Page 12

Indy

An hour later, Loren and I emerged from Sully’s bathroom.

They must have thought we were fucking like rabbits in there but, honestly, I just wanted to hold him.

After he got dressed, we sat on the closed toilet lid, facing each other with me in his lap and only the sound of our breathing to punctuate the silence.

I realized then how tired I was, how exhausted I’d been chasing highs and lows and losing sleep for weeks.

I could have slept there, draped on him and perfectly content, but he eased me up with kisses and a nudge toward the door, and I reluctantly exited into the living area.

Sully and Whitney made for an odd pair drinking tea at the kitchen island.

Sully was in all her bohemian glory, barefoot with harem pants and a bandeau top and leaning against the counter while the blond hellhound sat bolt upright on his barstool.

He had an almost regal air about him, enhanced by the stuffy British accent.

When Loren and I ambled into the open, Sully sprang into action.

She went to Loren and tugged him away from me.

Holding him by the forearms, she fixed him with teary eyes.

“Good to see you, old man,” she said.

Her voice was thick as she added, “You all right?”

I felt immediately guilty for not asking the same, especially when I noticed Loren’s hesitation and curt nod.

He was lying.

Sully seemed to buy it, though, and responded with a nod of her own.

Reaching into her pants pocket, she pulled out a knotted strip of leather and held it aloft.

“First things first,” she said.

“I have some new jewelry for you. It’s not as colorful as Indy’s, but I figured you’d prefer it that way.”

Watching her double knot the bracelet around Loren’s wrist prompted me to touch the sweater thread and strand of rainbow beads I wore.

Magic seemed so mundane at times, like ordinary items had power all their own, and they were just waiting for someone to tap into it.

“Now the hounds can’t sniff you out,” Sully explained.

“And luckily, I made a spare, so I gave it to Whitney.” She chuckled before declaring, “Wards for everyone.”

Loren studied his new accessory until I clasped his hand and gave it a squeeze.

He squeezed back while glancing from Whitney holding his post at the kitchen island to Sully as she made her way to one of the library shelves.

Grabbing a stack of loose papers and a pen from a cut glass cup, she returned with both and offered them to Loren.

“We need to talk,” she began.

“Or in your case, write, about what’s been going on out there. Whitney mentioned a demon named Nero. Said he’s high-ranking in Hell.”

Nero being the bastard who cut out Loren’s tongue.

The thought made me shudder, and I pressed tighter to Loren’s side as he took the papers from Sully.

As much as I wanted to know what had happened during the time we’d been apart, I had a feeling I would hate every bit of it.

Loren rolled the pen between his fingers before giving Sully yet another nod.

“Might as well get comfortable.” Sully motioned toward the cushions littering the floor, and we made our way there.

Whitney remained at the bar, overseeing the proceedings.

I waited for Loren to settle in, then took a spot behind him where I could slide my legs around his hips and get in easy reach of his hair.

I needed to do something with my hands, and braiding soothed us both.

I had a feeling we would need it.

No sooner had he sat than did Loren start filling the page with flowing lines of cursive.

I read along at first and quickly realized I was right about not liking it.

So, I turned my attention to his ebony tresses and started sectioning them across his back.

After the page was crowded with text, front and back, Loren passed it to Sully.

Her eyes flicked rapidly over it, and the concern on her face stole the bliss of my ignorance.

“Another witch?” she asked.

Loren nodded, pulling a bit on the strands of hair I was weaving.

Sully looked at the paper again, and her brows dipped lower.

“Why would she be helping a demon?”

Loren put his pen to a fresh piece of paper, and I peeked over his shoulder to watch him write, She has a contract on her soul.

Like me.

Not anymore, though.

Moira was gone, and Loren was free.

At least, that was how I assumed it worked.

He didn’t have a collar.

He might not even be a hellhound anymore.

But then what was he?

He’d told me before that if he killed Moira or even hurt her, he would die.

The hound spirit would leave, and he would be an empty husk.

I hadn’t realized before that, when the demon mistress evaporated from the middle of Sully’s living room, Loren could have disappeared, too.

I could have killed him by handing over my vial of tears.

Almost did.

Pitching forward, I wrapped my arms around Loren’s waist and pressed my face against his back.

I’d picked the sweater he was wearing because it was one of his favorites.

Cable knit and cozy with the sleeve cuffs fuzzed from constant fidgeting.

He rubbed at one now, pinning it between his fingertips and palm and smoothing his fingertips across it.

Sully skimmed the additional note and hummed.

