Hearing a knock on the office door, Knox turned away from the reflective glass that provided him with a perfect view of the combat circle.
"Come in."
Three of his sentinels – Tanner, Keenan, and Larkin – entered.
Glimpsing the hard set to Tanner's jaw, Knox knew he wasn't going to like the information he'd sent them to attain.
Setting his glass of gin and tonic on the desk, Knox said, "Tell me."
Tanner halted directly in front of him, the others flanking him.
"More strays have gone missing than we thought. We checked to see if there have been disappearances in other areas, but it seems to only be happening in Las Vegas right now."
The matter had only come to their attention a few days ago, since Knox didn't monitor the population of strays—demons that chose to live outside of a lair. But it seemed that someone was plucking them right off the streets. Strays weren't under his protection, but that didn't mean Knox liked anyone using Las Vegas as their own personal hunting ground.
Unlike shifters, demons didn't claim territories, but they were protective of the places where the demons of their lair resided.
Keenan pulled a flask from his jacket—vodka, as always. The incubus was a heavy drinker, but since it didn't affect his efficiency as a sentinel, Knox never called him on it.
"Las Vegas is highly populated with demons," Keenan pointed out. Demons liked bright lights, gambling, thrills, and adrenaline rushes. It made Las Vegas a popular place for their kind. "A perfect place to hunt strays."
"The ones we spoke with are scared." Larkin moved to the sofa beside the window. "Usually when there are crimes like this, you hear of at least one witness or one person who avoided a kidnapping attempt. There's been nothing. The strays that were taken weren't weak in power, but they were easily taken."
Knox leaned against his desk. "I have to wonder if Isla has something to do with it."
Keenan frowned as he took a swig. "Isla?"
"She's been calling for changes that have been ignored—changes that would offer strays protection. If they're scared…"
"They're more likely to listen to her," finished Keenan.
"Exactly."
Demons didn't have a global leader. They existed in lairs ruled by their respective Primes. No hierarchy. No higher authority. Isla, however, wanted to change that. She wanted an elected Prime—specifically herself—to rule above all U.S. lairs.
For years, no one had listened. But now some demons were supporting her. She'd found a voice.
"Considering it's rumored she rents out her own demons to dark practitioners for spells, I doubt she'd have any qualms plucking strays from the street," Larkin muttered, toying with her brown braid.
"Why bring that old structure back?" Keenan shook his head. "We had something like that once. Chaos. Why ask for it again?"
"Power," Larkin answered simply.
She wasn't wrong. After so many years surrounded by greed and calculation, everything felt predictable, boring, cold to Knox. A numbness was settling into both him and his demon.
"I had a call from Raul," Knox said. "He's holding a conference on Saturday in Manhattan for every U.S. Prime to discuss the matter. Personally, I think it's best we talk formally."
"Do you think Isla stands a chance?" Keenan asked, doubt thick in his tone.
"I think she's cunning and calculated. We shouldn't underestimate her," Knox replied. "She-demons can be pretty ruthless."
A grin tugged at Tanner's mouth. "Speaking of ruthless she-demons, you might want to know Kendra got herself a boyfriend. She's flaunting him, hoping for a reaction."
Inwardly, Knox groaned. "Last time we spoke, she promised I'd regret letting her go and that I'd beg her to come back."
Tanner chuckled. "She sensed your demon lose interest?"
"Yes."
Story of Knox's life. His demon could be obsessive when fixated on a female, but its interest burned fast and died faster—leaving Knox to deal with whatever resentful, ego-wounded woman its boredom created.
Inner demons couldn't care for others, but they could form attachments—intense attachments. His demon was attached only to his four sentinels. It obsessed over women it wanted, but it never wanted to keep them. Yet it felt the same loneliness all demons felt.
A knock sounded again, and Levi entered—washed, changed, and smug.
"You fought dirty," Knox told him.
Levi grinned. "There's no other way to fight."
"I think Mona's up next," Larkin said, glancing out the window.
"Here comes the umpire."
The gray-haired man lifted the microphone. "There has been a change in the program. Due to Miss Wallis' poor physical state at this time, she has been substituted—"
"Hold on, that's not allowed!" Mona burst into the circle, outrage all over her face. "If a contender pulls out, their opponent wins automatically."
"In many cases, yes. But Miss Wallis hasn't pulled out. She's been rendered unfit. She is within her rights to choose a replacement."
The fury on Mona's face was personal. Very personal.
But that wasn't what caught Knox's eye.
No, it was the dark-haired female now entering the combat circle.
Petite. Five-four at best. But not delicate. Even through her neon-orange shirt and jeans, her body was sinuous, toned. She had a sinful flare to her hips—perfect for a man to grip while he thrust into her.
"Who is that?"
"I've seen her around," Tanner said. "Never seen her fight. She's a Wallis."
"And a little thing," Larkin added. "Mona's got this."
While Mona did seem to have the advantage…
"I wouldn't be too sure of that," Knox murmured.
There was something about her. The way she tilted her head. The slow, assessing sweep of her gaze.
A predator sizing up prey.
For the first time in a long time, Knox felt something spark inside him—interest.
"You think the little one can win?" Levi asked.
Yes. He did.
The bell rang.
"We're about to find out," Knox said.