Page 16 of Hounded (Fire & Brimstone)

16

Loren

Once I passed through the hidden barrier of Sully’s wards, the sights and smells of home bombarded me. My hound yipped and howled so loudly that I worried his racket might escape. I shouldered the bulging laundry bag while Indy fiddled with the lock on the door. Before he got the key properly fitted, he turned toward me and held the keyring aloft.

“You know what I just realized?” He pinched the novelty penis keychain between his thumb and forefinger. Pushing the button caused the tip to beam a light at my eyes.

“It’s a fleshlight!” He broke into giggles.

Six months earlier

When I stalled on the curb of the Nookie Nook, Indy took hold of my belt loops. He walked backward toward the entrance while pulling me along.

“Come on, Lore,” he whined, struggling in high heels with his chest straining against the straps of his bedazzled harness top. “I need your opinion. I want you to like it.”

I resisted a bit more, if for no better reason than to watch his cheeks puff and his slender arms flex.

“If it’s on you, I promise I’ll like it,” I said.

Indy tipped his head, so avian in that twitch of a motion. “What if it’s on you ? What if I want you in assless chaps and a sequined cowboy hat?”

I groaned. “I told Sully not to take you to that male revue.”

For weeks, I’d heard no end of Western-themed fantasies. Our Saturday Golden Girls marathons had been traded for gritty outlaws and Indians fare. Even the presets on my truck stereo had been changed to country music stations.

Indy gave an exaggerated gasp. “Saddle Studs was the experience of a lifetime, and it was my birthday present!” He released me and propped his hands on his hips. “You missed out.”

I nodded. “Intentionally.”

His humor returned, and he swayed into me, batting his lashes and puffing his lower lip in a doe-eyed pout. “Please, baby.”

My silence gave him all the permission he needed to grab my hand and lead me into the store. The doorbell chimed our entry, and a college-aged clerk mumbled a greeting from behind the cash register. I didn’t see her. My attention went scattershot across the walls and aisles of the cramped shop. Lingerie hung on round racks, dildos and butt plugs bedecked standing displays surrounding a tower of lube taller than I was.

My knees locked up, and a flood of embarrassment dropped from my face to my feet.

Indy circled around behind me to grab my hips and shove me forward into the store. He stayed close, whispering a song. “Come with me, and you’ll be in a world of pure imagination…”

“I already get tortured in hell,” I replied through gritted teeth. “Not sure what I did to deserve this.”

He steered me toward a stand of cock rings and G-strings crowned by an anatomically correct mannequin with its stiff member aimed at eye level. Indy snagged a rubber vibrating ring from the rack and pressed the on button. It hummed inside the plastic wrapper, and heat surged up my neck.

“Lore, it glows ,” Indy gushed as though I couldn’t see the flashing rainbow lights for myself. He thrust it into my hands. “We need it.”

Before I could answer, he trotted over to the wall of dildos that formed a rainbow of their own. Colors, sizes, and shapes that were decidedly not anatomically correct stretched from floor to ceiling. Indy was already on his tiptoes in his strappy shoes, but he pushed up higher, reaching for a glittery pink piece of rubber that I hesitated to call a dildo at all.

Walking up behind him, I grabbed the toy and gave it a brief inspection before offering it to him.

“Some would argue there are already too many dicks in this relationship,” I grumbled .

Indy examined the toy, wrapping his hand around it as much as he was able through the packaging. He turned toward me and bounced his brows. “But ours aren’t shaped like tentacles.”

“I thought we were here for hats and,” my nose wrinkled, “chaps.”

“ Assless chaps,” he corrected. “We’ll get there. But I know I’m never getting you back in here, so I intend to maximize this opportunity. Probably my credit card, too.” He stooped to grab another dildo, a flesh-toned, girthy member with squiggly veins along its shaft. He brandished it and the tentacle while beaming a sheepish grin. “Can you get me a basket?”

The “fleshlight” keychain was a last-minute add-on snagged from a countertop bin at checkout. As for the assortment of toys and accouterments, that was one advantage to clearing out the trailer after Indy died. I would never have to see that severed octopus limb again.

Mounting the trailer steps, Indy opened the door and ventured inside.

As soon as I crossed the threshold, a sleepy feeling overcame me along with the deepest sense of comfort I’d felt in months. I was where I belonged, and Indy was, too. We were together in the place we built, stripped down to the studs and recreated, attending to every detail. But something was missing.

Indy swept clothes and hangers off the couch onto the floor, then straightened and glanced back, noticing the laundry bag I hugged to my chest.

“Put that anywhere.” He flapped his hand at it.

“I could put it away…” I looked toward the bedroom loft and the closet doors lining the wall.

“Absolutely not,” Indy replied. “You’re my guest. You get to relax.”

The distance between us had a name. I was a “guest.” A friend. Best man material.

I’d been a best man once, consumed with jealousy and heartache. I had no interest in filling that role again.