“So, it’s blackmail. That’s a hard thing to combat considering we don’t have anything to offer.”

“That’s how they prefer to do things,” Whitney grumbled.

“All demons see is leverage and means of control. And those contracts are watertight, so don’t bother trying to find a loophole.”

I wanted to ask if he’d tried—I knew Loren had—but the answer became obvious when he lifted his teacup from the counter and frowned into it.

“My wards won’t help, either,” Sully continued, seeming to think out loud as she processed the information.

“Any spell can be countered…” She glanced at Loren.

“Do you think she’s very skilled, Lore? Very old?”

He paused, then stood, yanking a nearly complete braid out of my grip so I had to watch it unfurl as he walked across the room toward the apartment door.

Bending, he grabbed a bulky tote bag from the floor.

I hadn’t noticed it before.

Carrying it back to the living area, he delivered it to Sully, who peered inside.

“What is this?” she asked.

Loren tipped his chin in a motion for her to see for herself, and she stirred her hand through the unseen contents before deciding to upend them on the rug instead.

That felt risky, especially after I saw the collection of arcane items tumbling out.

Bundled herbs and dried flowers, crystal shards, an entire deck of tarot cards, and what looked like a pocket grimoire littered the ground.

Sully knelt among the assortment, brushing her fingers over one thing then the next.

Her eyes widened as she aimed them at Loren.

“This is hers?”

He nodded.

What I mistook for surprise shifted rapidly into panic, maybe even terror, as Sully began scooping up the items and shoveling them back into the bag.

“It can’t be here,” she muttered, shaking her head and causing her dreadlocks to swing.

“She’ll come for it.”

I stood and gawked after Sully as she ferried the bag and its contents to the kitchen sink.

She dumped them into the steel basin, then yanked open a nearby drawer to grab out a pack of matches.

With a swipe and a swish, fire struck, and she dropped the match on top of the satchel.

The fabric was slow to catch, and the rest of us stared while Sully cupped her hands on either side of her mouth and blew on the tiny flame.

What should have extinguished the match turned it into a blaze.

The bag and everything in it went up in a belch of fire that made me worry about the smoke detectors.

After a few moments, the fire began to die back, and I glanced over at Loren.

He looked perplexed while he worried the cuff of his sleeve.

Sully noticed him, too, and her expression eased into one of remorse.

“It’s okay, Lore. It was good to take it from her, just not for us to have it. There are all kinds of tracking spells…” She trailed off, then offered a wavering smile.

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

Loren stayed in place, Sully monitored the smoldering fire, Whitney glared at his tea rather than drinking it, and I realized it was my turn to participate in the discussion.

“Hey, Sully?” I began in a small voice.

“Remember the guy who gave me the spray paint?”

The dying fire lit Sully’s dark eyes as she fixed them on me.

“The angel?”

Loren’s head whipped around to catch my gaze as I grimaced.

“Yeah,” I confirmed.

“The angel. He said the hounds are all loose now. Not just you guys.” I shared a meaningful glance with Whitney and Loren.

“He acted like it was a bad thing. Like they’ll cause trouble for everyone, and I think?—”

“You’re quite the popular fellow, aren’t you?” Whitney interrupted, finally moving from his stool.

“Making contacts on every plane.”

As he approached, Loren moved into his path.

There was a sudden air of tension that I didn’t understand.

Both hellhounds focused on each other in a seconds-long stare down.

When Whitney reached toward his hip, Loren let out a low growl.

“I won’t hurt your pet, Lorenzo,” Whitney scoffed, “but he owes some explanation for this. Miss didn’t care about the phoenix before now. Didn’t care about ascending. I’d like to know what he said to change her mind.”

I stepped forward only to be stopped by Loren’s arm barred across my chest.

“I didn’t know she was going to do that!” I exclaimed.

“I wanted to trade. The tears were all I had, and we thought they would be enough to get Loren back.”

Whitney sneered—such an ugly expression on his handsome face.

“And the angel had nothing to do with it?”

I shook my head.

“Evander didn’t even know. I told him after, and he didn’t like it. I don’t think they really want demons in Heaven.” I shrugged sheepishly.

“No offense.”

Sully rounded the kitchen counter, and Loren inched toward her, trying to extend his protection.

But I didn’t feel at risk.

Like with Evander, I accepted that Loren was innately distrusting, but Whitney had saved him.

Freed him from the clutches of some foul demon with nothing to gain from doing so.

He wasn’t a bad dog.

Or a bad man.

After another tense moment, Whitney folded his arms.

