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Ruckus gets there first, because apparently sitting still for longer than twenty minutes might actually fucking kill him. “So…” he says, backing into the hallway while looking at Thorn, “… when you say first watch, are we talking actual guard duty or are you volunteering for babysitting?” Thorn walks straight past him. “Because I feel like you’d be great with kids,” Ruckus keeps going. “Very approachable. Nothing terrifying about the whole thorn situation.”
“Keep talking, and I’ll show you exactly what I can do with them.”
Ruckus pauses. “See, now that sounded sexual.”
Thorn stops, slowly looking back at him. “It wasn’t.”
Ruckus grins. “Aww, I am a little disappointed now.”
A laugh breaks out behind me.
Even Raze cracks something close to a smile before pointing down the hall. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“All right, all right, I’m going,” Ruckus calls out.
“Faster!” Raze growls, letting his dragon voice out.
We spill out of Church together, the weight of the meeting loosening a little with every step. Wreck and Thorn peel off to get ready for the safe house, Scar already has his phone out, and Ruckus starts bitching about being fucking starving.
“Kitchen better have something left,” I mutter.
Sentinel falls into step beside me. “You ate three hours ago.”
“And?”
“Nothing. Just fascinated by the amount of food required to sustain Hell’s favorite puppy.”
I turn my head slowly, and the bastard smiles. “Call me puppy again.”
“Puppy.”
I punch him in the arm. “Keep walking, wings.”
We make it another few steps, then heat crawls across the back of my neck.
My smile disappears.
Another wave follows, hotter this time, rolling down the hallway until the air turns thick, and my cut suddenly feels like too much against my skin. Sweat breaks across the back of my neck, and when I drag in a breath, it scorches all the way down.
Around us, conversation dies as everyone feels it.
Every hair along my arms lifts as the hellhound surges awake beneath my skin.
Nobody needs to tell us this time.
We all fucking feel it.
Sentinel stops dead beside me, wings twitching under his shirt like they want out and know better than to try. “Carnage.”
My hellhound feels it before I do, going so fucking still beneath my skin that my own steps slow with it. Usually anything supernatural gets something out of the bastard, a growl grinding through my chest, heat licking through my veins, or claws threatening at my fingertips while he decides whether whatever’s coming needs killing.
This time, he pulls back.
Not far, but I fucking feel it. The beast is retreating deeper beneath my skin instead of shoving toward the surface, and that has my hand dropping toward my gun before I even know what we’re dealing with.
The front doors groan behind us, and every head in the hallway turns as the doors begin opening on their own, hinges dragging out the sound while another wave of heat pushes through the widening gap. A figure fills the doorway almost immediately, black robes spilling around a body so fucking big he has to duck beneath the frame to get inside.
He straightens slowly once he clears it, easily towering over most of us, and keeps coming. The robes move around his legs with every heavy step, except they don’t settle when he does. Black fabric keeps shifting and curling around his boots despite the air in the hallway being completely still, and the closer he gets, the hotter it becomes.