While I debated where to set the laundry, Indy moved to the DVD cabinet. “Not Ghost again,” he muttered. “I’m an ugly crier.”

Wandering into the kitchen, I hefted the bag onto the countertop beside an open loaf of bread and a half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I didn’t mind the mess, and Indy didn’t apologize for it. He closed the movie cabinet and raised our copy of Dirty Dancing .

“This looks good,” he said.

Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey embraced on the movie cover, and I knew already I was in for an hour and a half-long commentary on Patrick Swayze’s “impressive mullet” and Indy asking if I could lift him like Johnny does with Baby in the big dance number. I could and had, but that wouldn’t stop Indy from demanding that I prove it.

While he powered on the television and loaded the DVD player, I padded over to the sofa and lowered myself onto it. The coffee table was crowded into my leg space, so I gave it a gentle nudge, being careful not to upset the litter of plastic gloves, bowl, and brush from Indy’s days- ago dye job.

The opening credits rolled across the TV screen while Indy skipped past on his way to the kitchen. “Movies call for popcorn, which calls for drinks,” he chattered. “What can I get you? I have milk and water.”

I looked across to see him peeking over the open door of the fridge, and I should have gotten up and walked out because I wanted this too damn much. In a minute, he would be beside me on the couch that was cramped in the best possible way. I knew every way we fit together on it. Him in my lap or tucked between my legs, me reposed with my head against his chest, hearing his heart, feeling him breathe…

Stay , my hound begged.

For the night? I hadn’t been invited.

Forever? Pain stabbed my heart.

“Or,” Indy chimed, reminding me I’d left him waiting for a response. “If those don’t appeal to you, I have milk and water.”

“Water,” I replied.

He went for cups, then the faucet, then clattered around in the cabinets until he found the popcorn and started the microwave.

The opening scene was playing when he returned with a heaping bowl and two glasses. He struggled to place them on the cluttered coffee table and finally squeezed them in beside a tray of nail polish. With him bent over in front of me, I found myself studying the dimples in his lower back above the waistband of his jeans. It was like his skin remembered my thumbs pressing in there, holding on while he rocked against me .

He dropped onto the sofa, leaving a few inches between us. For once, he looked as uncomfortable as I felt, sitting bolt upright with his hands in his lap and his focus fixed on the television.

Neither of us reached for the popcorn or the drinks. Milk for Indy, keeping up his gallon-a-week habit in this new lifetime, and my water. We didn’t budge or speak, and it was unlike Indy to keep quiet for long.

Ten minutes in, I stretched my arm along the back of the couch behind Indy’s shoulders, trying to be sneaky and failing. Indy glanced my hand hanging near his bicep, then at the gap like a canyon between us. A sly look overtook his features as he scooted over until his hip bumped into mine.

He fit there, tucked against my side with his head tipped onto my chest. I curled my arm around him, and the sense of comfort returned anew. It was like I’d been suffocating for weeks, and I could finally breathe.

I wasn’t watching the movie. The scenes flashing by were entirely unimportant when compared to the warm, soft body pressed against mine. I sniffed at his curls, missing the scent of him, the aura that was masked. To keep him safe. To keep him mine.

Indy pitched forward enough to catch my gaze. “Can I play with your hair?” he asked.

Sully used to tease about the way Indy fussed over me. She said it was the bird in him exhibiting a behavior that happened between mated pairs. Allopreening. I didn’t mind. It was a nice contrast to the harsh treatment I received in Hell and, after the past weeks of self-imposed isolation, I welcomed it .

I nodded, and Indy leaped to his feet while shooing me with his hands. “Switch me spots.”

Sliding forward, I made room for him to squeeze in behind me. He couldn’t possibly have seen the television with me blocking his view but, like the snacks, the film went forgotten as Indy raked his hands through my hair. His fingertips dragged down my back and brushed the nape of my neck with gentle touches that gave me goosebumps.

He snugged one leg around each side of me, his knees drawn up and hugging into my sides. I relaxed into him, so consumed by the closeness that I wanted to ignore it when he chased one of those across-the-neck touches with a kiss.

I swiveled to face him. “What happened to not trying anything untoward?” I asked.

Indy held up his hands with his palms out. “You send mixed signals. Hot then cold…”

My frown gave him pause.

“Okay, mostly cold,” he corrected, “but a guy can hope.”

The promiscuity was not new. Neither was the intimacy. And I had invited it, desperate to recreate what we’d lost. But Indy didn’t have that sense of history. He was filling a void he didn’t understand with a man he didn’t know.

Indy stretched a tentative hand toward my cheek, catching a loose lock of hair and sweeping it over my shoulder. Reluctantly, but also so desperately willingly, I faced away from him once more. My eyes fell closed while he sectioned my hair and began weaving it into a braid .

I’d barely begun to settle when he spoke again.

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

I tried to glance back but couldn’t turn with him holding my head in place. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem like a deep guy,” Indy replied. “Thoughtful. I figured you’d have an opinion on it.”

