A hell of a botched job! For a book taking place in Melbourne, I did not get any Australian vibes and local colouring, not even intermittently; nor does the lexicon make the flimsiest attempt to sound like Aussie English. The world building is as lazy, hazy and noncommittal as they come. Mrs Griffin flatly considers that allusions to Hell reiterated à la Goebbels and evocations of, say, Hellfire or the century-long sequence of caretakers that anchored on Earth the paranormal heroes amounted to the required explanation of the paranormal mythology of the Hounds and their arch-enemies, Incubi or Nephilims, both of whom could as well have been written as interchangeable pawns, for all their indistinctive attributes. As for Hellhounds, here they are nothing more than massive, black dogs with a telepathic link in shifted form and the ability to conjure Hellfire out of thin air and then contain or snuff it out. Their team behaves in their human garb as a bunch of rowdy teens, whose stereotypied antics swell the incipit of the story well beyond the utility of such trite material qua pertaking of character building. On the plotline and romance, the most that can be said is that both do the barest minimum, crippled as they are by the utter lack of imagination conspicuous everywhere between these covers, and which never comes out more starkly than in the atrocious writing. Seldom in a book have I encountered so many instances of wrongly divided and punctuated clauses and such fondness for run-on sentences; both traits can only be explained as the oral style of an author who writes as she talks, viz. in shamelessly subliterary fashion. Here is a brief sample which, I reckon, adequately epitomizes her manner (or lack thereof):
"Cacus had already baked a large batch, they didn't really need any more, otherwise Adze would have put a stop to them.
Adze shook his head at his friends they were all as bad as one another. He turned his back on the bunch of them and walked out of the room. Adze knew how this would end and didn't feel the need to stand around and watch. The sounds of Daevas howling as Cacus tickled all his known hot spots followed seconds later. Adze grinned like a loon, content his pack mates were all right.
Having had his fill of idiocy Adze went looking for the only other sane one in the bunch, Pyro. Adze loved all the guys like they were brothers, but sometimes they could get on his nerves. He knew they were just relieving stress which is why he left them to it and walked away. The search for Pyro was fairly short-lived as the man was still relaxing on the couch in peace."
Add a kindergarten-level use of inflections and vocabulary (e.g. Adze's assistant is called by him "the broad" seemingly as a pet name) along with a propensity to drop necessary words, a blatant ineptitude at focussing on the one character for an entire chapter, and an orogenesis of frustrating verbiage (such sentences as this one are aplenty, disregarding the repetitions of the same idea, as Mrs Griffin appears to perpetually assume that the reader will have lost her thread:
"Archie raced in, the door bouncing open against the jam. Whatever. It could stay open. Archie turned the tap and jumped in the shower before questioning his choice of actions. Ice water rained down on top of him, momentarily stunning Archie. No, it wasn't icicles spearing him relentlessly, just water. Archie wasn't too manly to admit that he might have screamed as the freezing water hit his skin"),
and you will get a furious reader who struggled to remain onboard the goshammer-thin plot and ridiculous narrative.