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“I need a phone,” Zandren said, holding out his enormous catcher’s mitt of a hand. “Please.”

Omaera reached into the pocket of her sweatpants and pulled out her phone, handing it to the scruffy-faced bear. He tossed her a wink and thanked her before punching in a number with his sausage fingers.

Then he put it on speaker-mode and held it in his palm as it rung.

A grumble was the first thing we heard, followed by a gruff and gritty, “H-hello?”

“Dad, it’s me,” Zandren said. “You’re on speaker with Omaera, the fire-mage, the vampire, and Melissima the healer-mage.”

“Why am I on speaker?” barked the old goat of a bear.

“It’s just easier this way, Dad. I’ll keep it brief. Do you know any demons that you would trust to help us set a trap for Lerris and also train Omaera?”

“Demons!” the Shifter King exclaimed. “You know I don’t associate—”

“Dad, I’ll remind you that my mate is a demon,” Zandren said quickly.

Luckily, Omaera seemed more amused than insulted as her green eyes glimmered and a sweet smile spread out across her face. “Hi, King Ryden,” Omaera said sweetly. “I can’t wait to meet you. I’m very sorry that I’m a demon. I can’t help it.”

King Ryden made some more old man grumbles on the phone, along with some half-assed apologies.

“Dad?” Zandren said, trying to corral the conversation back to the important topic of trustworthy demons.

If my mate wasn’t a demon, I would have laughed out loud from that sentiment. Atrustworthydemon. Was there really such a thing?

“Right, right,” King Ryden said, clearing his throat. “Only one that comes to mind. Kenvin Jol.”

We all exchanged looks across the room. Clearly, none of us had heard of Kenvin Jol. But the way King Ryden said his name was as if he was infamous and we should all gasp, faint, or cower in fear.

“Who is Kenvin Jol?” Zandren asked, casually shifting closer to Omaera. Something that wasn’t lost on Drak or me. “And where can we find him?”

“Grumpy old coot. Got tired of the human world and retired to Hell ages ago. Keeps to himself. Doesn’t like anybody. Kind of a shoots-if-you-step-on-his-property-doesn’t-bother-with-questions-later kind of guy. He hates everybody—but Lerris, more than anything. So he’s your best bet.”

The mention of Hell had me almost instantly losing my appetite. And Omaera must have sensed it because her hand landed on my thigh. I glanced up at her, my gut twisting.

“How do we find this Kenvin in Hell, Your Majesty?” Omaera asked.

“Oh, darlin’. Call me Ryden, please. You’re my daughter-in-law, after all, and my queen. None of this ‘Your Majesty’ bullshit.”

Zandren snorted. Drak looked visibly uncomfortable, and I was still grappling with the idea of returning to Hell. Even if I didn’t get withina ten-mile radius of the prison where my parents were being kept, they would surely find out I’d been to Hell and know I never bothered to pay them a visit. They had eyes and ears everywhere. When their efforts to kill off all the humans was thwarted, most of their like-minded group was captured, but a few managed to escape, disappearing into the world and keeping a low profile. There was a hunter-mage task force in charge of sniffing them out, and occasionally I’d hear through the grapevine that one was captured, put on trial, and imprisoned.

“Ryden, how do we find Kenvin?” Omaera repeated. “If he hates everyone, how can we expect him to want to help us?”

“Plead your case before he shoots you,” the Shifter King replied. “That’s the only advice I can give you. He doesn’t have a phone, so I can’t call him. There’s no way to call Hell from Earth anyway. I don’t even know if the old bugger is still alive. Though, I see no reason for him not to be.” He murmured that last part more to himself.

“And you think he’ll agree to train Omaera?” Drak asked, skepticism in his tone.

“No idea,” King Ryden replied. “But he’s the only demon I can think of that hates Lerris enough to guarantee he won’t double-cross you.”

“Why does he hate Lerris so much?” I asked.

“Who was that?” Ryden demanded.

“Maxar Rane, Your Majesty. Fire-mage.”

“Rane!” King Ryden exclaimed. “Don’t tell me you’re the son of Gwinn and Nulon Rane?”

Shit.