Page 16

Indy

We didn’t talk in the car.

Well, I did. Loren listened and bobbed his head at mostly the right times, so I was equally certain that he heard me and was not paying a bit of attention.

When we pulled into the lot behind the Urban Easel, he sprang from the car, cutting a warpath toward the building’s entrance and not seeming to care if I followed or not.

Judging by how he’d behaved when the hounds made their surprise appearance at our trailer, he might have preferred I didn’t.

I rushed after him anyway, bypassing the glass doors of the gallery in favor of the side entrance that led to the upstairs apartments.

Loren’s hellhound speed forced me to jog to keep pace, my platform boots clunking every step of the way.

Arriving on the third level, he whipped around the corner toward the hall that led to the landing in front of Sully’s apartment.

I had a key, but he didn’t need one.

The door yielded to his presence, and he barged inside while I tumbled in after.

The smell of food cooking made my nose twitch, trying to discern what might be in the oven.

Pizza? Pasta?

The sight of the rogue’s gallery clustered around the kitchen island stalled my hungry thoughts.

Sully, Whitney, and the two newbies turned toward our arrival.

I spared brief glances on Sully and Whitney before scanning the unfamiliar pair again.

Brass Knuckles braced against the countertop, her bare arms bedecked with tattoos.

She scowled at me, then shifted her focus to Loren.

She wasted no time identifying the threat, and I wasn’t it.

Beside her, Gym Bro bowed up to my inspection, popping veins and muscles in places I didn’t know they existed.

Whitney claimed he’d gone for reinforcements, and these two looked to be exactly that.

Reinforced. Durable.

A vastly different aesthetic from Whitney and Loren’s old-world elegance.

They reminded me of the hounds who attacked Loren at the auto shop.

Rough, rugged, and battle-ready.

Gym Bro specifically looked like he could split me in half, and not in a pleasant way.

Sully alone offered a smile, either oblivious or hopeful her cheer would defuse this situation.

As for Loren, if he’d been a real dog, his hackles would have been up.

Prickly hair all down his spine and his tail bottlebrushed.

But as a man—granted a very tall, vaguely intimidating man—he relied on his stance and stony expression to send a clear message.

It was a continuation of the confrontation on our patio.

Our patio stained with black blood that I would need to find an excuse for in case we returned home to police officers taping off the scene.

Also like it had been at the trailer, Loren used his body as a blockade between the other hounds and me.

He was definitely wishing I’d waited in the car.

“I said you aren’t welcome in my home,” he gritted out, aiming all his ire directly at Whitney, who rose to the challenge.

The blond hound stepped around the kitchen island to crowd the invisible line that seemed to divide the room.

We may have come here to discuss a battle, but it felt like we were already in one, and I wasn’t sure why.

“You live here , too?” Whitney huffed.

“Or do you intend to bar me from all of Brooklyn? As recompense for trying to help you, I might add.”

Loren shook his head.

“I’ve never had your help before; I don’t need it now.”

Whitney stiffened.

His canine side was showing, too.

Green eyes drawn to slits and his nostrils flaring.

The energy seemed dark and violent, juxtaposed against his soft, wavy hair and refined features.

“You’d be rotting in the damned kennels if not for me!” he barked.

Loren surged toward him until the two men were nearly toe to toe.

He was a few inches taller than Whitney, enough to give him an imposing edge as he glowered down.

“What about the eternity before that?” he demanded.

“A hundred and twenty years of you standing by while that bitch destroyed me. Where was your help then?”

The ragged edge of his voice hit me like a gut punch, and I wanted to protest.

Whitney wasn’t the only one at fault.

I’d been there, too.

Or here, on Earth, sitting idly by and watching him fracture, convincing myself he’d always been that way.

A bit fragile and subsequently guarded, but not destroyed.

Surely not.

“You think I’m so different from you?” Whitney fired back.

