Angel Betrayed

But he could swear that, through the broken back window, he felt the hot stench of hell’s breath.

“Sam! Sam, what’s happening?”

Metal grated. The few bits of glass still on that back windshield broke away. “You tell me,” he shouted, but he knew what was happening.

He’d fallen for lying eyes. Innocence that he should have known was a trick for a demon. He lunged forward as far as he could and drove the gas pedal down to the ground as he deliberately jerked the steering wheel from the left to the right in an attempt to dislodge their new passenger.

Sam knew a hellhound had hitched a ride with them.

Sonofabitch. A succubus shouldn’t be able to summon a hellhound.

Invisible claws ripped into his shoulder, and deep rivulets of blood sprayed into the air.

“Sam! What’s happening?” Terror and fear seemed to cloak Seline’s lying words.

He grabbed her hand and held tight even as he fought to steer with his left hand. “Call it off,” he demanded. Because he understood—finally—just what was going on. No wonder the hound hadn’t so much as scratched Seline’s skin . . . the beast couldn’t.

A hellhound could never hurt its master.

He risked a fast glance at her—even as claws raked him again—but he didn’t free her hand. “Call it the f**k off.”

“Call what off?” She didn’t try to tug free. Her eyes were wide and scared—and black as night. “There’s nothing back there!”

Nothing that could be seen, not yet, but the beast’s claws and teeth could sure be felt.

“It’s your hound.” Why hadn’t he seen this before? He’d been so unconcerned with Seline’s “other” half. A hybrid . . . hell, he’d been so blind.

The hound hadn’t attacked her.

The beast had found them too fast, and there was only one way a hound could track this fast.

The hellhound had honed in on its master.

And the next words had to be said, because that last swipe of the beast’s claws had come too close to his neck. “Call it off . . . or you die.” If a hound’s master wouldn’t call the beast back, then the only way to stop a hellhound was to kill that master.

Without the master, the hound went back to hell instantly.

“What?” Her hoarse whisper.

His hold tightened on her. He could hear the beast’s snarls now. Hungry growls. The hound wanted a soul to feed on. Too bad. His wasn’t on the menu. “Pull the beast back . . . or go to hell with the hound.” Betrayed. All of it had been a setup, and he’d been too blind to see the truth.

Lust had made him stupid.

The hound’s growls kept rumbling in his ears, and he had to dodge more swipes from those claws. The truck pushed forward faster, faster, and he felt razor-sharp teeth press into the back of his neck.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Now Seline was fighting to pull free of his grip. “Sam, you’re scaring me!”

She wasn’t going to call the beast back. Damn her. “The hellhound . . .” Those teeth clipped his throat. Fire burned along Sam’s flesh. “Send the beast back, now!” Another fast glance at her.

Her eyes were huge and filmed with the glimmer of tears. Tears. He’d never seen her cry. Fear had her face paling, and he knew she understood as she stared at the wounds spreading on his body. Those growls and snarls filled the truck as the hound gained strength from Sam’s blood.

“I-I can’t.” Her confession and she stopped trying to pull away from him. “I’m sorry . . .”

So was he. Power pumped through him. He had to do what was necessary for survival.

The truck thundered faster, its bald tires wobbling.

Faster, faster . . .

Those invisible teeth snapped at him again.

Sam slammed on the brakes. His chest rammed into the steering wheel, but those teeth—those damn sharp teeth—tore free of him. A giant gaping hole appeared in the windshield—a hole that had been made by the hound’s body. He could see the ghostly image of the beast struggling to take shape on the dirt road. The beast was bloody, and its hind legs were broken.

Seline slumped beside Sam. Her head had hit the windshield an instant before the beast had gone through and sent glass shattering, but she hadn’t been thrown from the truck.

Sam still had his hold on her wrist, and his grip was far more unbreakable than any seat belt ever could be.

Her eyes were closed. Blood trickled from the wound on her head, and he was pretty sure he’d dislocated her shoulder when he’d stopped her from flying out of the vehicle.