Page 24 of Hell’s Half Acre

How he wished he’d realized that sooner and treated her better over the centuries.

But he wasn’t the same spoiled ass he’d been in Hell. His time in the human world had changed him.

No. Sorcha had changed him and made him aware of others. A part of him was grateful for her influence.

Another part of him hated her for it.

Empathy sucked. And being aware of others and their emotions was hard.

Not as much as loneliness.

True. Even with Helly, Delilah, and his demons, he’d been very lonely here until Sorcha had shown up. She was actually fun to be around. Challenged him in a way no one else ever had.

She was spectacular.

Stop! Focus!

He hated whenever his mind wandered. Right now, he needed to keep his thoughts on the demons and the Necos. “Can you go to Hell and find out from Sorath if he knows of anyone who hired the Necos?”

“Of course. Anything else you need?”

“Anything you can find that has the scent of a single Feral Closet Demon. I need something I can use to track them.”

“Done.” She vanished.

Thankfully, she understood what he meant about their scent. The area here and particularly the closet held the combined scents of all the demons who’d been camped in it. While he could catch a whiff of something, he couldn’t distinguish between the combination as belonging to one or another demon. He needed their distinct scents to track them.

Like Sorcha who smelled of desire and honey. Of the coconut almond cream lotion she used.

Closing his eyes, he savored the memory and then damned himself for the bulge it caused.

Get your mind off the detective.

Didn’t help. His body might have ears, but it seldom listened. Especially to him.

Damn it, I have to focus. What had come at her tonight made no sense. Why would Sorcha have a bounty of any kind?

She’s surrounded by ancient powers…they’ve already taken her sister and will be coming for her next. His mother’s words went through his head.

I should have listened.

Yes, he should have. But he’d been a little distracted lately.

Ancient powers weren’t anything to toy with. They had their own agendas. And they often clashed with each other and destroyed any poor soul who got in their way. His father made a game of irritating such beings.

But when it came to ancient powers and dealing with their tantrums, he knew one who was more versed in them than anyone.

Acheron Parthenopaeus. Cursed and hunted by the gods, he’d been hidden in the human world until Apollo had killed him. Or at least, Apollo had tried. Because Acheron was a god himself, he’d come back with a vengeance.

Now, Acheron was the leader of the Dark-Hunters.

Even though it was late, Luke knew Acheron stayed up most nights, and he lived in New Orleans, which was a time zone behind Savannah. Picking up his phone, he gave Acheron a call.

The ancient Atlantean god answered on the second ring. “I know this isn’t social, Luke. What in Hell happened to have you ringing me up at this hour?”

He smiled at Acheron’s words and his thick Atlantean accent. “I have need of your special skill set. And Simi’s. Can I get an assist?”

Acheron let out a deep laugh. “Maybe, but Simi isn’t as easy to access right now.”