Omens (The Dark in You Book 6)

by Suzanne Wright

  “That’s true,” conceded Keenan. If it was the only way to get her to agree to move to his lair, he’d do it. “I’ll talk with her about it later. Right now, my main worry is the infection that’s slowly killing her.”

  Larkin leaned forward. “You’re not going to lose her, Keenan.”

  “I know I’m not.” But he was living minute to minute in fear that he would.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Now that the studio was ready to be closed, Khloé began gathering her things together. She’d no sooner slipped on her jacket than Keenan stalked inside, oozing as much sex and smolder and sin as always. Her demon instantly perked up and, of course, her hormones let out dreamy sighs.

  He exchanged greetings with everyone as he made a beeline for her. Pulling her into his arms, he pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. “How was your day?”

  Khloé splayed her hands on his hard chest. “I almost drove Devon to tears, so very good—she’s a tough nut to crack, in an emotional sense.” She tilted her head. “What about you?”

  “Other than for one particular event, it was an okay day,” he replied vaguely.

  “Expand on ‘particular event.’”

  “I’ll tell you all about it when we get to the penthouse.”

  Satisfied that he didn’t intend to blow her off, Khloé nodded. “All right.” Having said her goodbyes to everyone, she allowed him to shepherd her out of the studio.

  Radiating protectiveness, he practically glued himself to her side as they strolled down the strip, passing an endless number of pedestrians. Many businesses were now closing and pulling down aluminum roller shutters. Others were only just opening, and “Closed” signs were being flipped around.

  “Do you miss guarding Asher?” she asked as they walked into the hotel.

  Keenan gave her a sideways glance. “I miss seeing him every day—I got used to it. But there’s no way I’d protect him properly when I’m so worried about you. I’d be distracted, so I’d be no good to him. Plus, I just need to be near you right now. I won’t function well if I’m not.”

  Warmth bloomed in her stomach. The dude said the best stuff sometimes. Her demon might have melted if its emotional repertoire wasn’t so stunted.

  Once inside the elevator that would take them up the penthouse, Khloé said, “Although I don’t think it’s strictly necessary for you to always be local in the event that I’ll need you, I do appreciate that you’d put some of your responsibilities temporarily aside for me—I know that can’t be easy for you. You take your position very seriously.” She respected and admired his dedication and drive.

  He gave her an odd look that was close to hopeful, and his face softened. “I do.”

  Reaching the top floor, she stepped out of the elevator and made her way to the fancy kitchen with Keenan hot on her heels. He leaned against the counter, watching as she prepped the coffee machine and then switched it on … as if every little move she made fascinated him.

  She grabbed two mugs out of the cupboard. “So, tell me what happened that tainted your otherwise okay day.”

  He straightened, sighing. “Knox called Thea in for a disciplinary meeting. I asked him to speak with her and make it clear that she was not to bother you again. I wasn’t so confident that she’d heed my warnings.”

  Khloé would have liked to have been there, but she understood why she hadn’t been invited—lair business was lair business. And, yeah, she’d have probably stirred shit up. “I’m guessing she wasn’t too pleased about the whole thing.” Which made Khloé feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

  “No, she wasn’t,” he confirmed.

  “Did she make excuses about why she approached me?”

  “She just said she wanted to talk to you.” He gently tugged out the tie binding her hair and watched as it tumbled down her back like a black river. His gaze followed the movement of his hand as he smoothed it over the dark strands. “She didn’t seem to see any wrong in that, though she did say she could understand why her behavior would be reported.”

  “Which she no doubt said in the hope that it would placate Knox.”

  “Probably.” Coffees in hand, they settled on the stools at the kitchen island, angling their bodies to face each other. “She found it hard to believe that I’d truly taken you as my mate,” Keenan added.

  Her demon huffed. “Found it hard to believe or simply didn’t want to believe it?” asked Khloé.

  “Probably a little of both, considering she claimed that she wouldn’t have kept walking out of my life if only I’d chosen her over my position of sentinel.”

  Khloé jerked back. “Say what?”

  “She felt that she wouldn’t have been my priority.”

  “Because you have a demanding job? That’s bullshit. It’s more likely that she felt threatened by how close you are to Knox and the other sentinels. She wanted to weaken the bonds between you and them.”

  Keenan pursed his lips, considering that. “Possibly.” Honestly, he couldn’t give a shit either way anymore. “But she wouldn’t be the first person to find being mated to a sentinel very difficult,” he said, knots in his stomach. It was a probing comment, and she clearly sensed it.

  His little imp sipped at her coffee. “If you’re asking, in a roundabout way, whether it will be a problem for me, the answer is no.”

  With hope budding inside him, he waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. “Just no?” he asked.

  “Just no.”

  He inwardly sighed. That was the thing about imps—you’d only get the right answer if you asked the right question. “Any particular reason why my position won’t be a problem for you?”

  “For one thing, I like that you have your own life and a sense of purpose—not everybody does, and it can make them feel lost.”

  “Like your mother,” he mused.

  “Like my mother. And Lucian, for that matter.”

