Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 99935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
I looked around. “How’d I do what?”
“You know what.” An edge crept into his voice. “How’d you get that hellhound to cheat for you? Compulsion magic can’t compete with an ironclad will, and there’s nothing more ironclad than a hellhound’s hunger.”
If this were a cartoon, there’d be little question marks floating around my head. Compulsion magic? Ironclad wills? What the heck was this guy talking about?
“So give it the fuck up,” he hissed. “What are you using to juice your magic? Huh? Larimar? A painite amulet?” Smirking, he brushed his whiskers against my cheek and whispered, “You got a human stashed somewhere?”
I stilled.
A low, scratchy laugh filled my ear. “Sipping on that sweet, soul juice, ain’t ya? Because that would do it. That would give a disgusting little worm like you the power needed to make a hundred hellhounds do your bidding.”
My body was rigid, but not my mind. It raced in a hundred million directions, and all the runners were screaming at me. What the hell was going on? Why did he bring up humans and human souls to me? Did he know I wasn’t a demon?
But how could he know that? I looked like a demon, albeit a frightfully hideous one. I had the red eyes, the demon speech, and the weird tinge to my green skin that came from having black ichor, not blood.
I drew back, eyes narrowing on that grin. “How—?”
“You must be using that same power on this mutt?” he announced, straightening up. “So that’s how you’ve survived this long, Tristan No-Name. You’ve got a souped-up worm holding your leash. But how are you paying for this protection?” His smirk curled in on itself. “You must give wicked good blowjobs. I wouldn’t mind one my—”
Tristan punched his face in.
Cartilage crunched under bone, spurting blood from his feline face. Snapping up before anyone could think to react, Tristan seized his ears and smashed his face on the desk.
Out cold, my would-be killer left a trail of blood sliding off the desk and onto the floor.
“Argh!” His two companions bellowed their rage, flying at Tristan. Neither one of them spared half a second of concern in their fallen friend’s direction. The margay demon, Bruno, even stepped on Kazuya’s head leaping over the desk.
“Roar!” Tristan ripped out of his seat, transforming before my eyes.
I clapped my hands over my mouth, muffling my forbidden scream.
Razor-sharp claws sprang from his fingertips as fast as coarse, golden fur enveloped his arms and hands.
He seized both of their heads in the palms of his hands, piercing through their cheeks, ears, and skulls—and smashed their heads together. They dropped like stones.
But Tristan wasn’t done.
Jumping over the table, he fell on the still-conscious Kazuya, grabbed his head, and started pummeling.
“Wait, stop!” I cried, eyes bulging out of my skull. “Tristan, stop, you’re going to kill him!”
He didn’t slow or pause. Powerful, lethal fists pounded Kazuya’s face until I couldn’t make out what was blood and what was black fur. What I could see clearly were the shattered teeth embedded in Tristan’s knuckles—making his punches even more devastating.
“Stop it!”
No one else was shouting but me. No one made a move to stop the fight. Half the class wasn’t even looking in Tristan’s direction. They were taking out their textbooks, messing on their phones, or finding their seats like it was just another first-day-of-school morning, and someone wasn’t getting slaughtered right in front of them.
“Tristan, please!” I shrieked, desperation leaking into my voice as Kazuya’s limp body jerked helplessly with every hit.
This is hell. I get it, okay! I get that kindness and compromise don’t move the needle down here. Only power does but—
“True strength is mercy!”
Tristan’s head snapped around—his elongated maw snarling and covered in demon blood. He glared at me with a furious, frozen sort of look on his face like what I just shouted at him was so obscene, I shocked him into stillness.
“I wouldn’t say that mercy is strength...” A deep, whispering voice tickled my ear. “But knowing your place is.”
I blinked, and Tristan was flying.
Soaring across the room, Tristan crashed into the skeleton sconce and brought it and himself smashing to the floor. Standing in the spot where Tristan just was... was him.
I sighed, all the air leaving my body, and carrying away my soul.
Beautiful...
Long, ebony waves fell around thin, almost delicate shoulders. He wore a tight black tank top that clung to every inch of his ropey, muscled frame... and exposed the rest. Large, twisting dragon tattoos wined around his biceps and up his back until they met in a fiery, flaming battle at the nape of his neck. It was as though he inked his skin in hopes of drawing attention away from his face, but there was never going to be any chance of that.
Thick black brows shadowed bright silver eyes, fighting desperately to hide their otherworldly glow. A long Roman nose guided your journey down to his full, pouty lips—so soft-looking for all that they were blue and bloodless. His very cheeks and broad jaw were sculpted personally by the hands of Zeus, and then kissed with perfectly strokable stubble.