapped myself around the writhing wiry body and I didn’t miss when I bit. I did, however, gag and spit.
“Ew.” Not all blood was made the same. Where the imp blood proved delicious, Hell hounds had a much more acrid flavor. Rather than drain the creature dry, I ended up squeezing its neck until it snapped and it went limp.
One down. Four more to go. I grimaced at the sight of the leaping and snarling dogs—it reminded me why I preferred cats.
Before I could continue taking them out, a rustle in the air lifted my head. I saw the threat too late to stop it. Belial slammed into me, his size, along with the momentum from his wings, flinging me from my vantage point.
I hit the floor hard, caught under his weight, lying there for a stunned moment.
A moment too long, as it turned out.
A sharp whistle and Tom shouting the command, “Immobilize,” led to the pattering of paws and then searing pain as hellhounds gripped me by the ankles and wrists. They held me firmly enough I couldn’t break free.
Belial grinned as he sat up on my body, his thighs straddling my midsection. “Looks like I win.”
“You? My dogs are the ones holding her in place. Told you they’d be more useful than your flying monkeys.” Tom crouched by my head. “Guess that means I get to go first.”
“Fuck you. I’m the one who knocked her to the floor,” Belial interjected. “If I hadn’t done that, your mutts would still be slobbering uselessly.”
How lovely. They argued over who would get dibs on abusing me. I had to find a way to free myself, but those hounds held tight. I stared at the one locked onto my left wrist. Its red baleful gaze showed no sign of anything but hunger.
I was hungry, too.
And annoyed.
And scared.
But also kind of pissed as the assholes who’d killed Cillian stood nose to nose yammering about who got to torture me first.
I stared at the dog, narrowing my gaze, focusing all my attention. I knew vampires could mesmerize people, but what about animals? Never mind the fact I’d never attempted it before with anyone, I had to try something hence why I kept my eyes locked with the hound’s, pinched my lips, and thought hard.
Let me go, hairball. I’m not the one you should be biting. I’m not the one who starved you. Why not bite on the one who’s been mean to you?
I don’t know who was more surprised it worked. Me, the confused-looking dog, or the panicked Tom, who suddenly had a dog snarling in his direction.
“What the fuck, Saber! Immobilize.” Tom uttered a piercing whistle.
Saber growled, a deep and rumbling noise.
Belial snorted. “Looks like your dog thinks you’re a tastier treat.”
“Saber, heel. I said heel!” Tom’s high-pitched command didn’t stop Saber from leaping at the satyr. It caused a chain reaction that led to the other dogs unlatching their jaws from me to join their hairy brother in harassing Tom.
I was free!
Kind of. I still had Belial to deal with.
While Tom screamed as his savage pets turned on him, I faced off against the dark fairy. Pretty sure I could have handled him if that mother fucker hadn’t pulled out a sword. Not just any sword. His weapon rippled with black flames.
He pointed it in my direction and hissed, “I think the time for playing is done. You’re turning out to be more trouble than your likely mediocre cunt is worth.”
Was it wrong to be offended by his use of mediocre? Then again, I wasn’t about to offer to prove I could be epic. “Don’t you be whining now. You’re the one who started the bullshit,” I huffed.