  Keenan gave a slow nod, in total agreement that Harper’s father—the ultimate nomad—was in fact lost. His demon didn’t have even an inkling of respect for the other male.

  “Also,” Khloé went on, “the hours you work aren’t going to bother me because I’m not a person who needs company twenty-four/seven. And if I do want company or I get bored, I have an endless number of family members who will keep me occupied.”

  “In ways that are legal and moral?”

  “I’m not comfortable answering that question. Back to your original one … I know how important your position is to you; I know you wouldn’t feel whole or happy without it. If something’s important to you, it’s important to me.”

  Hearing the ring of sincerity in her tone, Keenan swallowed, and the knots in his stomach unraveled. He splayed a possessive hand on her thigh and gave it a little squeeze. “Thank you for understanding.”

  If she’d asked him to choose between her and his position, he would have chosen her—he didn’t want to live a life that didn’t have her in it. He’d tried that, and it hadn’t worked. But it would have destroyed something inside him to have walked away from his lair, Knox, and the other sentinels.

  “Does that mean you won’t ask me to join your lair?” he asked.

  “Yes, that’s what it means.”

  “You’ll join mine?”

  She set her mug down, a pained look briefly shaping her face. “I’ll have to, I know that. But I won’t lie, it’s going to be super hard.”

  His chest squeezed. He hated the thought of her hurting, especially when she was being so fucking understanding and supportive of him. He could do no less for her.

  Keenan picked up her hand and stroked her palm with his thumb. “What if we live at your place instead of mine? Would that make moving lairs less difficult for you?”

  Straightening, she studied his face carefully. “You’d really do that? You’d really leave your swanky apartment and live among imps?”

  “I want you to be happy, just as you want me to be happy. If being close to your family is important to you, then
it’s important to me,” he said, paraphrasing something she’d said. Her face brightened, and everything inside him settled in an instant.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Surprised she hadn’t choked on the knot of emotion clogging her throat—God, he was turning her into such a girl—Khloé bit her lip. “Thank you.” She would never have expected him to make such a concession. Even her demon was touched.

  He rubbed her thigh and looked as though he was about to speak again, but then his eyes clouded, and that Keenan’s not home right now expression took over his face.

  She waited for him to finish his telepathic conversation, praying that he was receiving some good news. But when his eyes cleared and his face darkened, her stomach sank. “Something wrong?”

  Grinding his teeth, he set down his mug. “That was Knox. He spoke with the vampires.”

  “They can’t help,” she guessed. Fuck.

  “They have a vampire in the ranks of their army who can heal, but she does it by taking a wound and transferring it to another person. You have no wound. Even if you did, she’d be unable to help you. Apparently, she’s come up against death essence before, and she couldn’t combat it.”

  Any other time, Khloé might have commented on what a pretty cool gift that was. But right then, her devastation was too great. Especially since … “I spoke to Grams half an hour ago—something I meant to tell you once our conversation was over. Vivian consulted the practitioners she knows. Their response, well, it’s not good news.”

  “Tell me.”

  “They claim that it’s possible that blood magick would help me, but that someone would have to die in order for me to live. And, considering we’d be fighting pure death, we’d need pure innocence to truly have a chance against it. In other words, we’d have to sacrifice a newborn baby—they’re the only beings that are without sin. I wouldn’t even consider that shit.”

  He closed his eyes and cursed. “It makes me an evil bastard that my mind didn’t immediately recoil at that idea. I just—”

  “You don’t want me to die, I know. There’s a lot of things I’d be willing to try in the hope of combating the death essence, but never the sacrifice of a newborn baby. You’d never be able to go through with it either.”

  He bit out another curse. “Blood magick can often backfire anyway.”

  Very true. “Vivian also managed to speak with the angel who frequents the hospital where she works. He claimed that only an archangel could heal me. Grams is having no luck getting in touch with one.”

  “Levi’s had no success with that either.” Keenan squeezed her hand. “There are other preternatural creatures out there with various gifts—dragons, elementals, fey. The list goes on and on. I’m not buying that the only being in existence that can fight death essence is an archangel.”

  “Same here.” She twisted her mouth. “Do you think it’s possible that Enoch could somehow undo what he did to me? That he could call the death essence out of my system or something?”

  Keenan’s brow hiked up slightly. He hadn’t considered that. “Maybe. We’ll ask him that very question when we get ahold of him. It won’t be long until we do.”

  “So I shouldn’t kill him with the blade if I come across him?”

  “If it seems like you have no choice but to kill him to survive a confrontation with him, then don’t hesitate. There will be another way to save you. We just have to find it.”

  “And we will.”

  Keenan curved his hand around the side of her neck. She was fucking amazing. Other people might have wallowed, given up hope of being healed, and drowned in self-pity. Not Khloé. She remained sturdy and strong, refusing to give in to whatever worries she might have. His demon loved that spine of steel she had.

  Needing to be closer to her, Keenan gripped her by the waist, lifted her, and then sat her on his lap so that she straddled him. “That’s better.” Locking his arms tight around her, he took her mouth, needing and relishing the taste of her, loving how she melted into him.

  When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. “Missed you today.”

