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  Darren pulled in and got out of his Jeep. He looked at the school with worry in his eyes until Mitch told him where the hellhound was.

  “Thank fuck,” Darren said. “I wasn’t looking forward to scaring the shit out of kids.”

  The three moved quickly down the street. When they drew close to the house, they split up. Moose went toward the back, and Mitch and Darren approached the front.

  Mitch wanted to wait for Moose’s signal, but when he heard a woman scream, he busted the door in and charged inside.

  Holy. Fuck.

  The hellhound had shifted, and he was the biggest dog Mitch had ever seen. He was the size of a damn pony!

  He whipped his three heads around and snarled at them, his eyes red and flaming. Mitch knew he had to stab the son of a bitch in a spot behind his ear, but which damn ear? Hellhounds, when in their human form, had a dark mark behind their ear. Stab them in that spot and they died. But how the hell was he supposed to find that mark when the beast had six ears to search?

  “Now what?” Darren had gone into combat mode. He held two very sharp knives in his hands as he spread his legs apart, his gaze darting between the heads. Mitch pulled his own knife out and gripped it tightly.

  “Now we start stabbing and hope we hit our mark before the beast bites us.”

  To a human, a hellhound bite was deadly. For a nonhuman, the bite would still hurt like a bitch, but they had a fifty-fifty chance of surviving it.

  Mitch didn’t like those odds.

  “Go left and I’ll go right.” Mitch still hadn’t seen the woman who had screamed, but the rottweiler was so big he couldn’t see past it.

  Had Moose come inside already? Was he still outside checking the perimeter? The three-headed dog was so fucking big that Mitch couldn’t see past it.

  The hellhound yelped and spun, snarling at something behind it.

  “You’re not so hot anymore,” Moose said from somewhere in the back. “Shift so I can get your number.”

  “I swear he was dropped on his head as a cub,” Darren said.

  “Maybe, but he’s given us a chance.” The mark was barely discernable, but it was there, behind the head on the left. Mitch moved at lightning speed, unwilling to give the beast a chance to turn its heads back around.

  But seconds before he plunged his knife deep, the hellhound turned and snapped his jaws, one long tooth slicing into Mitch’s left bicep. He didn’t let the pain stop him. Mitch climbed onto the hellhound and rode him like a bucking bull as he gripped his knife with both hands and let his arms swing downward.

  He hit the floor and rolled to his side when the hellhound crumpled, nearly crushing Mitch. He kicked the heavy paw off him before Mitch lay back, staring at the ceiling, his arm feeling as though it was on fire.

  “Shit, Mitch!” Moose dropped next to him. “I knew it couldn’t be that easy. Were you bitten?”

  Mitch pulled his hand away from the wound. Fuck. There was a lot of blood.

  “How much pain are you in?” Darren hunched down next to him.

  “Pat.” Mitch gritted his teeth as the pain intensified. Thankfully he had been grazed by the tooth and the dog hadn’t sunk his canines in. The bad thing was the hellhound had broken skin. “You have to get my mate.”

  “Who’s Pat?” Moose asked.

  “Since when do you have a mate, and why didn’t you say anything about him before now?” Darren asked.

  “Police dispatcher.” The room began to swim as Mitch clutched his arm. Bile rose to the back of his throat as he threw his head back and screamed seconds before he passed out.

  * * * *

  While Darren picked up Mitch and got him to his car, Moose had the good fortune of having to burn the hellhound. The bastard stank and was heavy as fuck. There was no right way to carry an oversized three-headed dog. Its heads kept flopping around, making it impossible to carry.

  Moose left the dog in the living room and looked around. He saw a woman lying on the floor in the hallway, torn to shreds. Why had Demonian chosen this woman? Why had he killed her?

  Unsure of the answers, Moose checked the rest of the house. It appeared she lived alone. He would call Sheriff Werth after he got the hellhound loaded into his SUV to tell him about the woman. No one should die such a violent death, and no one should be left like yesterday’s trash.

  She deserved a proper burial.

