Must Love Hellhounds

The driveway bent to the right and down a small rise. Maggie studied the house longer than she might have if Geoff weren’t looking through her eyes. A columned veranda wrapped around the front of the house. It rose three stories, topped by a widow’s walk. Exits in the front, she noted, and likely in the back.

For a demon, though, any window could serve as an exit.

“I walk ahead of you,” Geoff said. And before she could protest, he added, “So I can see where the hell I’m going.”

And when he could see where he was going, Maggie realized, he moved as smoothly and as confidently as any of the operatives she’d worked with. He took the front steps and moved to the side of the door. He held up his hand before she could kick through.

Geoff pointed to his eyes, then the door. It took her a moment to understand.

The demon was waiting for them-and looking at the door from the other side.

On the stairs, he mouthed clearly.

Her pulse raced, and she couldn’t stop her grin. The British and American governments had no idea what they were missing.

He reached down and depressed the door handle. It opened easily.

Maggie swept through low, aimed-and froze. Katherine stood on the stair landing. Tall and dark, just like Geoff. Her eyes widened, and she raced down the stairs.

Geoff came in beside Maggie and raised his arms. His gun.

Oh, Jesus.

“No!” Maggie launched herself at him-too late.

He fired. Katherine’s cheek opened up; blood spit across the wall beside her. She staggered, fell.

Maggie’s weight knocked him to the side. He caught his footing, caught her with his free hand.

“Maggie! What the bloody…” He stopped, and his brow furrowed. “What are you seeing?”

She looked back at the stairs. Katherine stared at them, her gaze clouded with death. Crimson soaked into the cream-carpeted stair pillowing her head.

Coldly, Geoff aimed again. “My sister’s eyesight isn’t that good, Maggie.”

And the wound on her cheek was healing.

The tricking, lying bastard. Maggie clenched her teeth and opened fire.

The demon lifted his head, the ragged wound opening with his grin. But he didn’t stay Katherine and let them shoot him full of holes.

And knowing that a demon couldn’t hurt them didn’t make him any less terrifying when he shape-shifted.

The change was instantaneous.

If Geoff was looking through the demon’s eyes, he wouldn’t see the scales that covered the massive body, the glistening fangs, the ebony horns that curled back over his head. Hands became claws.

But it was the knees that made Maggie want to sink whimpering to the floor and curl into a ball. They were just the wrong way. Like a goat’s hind legs, but she couldn’t look at them without imagining her own knees snapping backward.

Maggie instinctively stepped back as the leathery wings snapped open and air gusted over her face. Her heart jumped into her throat as the taloned wing tips slammed into the stair-well walls, forming a barrier.

The message was clear: The demon couldn’t harm them. But it didn’t have to let them pass, either.

Where the hell was Sir Pup?

Geoff’s gun clicked. Out of ammunition. And Maggie almost screamed as something brushed by her leg.

A dog. Golden retriever. Wearing a guide harness.

Oh, thank God.

“Yours, Mr. Blake?” The demon’s grin spread wide over his fangs. A sword appeared in his hands. “Foolish. The Rules do not apply to animals-”

Sir Pup shifted as he leapt. Maggie grabbed Geoff’s arm and swung him around, dropping them both to the ground.

She looked, but couldn’t follow what happened. The demon crashed through a wall. A painting thumped to the floor beside Geoff’s head, then tipped over them. The house shook. Sir Pup yelped, once, and the echoing growl that followed it turned her blood to ice.

Geoff squeezed her hand. Maggie pushed at the heavy frame. Beside them, a ripped piece of wing bled onto the floor.

“If Sir Pup uses his teeth,” Maggie began, then shrank back as something huge rushed by them-demon or hellhound, she couldn’t be sure. The floor trembled.

Geoff pushed her tighter against the wall, shielding her with his body as she finished, “If Sir Pup bites him, his venom gets into the demon. Paralyzes him.”

Paralyzes him was said into sudden, deathly silence.

Maggie sat up, and her hand flew to her mouth.

The once beautifully decorated house was destroyed. Plaster and drywall gaped open, exposing the walls’ support posts like wooden bones. Carpeting had been shredded. There was blood… everywhere. On the furniture, the floors, the walls. Her stomach roiled.

“Bugger me,” Geoff whispered beside her.

A shadow darkened the dining room wall. A shadow, Maggie realized, with three heads.

With his left head, Sir Pup dragged the demon beside him, knocking chairs out of his blooded path. He was limping, Maggie saw. Limping and bleeding.

The demon had the stump of a right arm and a bite taken out of his torso. And he was still alive.