  “Missed you right back. Which kind of annoyed me. It was very distracting.”

  “I know what you mean. But you’ve been distracting me for years, so I’m used to it.”

  She toyed with the collar of his tee. “Devon said I wear your scent now.”

  A smile quirked his mouth. “Tanner said I wear yours.” If two demons were intimate on more than one level, their skin often became embedded with each other’s scent. “Does it bother you?”

  “No. You?”

  “Not at all. I like it.” He took her mouth again, feasting and consuming her. Hunger crawled through him, thick and hot and carnal. He embraced it, desperate to forget for just a short time that she was getting closer to death every single day; desperate to drown out the clawing fear that rode him day and night.

  He snaked his hand beneath her tank top and slid it up her back, wanting—no, needing—the skin-to-skin contact. More, he needed to be inside her; needed to lose himself in her; needed the glorious oblivion that only Khloé had ever been able to give him.

  She tore her mouth free and raked her fingers through his hair. “I’m curious. Do you have anything against the idea of bending me over the kitchen island while you shove your delightfully large schlong in me?”

  He felt one side of his mouth tip up. “My what?”

  *

  As a deep male voice made an announcement over the racing stadium’s intercom, Khloé smiled. “Teague’s horse is up next,” she said without turning away from the wall of glass that overlooked the dirt track.

  Beams of bright light slashed through the air and illuminated both the track and artificial grass, courtesy of the rows of high-powered floodlights. Spectators were everywhere—the tiered grandstand, the indoor cafeteria, the outdoor picnic area, and some even stood near the white fence that bordered the track.

  Khloé took another bite of her hotdog, despite the fact that her stomach kept doing annoying little flips. She loved watching Teague’s stallion race. It was, without a doubt, the fastest of its kind, which was why it was a favorite among the gambling addicts. She wasn’t really nervous on its behalf—she never doubted that it would win—but her stomach still often went all jittery with anticipation.

  Hellhorse racing was bloody, gory, and intense as hell. Which was why she and her demon loved to observe it.

  Normal horses might be prey animals, but hellhorses sure weren’t. There was nothing placid or timid about them. They were ferocious, aggressive, mercurial creatures with notoriously bad tempers.

  Keenan curled his arms around Khloé from behind and locked her to him. “I’ll admit, this VIP box is way cooler than the one at the hellhound stadium,” he said.

  Khloé smiled. “Ain’t it, though?”

  Like the VIP boxes at the hellhound racing stadiums, it had chic leather seating, multiple TVs, and a personal waiter who would enter whenever summoned. But it had a few extra luxuries, such as the cool mini bar, complimentary champagne, the small buffet of finger-foods, and the sliding glass door that led to a private balcony.

  Sidling up to them, Devon tipped back her champagne flute and sipped at her drink. “As much as I love watching hellhorses race, I’ll never quite understand why they put themselves through this. I mean, some of those obstacles are horrendous.”

  The hellcat wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t so much the eight-foot tall hedges and stone walls—it was the ditches that were placed to either side of them. Said ditches contained some horrible shit—simmering lava, short flaming wooden spears, clumps of hyped-up poisonous snakes, and red-hot iron spikes to name but a few.

  “The person who comes up with ideas for the hurdles has to be a sadist,” said Harper, comfortably perched on a leather seat with Asher on her lap. “You’d better hope said sadist doesn’t turn his att
ention to hellhound racing, Tanner. You guys already have it hard with the hot oily pits and bubbling puddles of boiling water.”

  Seated opposite the sphinx with Larkin beside him, Tanner said, “Those puddles burn like a son of a …” He trailed off as his eyes flicked to Asher, who was playing with his fake cell phone. “Gun,” he finished lamely.

  Keenan nuzzled Khloé’s neck. “You going to give me a bite of that hotdog?”

  Her nose wrinkled. “Nah.”

  “But I’m hungry. And I shared my chips with you.”

  “I don’t see your point. Hey!” she whined when he leaned over and bit a chunk out of the hotdog.

  He quickly chewed it and said, “I’ll make it up to you later.”

  Devon gently nudged her. “Is Ciaran not coming?”

  Khloé sighed. “I don’t think so. I invited him, but … he’s been avoiding me.”

  “It’s guilt, sweetie,” said Raini, leaning against the window. “He hates that he’s healed and you’re not. Also, he seems to be throwing all his energy and time into finding someone who can heal you.”

  Khloé was well aware of that, and she couldn’t say she’d have acted any different in his position, but … “It would have been good for him to take a break and just chill for half an hour.”

  Devon touched the glass. “Ooh, we have movement down there.”

  Khloé watched as, sure-footed and impressively built, twenty hellhorses padded onto the oval track, their heads high and proud. Spectators cheered and whistled.

  The steeds lined up, side by side, near the start line. Some looked hyper and edgy, swishing their tails and trotting on the spot. Others were calm and still, like they were about to go for a leisurely walk through the woods or something. They had no jockeys, so there were no reins or saddles.

  “Horsies!” shouted Asher, leaning forward to get a better look at them.

  “Sort of,” said Harper. “They’re hellhorses.”

  The kid pointed at his chest. “For me.”