  Moose went back to the school parking lot, retrieved his SUV, and drove back to the house, reversing into the driveway so the back of his vehicle was close to the rear door.

  He was gonna throw his back out getting the hellhound into his SUV, but Moose managed and drove away, heading for the outskirts of town.

  When he was far enough away, he pulled onto the field and dumped the body, poured gasoline onto it from the container he had in the back, and set the fucker on fire.

  Moose didn’t stick around. The smell was making him sick. He got into his SUV and drove off, heading to pick up Mitch’s mate.

  One hellhound down, one to go.

  Chapter Two

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Pat said as he left the station, throwing a wave over his shoulder. He slipped into his compact car and drove from the police parking lot, heading home for the night. It had been a very long day, and all he could think about was sinking into a hot bubble bath to soak his weary bones.

  Pat thought about Mitch and still couldn’t believe he had found his mate. Mitch also hadn’t shown up at the station, and Pat had waited an entire hour past the time he had gotten off work.

  Was that the type of mate he had? A promise breaker? The thought made Pat’s chest ache as he drove toward home. He hoped that wasn’t the case, that something important had come up and that Mitch would track him down with a good enough excuse.

  If he didn’t, Pat wasn’t sure what he would do. He was used to dealing with good, honest, reliable people. Okay, except for his brother, but that was a whole other ball of wax.

  Pat must have thought Zack up, because just then his cell phone rang, displaying his name across the screen. He debated on whether or not to answer the call. His brother was currently trying to “find himself.” Whatever that meant. Zack had gone through so many jobs in the past two months, and lately, every time he called, it was to borrow money.

  Pat was a thrifty saver and watched every dime he spent. Since shifters lived a very long time, he was trying to pad his savings account.

  But with Zack constantly borrowing money, Pat’s dream of living comfortably looked further and further away.

  With a frustrated sigh, he picked his phone up from the passenger seat and answered. “Yes?”

  “Why do you sound so testy?” Zack asked.

  Pat let out a long breath. “I’ve had a hard day.”

  That wasn’t a lie. Calls kept coming in all day, and being a dispatcher, Pat was at the frontline to help people stay calm as he found out what was going on in their lives.

  One call was about a guy abusing his wife, and Pat had to listen to him scream at her and threaten her life as he dispatched patrol cars to her address.

  Another was Mrs. O’Reilly, a seventy-two-year-old woman who swore her cat was trying to kill her.

  One call was about an auto accident. Another was about a lost boy, who, thankfully, had just been next door playing with the neighbor’s dog.

  Even so, there were times when Pat felt overwhelmed because of his job.

  “Mom just wanted me to call and remind you to be at her house this weekend,” Zack said. “She wants help carrying things outside for her yard sale.”

  Saturday was Pat’s only day off for the next five days. He loved his mother to death, and would help her with anything, but dang it, he didn’t want to give up his only day of rest to stand in the hot sun and watch people pick over the stuff she had wanted to get rid of from the attic.

  “Why can’t you help her?”

  “I start my new job, and I can’t miss any days,” Zack said with pride in his voice.
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  “A new job?” Pat hoped Zack kept this one longer than the last, which was three days. Three stinking days and Zack had quit Jammin’ Juice Hut.

  “The Pit,” Zack said. “Priest seems like a nice guy, but telling him I need a day off on my second day won’t look good.”

  His brother had a point, and Pat was glad he was taking this job seriously. “Fine, I’ll go to Mom’s.”

  Pat pulled into his driveway and shut the car off.

  “I’ll let her know,” Zack said before he hung up.

  “The shit I do for my family.” Pat sighed as he got out, anxious to sink into his bubble bath. He was tempted to cut his phone off, but he always kept in on just in case the job needed him.

  As soon as Pat entered his house, he knew something was off. Nothing looked out of place, but there was a strange kind of energy flowing through his house.

  Pat owned a gun, but he had never used it and prayed he never had to. Unfortunately, the gun was in his bedroom closet in a lockbox. That wouldn’t do him any good when he was standing by the front door.

