He's putting me under again, but who fucking cares?
Hellhounds are ancient, infernal creatures that get sixty-six lives. They pop up over and over, respawning from their fangs the same way demons respawn from their horns. The further along hellhounds are in their infernal timeline and the more times they've respawned, the bigger and stronger they get.
Dev was the biggest and strongest of the hellhounds—the oldest. No one was really sure exactly how old he was when he surprised the hell out of everyone by imprinting on me back in hunter training.
But he couldn't have been in his last life. I refuse to believe that. So long as my pal's fangs are sitting in a sack of ash under some charred earth right now, he'll respawn sooner or later.
He has to, because he's all I've got in this world. With all my family six feet under and not even one match from the Seekings I attended before I quit trying, that big teddy bear death machine of a hellhound has become family to me.
I'm not giving up on him, like he never gave up on me.
That's my last thought before darkness rises, dragging me under once again.
1
HEIDI
Four MonthsLater
Whichever god is in charge of puking, please don't let me do that in front of all these people.
Coming out tonight has officially been one of my worst ideas.
Well, it was partly Jessica's idea. She threatened to spoil the ending of a book series I'm reading that she recommended forever ago if I didn't dip my toe back into society.
But still. A date, when I'm in this condition? No matter how touch-starved I've been for the last eight months, I should've ignored the horny, extroverted goblin inside my head and said no.
Major and minor emotions swirl around me, wafting off of the dozen or so other people chattering inside this casual Italian restaurant. Nausea curls in my gut, my nervous system thrown into mayhem as it's forced to experience all their feelings all at once.
Impatience. Hunger. Satisfaction. Irritation. Lust, wistfulness, emptiness, excitement, boredom, depression, laughter, interest…
The most vibrant, sharp emotion clouding around me is the anxiety coming from a booth two down from mine. There's a couple there—a blond-haired man and a gorgeous woman, both somewhere in their thirties. His anxiety is laced with adrenaline, hope, fear, and plenty of other minor feelings.
Her anxiety is the polar opposite. It's a cold mix of dread, resignation, and slowly building relief I know all too well.
She's about to break up with him.
He's on pretty much the exact opposite page. I watch as he reaches to nervously check a square lump in one of his pockets for the fourth time.
I grimace, already imagining how this night is going to feel for him. I shouldn't butt in, but…come on. The poor guy could use a little warning, right?
"Your chicken parmigiana," a pleasant but secretly exhausted server says, setting a plate in front of me. He holds up a grater. "Cheese?"
The steaming dish in front of me looks great, but my stomach begins roiling just as a nearby pregnant woman recoils from the scent of the seafood dish her husband ordered. Other feelings are raking over me from all directions.
Before I can manage to formulate even a one-word reply, Jessica's blue-haired head floats up through my table as she pins me with a dead serious stare.
Emphasis ondead,since…well.
That's what my bestie is.
"Whatever happens tonight, do not—I repeat,do notlet that grunting, uncultured, hairy-assed plebeian touch you. Your date just took the biggest shit that was ever shat anddidn't wash his fucking hands,"she hisses. "He's now scrolling on his phone in there. Who goes to the bathroom for this long at the beginning of a first date, anyway? Fuckingnasty."
Good thing I already lost my appetite before hearing that, because ew.
A small wave of annoyance crests over me as the server clears his throat. "Was that a yes or a no to the cheese, miss?"
I try to smile apologetically even though the blond man's nervousness is now clogging my throat and making my heart pound uncomfortably.