“As if my position were any better? I didn’t have a choice then. Now, I do, and I’m choosing ?—”

“You had a choice when you told Nero about this,” Loren sneered and bared his teeth.

“ You suggested the phoenix hunt. You sent the dogs after us, and I will never forgive you for it.”

“Gentlemen!” Sully’s exclamation cut through the air.

Everyone looked at her, though Loren and Whitney were seeping with such venom I was surprised she didn’t wither on the spot.

“May I have a word?” she asked.

They didn’t reply as Sully came alongside them.

She drew a deep breath before speaking again.

“First of all, this isn’t your house, Loren. It’s mine, and I decide who’s welcome in it. Secondly, am I correct to understand that you would rather not have two more people on your side? You think the three of us are prepared to face down this demon and his witch?”

Loren shrunk from her criticism.

Whatever conviction he’d had moments before was fading, and his staunch stance had been replaced by shuffling feet and his shirt sleeve cuff being rubbed threadbare.

He was afraid. That’s what he told me.

Scared as he had been the night I found him hitching the Airstream to his truck.

Before he told me to pick any place on the map, and he’d drive us there.

Anywhere but where we’d always been.

Where we should have been safe.

I moved closer and pressed my hand to the small of his back.

It was a slight assurance, a reminder because I didn’t want him to feel alone in this.

Not dismissed after he’d been so honest. Vulnerable.

Sully’s expression softened as she continued.

“If you two have beef, surely it can wait until our lives aren’t in danger. This is not the time to be choosy about your allies.” She turned to Loren once more.

“And he did save you. Found you and dragged your ass back here after four long weeks. You’d still be with Nero if not for him. If that doesn’t buy him some grace, I don’t know what will.”

No one spoke.

Gym Bro and Brass Knuckles clung to the kitchen island, so quiet they could have been forgotten.

Whitney had the decency to only look a little bit smug, tempered with a shadow of something I couldn’t identify.

They all stared at Loren, waiting for him to yield.

I couldn’t tell if he was really that determined to hold his position, or if his fear had rooted him to the spot.

Crowding against his side, I grabbed his hand and worked my fingers into the tight grip of his fist.

“Lore?” I murmured, then waited until he looked at me.

It was all over him.

Panic so pervasive it was leaking out from inside.

“Let’s sit down,” I told him.

He balked. Certainly didn’t obey.

“Trust me,” I said, then nodded to Whitney and the others.

“I trust them. Sully does, too.”

Loren’s brows drew together in a fleeting protest. “You don’t know them.”

I nodded.

“I used to not know a lot of things, but my instincts are good. They always told me to stay with you.”

He worked his jaw while considering a reply that never came.

With a parting glance at Whitney, he dipped his chin in mute concession.

I led him to the living area and found a couple of cushions where we sat.

Sully followed, but Whitney and the newbies hung back until she waved them in.

Everyone settled in a haphazard circle, noticeably divided with Sully and me bridging the gap between Loren and the other hounds.

“Shall we get introduced?” Sully asked once we were all seated.

Whitney cleared his throat.

“This is Dottie and Gunnar.” He gestured to Brass Knuckles first, then Gym Bro.

“They are both exceptional fighters, and they’ve agreed to aid our cause.”

“Why?” Loren asked.

Trying to cozy up beside him was about as much fun as cuddling a stack of bricks.

He was rigid and nowhere near pacified.

Whitney groaned. “I miss when you were silent.” He rolled his head toward Loren while wearing an exaggerated look of exasperation.

“Why what?”

“Why do they care what happens to us? To Indy?” Loren replied.

“For that matter, why do you ?”

If they were always like this, their century of shared servitude must have been intense.

I was inclined to stuff the two of them in a get along shirt, but Loren’s concerns were valid.

Sully must have agreed because she didn’t insert herself this time.

“As you were so keen to point out,” Whitney began, “I am partly responsible for this situation, and I would like to make amends.”