  He clutched his keys and phone tighter in his hands, debating on whether to turn around and leave or scold himself for being tired and imagining things.

  What had Pat turning toward the door was the fact that he wasn’t in the habit of giving in to paranoia. He considered himself pretty levelheaded, which he needed to be in order to do his job.

  His hand landed on the knob, and Pat was just about to open the door when a large, beefy hand slammed against the wood, preventing Pat from leaving.

  He spun and looked up at the freakishly tall guy standing right behind him. Pat’s stomach dropped, along with his jaw, at the sight of the muscular man.

  The guy smelled like a bear shifter. He sure as hell was built like one.

  “Mitch needs you,” the guy said. “He sent me to fetch you.”

  “How do you know Mitch?” Pat squared his shoulders, refusing to show this giant just how afraid he truly was. And Pat was downright terrified. He was a fox shifter, slight in build, and held no definition of muscles.

  The guy in front of him had to reach close to seven feet tall, maybe taller.

  “He’s my boss and a good friend. He’s been hurt,” the guy said. “I need you to come with me.”

  Pat had been a dispatcher for many years, had dealt with the nonhuman community long enough to know that sometimes the bad guys disguised themselves as the good guys in order to use a mate for leverage.

  “I’m not going anywhere unless Mitch calls and tells me you’re on his side.” Pat tried to duck down and go under the mountain’s arm, but the guy easily blocked him.

  “Come with me or I’ll carry you out of here.” His eyes had narrowed, and his lips had thinned. The stranger meant every word.

  “Also, if it wouldn’t be a bother, do you mind if I grab a snack on our way out? I’m kind of starving.” His menacing scowl faded as he grinned at Pat. He wasn’t sure if the smile was scarier than the hardened face he had just worn.

  Not taking any chances, Pat dropped to the floor, rolled past the guy, and jumped to his feet before racing through his living room, desperate to get to his back door.

  Pat knew it wasn’t true, but it sure as hell felt as though the house shook as the stranger gave chase. He held his phone in his hand but didn’t have time to stop and dial nine-one-one. Clark was manning the phones tonight, and he was a sweet guy, but he wasn’t very bright, and Pat feared he wouldn’t dispatch help fast enough.

  He reached the kitchen, but before he could get to the door, the mountain picked him up from around his waist and pulled Pat off his feet.

  “Let me go, you big gorilla!” Pat swung his arms and legs, to no avail. The stranger had a tight hold on him as he turned, grabbed a box of sweet rolls from Pat’s counter, and headed out the back door.

  * * * *

  Pat was surprised the drive hadn’t taken long. They pulled into a long driveway surrounded by woods that opened up to reveal a very nice-looking cabin.

  When his kidnapper parked—and he had demolished the box of sweet rolls on the way there—Pat reached for the door, ready to haul ass, but the stranger grabbed his arm and pulled Pat across the bench seat then carried him inside.

  “Sorry about kidnapping you,” the mountain said. “I’m really a nice guy, but Mitch does need you.”

  Pat didn’t bother to fight. It was futile considering the man’s sheer size. He would just have to find another way to escape.

  “Why are you carrying him?” a tall and lean guy with a dark beard and mustache asked. “Mitch is gonna kill you for putting your hands on him, Moose.”

  Moose. A befitting name.

  “He wasn’t lying?” Pat asked as he looked between the two men.

  “About what?” the stranger asked as Moose set Pat on his feet.

  “He said Mitch was hurt and I had to come to him.”

  The guy stuck his hand out. “I’m Darren Christopher, and the guy behind you is John Zitelli, but we call him Moose for obvious reasons.”

  Darren was hot as fuck. Pat eyed him before he asked, “So where’s Mitch?”

  “I gotta warn you, it ain’t pretty,” Darren said. “Do you know anything about hellhounds?”

  Pat’s head snapped around when he heard loud moaning. He didn’t know his mate all that well to say for certain that that was his voice. “I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never personally met one.”

  “And you don’t want to,” Moose said before heading to the refrigerator. “Nasty sons of bitches who zap all your happiness out of you.”

