Shadows (Dark in You 5)

Of course he was fucking growling. Devon Clarke was under his protection. She was also the thing he wanted most but could never have. He could, however, keep her safe and erase any threat to her—which he fully intended to do.

I’m gonna find who wants her and fuck their shit up, he told Knox. You know I take my position of Harper’s bodyguard very seriously—

As it happens, Harper already told me she wants you to join the hunt for him, said Knox. Larkin can guard her any time you’re unavailable—she’s done it before. But Jolene might not like you partaking in the hunt; she’ll want to kill him herself. I doubt Devon will like it either.

No, the hellcat wouldn’t. She often told Tanner to butt out of her business. She’d also rebuffed his offer of protection more times than he could count. She’ll just have to deal with it.

It wouldn’t be the first time she’d chewed a chunk out of Tanner’s ass. They’d been “at war” since they first met, exchanging annoying little gifts. She’d bought him things such as milk bones, a dog lead, and even a can of puppy chow. He’d bought her gifts such as balls of yarn, a pretty collar, and a catnip plant. The playful war was an outlet for all their sexual tension, really.

Tanner frowned at something Jolene said. “What do you mean by ‘she got free?’” he asked. “She was spelled to a chair.”

“He obviously wasn’t as powerful as he thought,” replied Jolene. “It’s not easy to magickly bind any breed of hellbeast—you know that.”

Sensing it was more than that, he looked down at Devon, who was staring into her mug. Apparently, she didn’t want him knowing how she’d freed herself. It wasn’t unusual for demons to keep some of their abilities quiet, but he didn’t like that she didn’t trust him with the information. “You’re sure the bastard’s dead?”

Devon’s head whipped around to face him, and her angry eyes sparkled like chips of ice. “What, you don’t think I have it in me?”

He almost smiled. Perverse as it was, he liked riling her. Liked that he could get under her skin—it was only fair, she seemed to live under his. He didn’t know what it said about him that his cock hardened in the face of her anger. “It was just a question, kitty cat. Not everyone has the stomach to kill.”

In truth, he had no trouble believing that she’d coldly disposed of the incantor. Every instinct he had told him that she was as dangerous as she was beautiful, like a shower of glass shards.

He’d never wanted anything even half as much as he wanted Devon Clarke. He knew a lot of guys liked slender women, but Tanner preferred curves. Liked to thrust his cock into something soft. Devon had gorgeous curves and a body made to be worshipped. She was all tits and ass. And fuck if he didn’t love that ass. And those tits.

Heads never failed to turn when she entered a room. Devon Clarke was a woman who made you sit up and take notice. Gave off an energy that was all sex and mystery and self-assurance.

Her expressive cat-green eyes were framed by long, thick eyelashes that made him think of black lace. An ultraviolet river of shimmering spiral curls spilled down her back, tempting him to fist them tight while he ravished that bow-shaped mouth that was just as succulent as her scent … strawberry candy canes with a hint of vanilla. That scent was like a warm, slick fist wrapped tight around his cock.

Beautiful women weren’t rare—he’d known plenty of them. But Devon held a deeper appeal for him. Fascinated him, even. Maybe it was because she defied stereotypes. There was no way to label her. She was a whole host of contradictions. Responsible yet impulsive. Antagonistic yet restful. Open yet guarded. Mischievous yet serious-minded. She also had a wit he could fully enjoy, and he’d bet she’d be a firecracker in bed.

Why had he never made a move on her? Simple. His hound saw her kind as prey to be hunted and killed. Just their scent alone made his demon strain to be free and give chase.

Tanner had figured that his attraction to her would fade in time. It hadn’t. Hell, the want had evolved into a hissing, spitting ache.

After years of knowing her, his hound had grown to be somewhat tolerant of Devon, and it no longer itched to hurt her. Still, Tanner had never dared act on what he so badly wanted. Although the demon no longer felt the need to lash out at her, Tanner couldn’t trust that his hound wouldn’t.

It had come as a complete shock when his demon leapt to the surface with a snarl on hearing what had happened to Devon, raring to avenge her. Tanner hadn’t realized his hound was protective of her.