“ Why ?” Loren repeated.

Whitney slumped backward.

“Lorenzo…”

Sully held up her hand.

“Let’s table that,” she told him, then turned to Dottie and Gunnar.

“Nice to meet you both. We’re glad to have you.”

I nestled against Loren again and smoothed my palm down his thigh as though I could work the tension out that way.

“I’ll answer him,” Dottie volunteered.

I glanced over in time to see her nod toward Loren.

“I know why I’m here, at least,” she added.

The winged liner around her blue eyes made them look sharp as they swept across the gathering.

“It’s chaos down there. In Hell. Since the mistress left, the hounds are in revolt. Most have been rounded up and forced back into the kennels to wait for Nero’s instruction, which I assume will be more of the same. Find the bird and bring it back. There have been mentions of a prize for the winner. A chance to ascend to Heaven.”

“They’d never give that to a hound,” Whitney grumbled.

“Anything is better than being trapped in those damned cages,” Gunnar countered.

I rubbed Loren’s leg until he caught my hand and held it.

He never did tell me what happened during his time with Nero, but all this talk about Moira and the kennels and the horrors of Hell provided plenty of fodder for my imagination.

It also made the stakes painfully clear.

What everyone stood to gain.

Or lose.

“So, you’re passing up the chance to go to Heaven to be here?” I asked.

Loren’s fingers tightened around mine as he leaned toward Dottie and asked, “Or were you hoping to get your salvation direct from the source?”

The female hound sat straight in the face of Loren’s scrutiny.

“Waiting for Nero is waiting for a new leash,” she said.

“Our collars are gone, tethers broken. We’re as free as we can hope to be. I have more faith in that than a slim chance of redemption.”

Loren seemed to accept that and quiet fell again.

Beside me, Gunnar wrung his thick fingers together.

When he turned toward me, a frown cut lines in his stubbled cheeks.

“Is it true, though?” he asked.

“Could you help us get into Heaven?”

The question hung in the air, and I felt like I was hanging with it.

If what we’d seen could be believed, my tears had redeemed a demon.

Maybe I could do the same for other demonic creatures.

But I hadn’t cried since I’d filled that vial.

I’d felt every sensation except the actual wetness running down my cheeks.

Looking back, I’d changed over the years.

Become less phoenix and more human.

The explosion of fire that had saved Loren in Ohio had been a one-off.

I hadn’t tasted power like that in lifetimes.

Not since I lost my wings.

It seemed a bitter irony that the tears would dry up now, when they were needed most.

I looked at Gunnar, and I couldn’t tell him that.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to because Sully spoke up in my stead.

“We’re gonna table that, too.” She must have seen the realization settling over me because she offered a reassuring smile before addressing Gunnar and Dottie.

“Again, so glad to have you both. I have to ask, though, are there others?” She cast her gaze wider to draw Whitney in.

“This is a great start but, without knowing what we’re up against…”

Whitney nodded.

“Plenty more, but none that I can get to. Like Dottie said, they’re imprisoned. It was a risk to free these two. I doubt a second attempt would go as smoothly.”

“You broke them out?” I asked.

He nodded again.

“By yourself?”

“Yes.”

How many times had I fantasized about that?

On days and weeks when Loren was delayed coming home, and I worried for him.

I waited and wished I could storm Hell’s gates and demand they give him back to me.

“What if we went with you?” I asked Whitney.

“So you had help?”

“No,” Loren said.

Simple as that.

“The point of all this is to keep you out of Hell, not lead you into it,” Whitney added.

At least they agreed on that.

I sighed.

“That’s okay,” Sully chimed in.

“We can work with this.”

“Work how, though?” I asked.

“What’s our plan? You said this was about strategy.”

Whitney cast a sweeping gaze around the circle.

He’d told me he was a soldier in life.

A commander, at that.

He had that air about him.

Confident. Composed.

“Presumably, we have time,” he began.