  “And they have a destructive bite,” Darren added. “Which, unfortunately, Mitch found out firsthand.”

  Pat’s brows shot up. “Mitch was bitten by one of them?”

  He had heard of hellhounds, how vicious they were and how their bite killed humans and nonhumans had a fifty-fifty chance of survival. Pat’s heart dropped to the floor. He had had a brief conversation with Mitch. He didn’t know the guy at all, and if the bite killed him, Pat would lose his mate without even getting to know him.

  He followed the moans to a bedroom to the right of the kitchen. Pat opened the door to the noxious smell of sulfur that almost knocked him on his ass.

  He approached the bed slowly, stricken at the sight of the black foam dried around Mitch’s mouth.

  “He has to throw up that poison,” Darren said from behind him. “I would have given him a bath, but the bathroom is destroyed.”

  “Where’s the bathroom?”

  When Darren showed him, Pat hurriedly wet a cloth and raced back to the room, cleaning the foam from around his mouth. “I might not have ever met a hellhound, but I know this foam will burn anything it touches.”

  And Pat was right. There were bubbled red marks around Mitch’s mouth.

  Pat dropped the cloth as Mitch jackknifed and started screaming. He thrashed around so badly that Moose had to pin him down. Tears crested Pat’s eyes. He couldn’t just stand here and do nothing. He had to help his mate.

  He pulled his cell phone out and dialed his boss. When Werth answered, Pat talked bullet-fast, telling him what was going on.

  “Your mate?” Werth sounded shocked.

  “I just found out at lunch. Do you know of anyone who can help him?” Pat had to step out of the room. Mitch was screaming so loudly that he barely heard what Sheriff Werth was saying.

  He also couldn’t stand the fact that Moose was practically sitting on Mitch. He wanted to punch the giant in his throat for touching his mate.

  “Give me the address. I’ll make a few phone calls. Hang in there, okay?”

  “I don’t like feeling so helpless,” Pat admitted.

  “I know, but I won’t leave you hanging. Give me a minute and I’ll call you back.” Werth hung up, leaving Pat to stare around the room. He had been in some pretty messed-up situations in his life before but never this intense, never this life or death.

  Pat wiped at a few stray tears, squared h
is shoulders, and went back into the room. No matter how bad it got with Mitch, Pat would be at his side. Because if the bite killed him…no, Pat wasn’t even gonna think about that. He refused to believe Mitch wouldn’t pull through.

  Pat crawled into the bed next to his mate and curled around him after his screaming died down and he stopped thrashing around.

  “You don’t wanna get that black shit on you,” Darren said.

  “I’ll be careful.” Pat ran his hand through Mitch’s hair and whispered, “I’m right here with you. You’re not alone.”

  He wasn’t sure how long he stayed that way, but the next thing Pat knew a very tall, chiseled guy with black hair and dark brown eyes entered the room, dominance and authority flowing around him.

  The guy looked at Pat before his gaze shifted to Mitch. “I’m told he’s been bitten by a hellhound.”

  “Who are you?” Pat asked, feeling very protective of his mate.

  The guy gave a short nod. “My name is Nazaryth, and I can help.”

  Pat stiffened when the guy pulled something from his pocket.

  Nazaryth approached the bed. “This is an herbal paste made of healing plants. It draws out the poison and makes the wound heal faster.”

  Pat hesitated then moved from the bed, but he still kept hold of Mitch’s hand as he watched the stranger peel back the bandages. Pat almost gagged at how nasty the wound appeared. It was red, swollen, and…he couldn’t think of any other way to describe it but wet. Kind of oozing and gooey.

  Oh god. He was gonna be sick.

  And the smell. It was so bad that Pat actually dry heaved.

  The miraculous thing was, as soon as Nazaryth spread the salve over the wound, the smell disappeared, and Mitch—who had been struggling to breathe—calmed.

  Nazaryth handed the small jar to Pat. “Change his bandage regularly, and when you do, clean it and spread that paste over the wound.”

  “When do I stop using this?” Pat asked.