“Well, the angel is right. The hounds are loose, and Hell is in turmoil. That’s why I can’t go back.” He glanced at Loren.

“Neither of us can. And, with you here, Nero himself has no way to return. I’m sure he’s none too happy about that.”

Loren relaxed, but only barely.

His hand stayed pressed against my chest and his feet were set, ready to pounce.

Whitney looked at him expectantly, then heaved a noisy sigh.

“That damned tongue better hurry up and grow. I frankly cannot wait to hear what you have to say about all this.”

“You’ll have to wait a while longer,” Sully said as she stepped into the open.

“It’s been a long day, and it’s getting late.”

I glanced at the window and found that night had fallen.

The city lights twinkled like stars in a blanket of black, and it was so pretty I couldn’t help tugging on Loren’s sleeve and pointing for him to look, too.

He did, but only long enough to appease me.

Ducking under his arm, I tucked against his side and pressed my palm to his stomach.

“Ready to go home, baby? I’ve been waiting for you.”

It sounded better than admitting the Airstream felt haunted without him in it.

Like he was dead instead of gone, and staying there was like sleeping in a tomb.

Also, I didn’t trust myself alone.

I’d thought it would be easier to walk the straight and narrow with Sully’s oversight.

On that point, I had been proven wrong.

Loren curled his hand around my side, then pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

“You guys going back to the trailer?” Sully asked.

I nodded. “Nothing personal, but I’ve missed sleeping in a bed.”

“Right.” Sully smiled.

“You missed the bed .”

Heat rushed my cheeks, and I grinned.

“Among other things.”

When Sully turned to the blond hellhound, her smile stayed strong.

“You’re welcome to stay here, Whitney. Like Indy mentioned, I don’t have a spare bed, but the cushions work in a pinch.”

Loren raised his free hand, calling for their attention before he shook his head.

Whitney’s brows arched and then flattened into an irritated line.

“Are you going to write something down or leave us to guess?”

With a grumble, Loren stooped to where the paper and pen had been pushed aside.

He scribbled hastily, then turned the page toward Whitney.

The other hound read it, and his mouth tipped in a smirk.

“Was the foul language entirely necessary?”

Loren let the paper flutter to the ground and tossed the pen after it.

I read the note as it landed beside my feet.

Come with us, jackass.

“We don’t have a spare bed, either,” I pointed out.

Plus, I had been looking forward to having Loren to myself, with more privacy than the thin wall between Sully’s bathroom and living room.

The Airstream didn’t even have that much.

Damn thing was a glorified tube with only a curtain to section off the bedroom.

If Whitney was going to stay with us, I might have to gift him some earplugs.

Loren was quiet in nearly every aspect, but I was not.

The hounds shared another silent moment, this one less tense than the last, before Whitney conceded, “Then I suppose I’m no worse off. Lead the way.”

With Loren’s truck in a Pennsylvania junkyard and the Firebird collecting dust in the Trailer Trove parking lot, we took a cab home.

After some shuffling and unspoken debate, we all three crowded into the taxi’s backseat with Loren in the middle and me squished against the door.

While I didn’t mind being crushed by a pair of handsome hellhounds, Loren was flushed red and so stressed I thought he might start to shed by the end of the ride.

We offloaded at the trailer park, and Loren took my hand to lead me home.

The press of his palm against mine was so welcome and so wonderfully familiar that I wanted to press the rest of me against him, too.

But with our houseguest hot on our heels, Loren moved with purpose.

Inside the Airstream, Loren directed Whitney to the couch while I went for a spare blanket.

It was only a throw—a purple, fuzzy thing Whitney turned up his nose at, more for the color and texture than for the fact that it barely covered him from shoulders to toes—but he ended up accepting it along with a toss pillow for his head.

I wondered if he would sleep.

Loren didn’t always, especially when he had a lot on his mind.

There was a solid chance I would be the only one resting while the hounds glowered at each other until sunrise.

When we finally crawled into bed, Loren held me tighter than any time I could remember.

Crushed against him, tucked in safe, I whispered the story of our lives, all the best parts.

From before our graveyard kiss until he left me in Pennsylvania.

I had been bitter about that.

Hurt and confused even though I knew why he did it.

Why he had to. Because he loved me.

Despite our hellish guest a few feet and a curtain away, and despite that Loren couldn’t talk, he listened.

He smiled at the happy things and, when I got teary, he kissed my dry cheeks.

It was damn near perfect, and it scared me to think for a fleeting moment that it could be—would be—even more perfect if I was high.