“Nero is stranded on Earth until he finds another hound to take him back. When he gets there, he still has to contend with the issue of control. I hardly think he’ll let the beasts out of their cages without some guarantee they’ll heed his commands.”

His accent was melodious despite the severity of his words.

And, while having time to prepare should have been a relief, it didn’t lessen the danger.

The shoe still hovered over our heads, waiting to drop.

“So, for now, our strategy is to hunker down and strengthen our defenses,” Whitney concluded.

“You mean cower and wait,” Loren muttered.

The blond hound snapped his head toward Loren with a scowl.

“If you have a better suggestion, I’d love to hear it.”

Sully cleared her throat.

“I’ll be working on the witch problem. Getting to know her, feeling her essence. I’ll have wards for you two by the end of the evening.” She nodded to Dottie and Gunnar.

“They’ll keep the other hounds off your scent, but I’m not sure how well they’ll hold up to magic.” A flicker of concern crossed her face before she concluded, “Again, working on it.”

The beep of the oven timer summoned Sully to the kitchen.

I’d forgotten about the savory smell that had greeted us upon arrival but, as I watched her don mitts and open the oven door, my mouth began to water.

She bustled to the island with a large glass pan she set on the counter.

Steam wafted from the bubbling top of what looked to be a sheet of cheese.

Layers of red sauce and noodles piled up beneath it, visible through the side of the dish.

Lasagna.

Cooking Italian food was as good a bid as any to butter Loren up, and a strategy in and of itself.

Hungry people were unhappy people.

Feeding the masses would placate appetites and cool hot tempers.

“As far as hunkering down,” Sully said as she went for a stack of plates, “you’re all welcome to stay here. That includes you, lovebirds.” She gave me a wink.

“Assuming you’re willing to leave your nest.”

I quirked a grin, feeling a bit of levity at the thought of having Loren to myself in the trailer for the first time in days.

My smile faltered when he pulled away from me and stood.

“They can’t stay here,” he argued.

“It’s not?—”

“ My house, Loren.” Sully stabbed the handful of forks she’d pulled out of the drawer at him.

“My guests.”

I clambered to my feet.

Lasagna aside, being here was doing no favors for Loren’s mood.

And I wanted him to be happy—amiable enough to enjoy the delayed welcome home celebration I was currently plotting.

“We’ll go home.” I leaned forward and caught Loren’s hand as the other hounds stood.

“But we’ll come back,” I added.

“Maybe tomorrow?”

I checked for Loren’s confirmation and found him watching everyone but me.

Antsy. He would feel better after a night alone.

The energy had been off at home cooped up with Whitney couch surfing and our conversations dramatically one-sided.

It seemed like he needed to work out some frustration, and I would gladly sacrifice myself to that cause.

I turned my attention to Dottie and Gunnar.

“Do you guys like Little Debbie’s?” I asked.

Gunnar’s frown wrinkled his face all the way to his burred hairline.

“Like… snack cakes?” he asked.

I nodded.

He brightened, smiling wide enough to flash his gold-capped canines.

“Dude, I love Swiss Rolls.”

“And I have a box with your name on it,” I replied, then tugged on Loren’s arm.

“Ready to go, baby?”

Whitney and the hounds joined Sully in the kitchen as she called to us, “You guys want me to pack you something to go? I made plenty.”

Loren didn’t answer, and I didn’t debate long before deciding, “We’ll grab something on our way. Thanks.”

Speaking of energy, mine was all over the place as we exited the apartment.

Loren kept quiet on the walk to the car and after we loaded up with me behind the wheel and him in the passenger seat, leaned over with his arm resting on the open window frame.

There was too much to think about, so I directed my thoughts ahead.

Toward home. Toward connection.

Rebuilding something that felt damaged: the bond between Loren and me.

He wasn’t always keen to talk, but not everything could be expressed in words.

Maybe it was time to stop telling and start showing him exactly how I felt.