Treasure , my hound trilled.

I bit my lip.

I knew how Indy felt about this, how he’d felt in the past, at least. He thought it was terribly romantic to have someone made especially for you, a missing piece that would make you whole. But the notion of a soulmate took choice out of the equation. If I had learned anything in my long life, it was that I wanted to be chosen. I valued freewill above nearly anything and didn’t like the idea of fate or fortune weighing in on matters of the heart.

That was why I waited—part of me was always waiting—for Indy to choose me. Not because he’d chosen me before. Not because I convinced him he should. Not even because he was my treasure.

I waited because I didn’t believe in soulmates but, before I decided how to tell Indy that, my cellphone hummed with an incoming call. It was probably Sully; I could get back to her later. I felt through the denim of my jeans and clicked the volume button down.

Indy dropped a braid down my back, then expelled a breath. He climbed off the couch, leaving me looking after him as he scooped a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the table and stuffed it in his mouth. He chewed while pacing the narrow space in front of the television.

I hadn’t answered his question, but it seemed he’d moved on or become so engrossed in his own thoughts that he was no longer interested in mine.

After a few turns through the space, he stopped and faced me with his lips pursed.

“Listen,” he began. “I don’t know where I am half the time. I sure as hell don’t know who I am. But you…” He stared at me intently, searching for I didn’t know what.

Finally, he shook his head. “I was pissed at you that first day because you didn’t show up, and I sat, and I waited, and I felt like the piece of shit I probably am.”

I started to protest, but he barreled on.

“I was ready to be mad at you. I stewed on it. But then you showed up, and it felt like…”

My phone buzzed again. I fumbled into my pocket this time, silencing the ringer with a hasty click.

Indy glanced at it, then continued. “It felt like I knew you, and that sounds dumb because all I really know is you’re Italian, you look damn fine in a suit, and you aren’t into women, and that’s not very much. I don’t even know your last name.” When he searched my face again, shades of my own turmoil reflected in his golden eyes.

“Moretti,” I offered. It was the barest concession, but Indy perked to it.

“Loren Moretti?” he asked.

“Lorenzo.”

He nodded, taking the information on board while emotions played across his features. He seemed to be thinking, like he was testing the bulbs in a broken strand of lights until one made the rest turn on. After a moment, he frowned, and I knew the lights were still dark.

“I guess I’m still just Indy,” he said .

My phone rang again. This time, I retrieved the cell and checked the ID on the screen. M.

I had ignored my mistress’s calls twice already, giving the demoness time and cause to work up a blistering rage. My brain churned through excuses as I stood and made my way around the couch, headed for the trailer door.

“Sorry,” I said to Indy’s perplexed expression. “I have to take this.”

Bursting out into the dusky afternoon, I answered the call moments before it rolled to voicemail. I was out of breath and frantic enough that a single word of greeting shot out of me like a bark.

“What?”

Silence came from the other end of the line, then Moira’s voice cut through coldly. “Excuse me?”

It was a warning. A threat.

I stumbled down the steps and into the square of the front yard, staying inside Sully’s ward barrier and hoping it would somehow shield me, too.

“Apologies, Miss,” I said. “I thought it was someone else.”

“And I thought you were a gentleman, Lorenzo.” Moira clucked her tongue. “Don’t tell me I have to reschool you on combat and manners.”

I thought of the kennels, and the arena, and the collar tight around my neck. My neck where Indy kissed me…

I touched my fingertips to the spot where his lips had been, then replied quietly, “No, Miss.”

“Good boy.”

Long ago, I had craved her praise, but my desire to please waned over the years. Now, I wished only to avoid her scorn, and it seemed I was failing even at that.

“You’re needed here,” Moira declared. “Urgently.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Is it your place to ask?”

The speed and spite of her retort jarred me, and I swallowed. “No, Miss.”

“Then don’t,” she snapped. I could almost hear the smile being reaffixed to her face before she concluded, “Get down here. Now.”

I held the phone several seconds after the line went dead, staring down the path that led between parked motorhomes toward the distant horizon. If I had known a century ago that signing my life into the service of a demon meant bending my knee in eternal submission, would I have agreed to Moira’s terms? It felt like less and less of a fair trade as time dragged on.

“Was that the missus?” Indy’s voice rang out, and I whirled around to find him sitting on the Airstream’s steps. Sunlight gilded the aluminum shell of the trailer and ringed a halo around the top of his head, nestling in his curls.

He looked heavenly. So perfect, and I wanted to run to him. We could go inside and cuddle on the couch, and he could kiss me until his lips went numb. I wouldn’t stop him.

But Moira was waiting, and this wasn’t really my home. My soul belonged in Hell, and the beautiful man staring at me now wasn’t really my Indy. My Indy, and all the Indys who had been mine before, were gone.

“I told you, I don’t have anyone,” I reminded him. “I did, but he died. ”

“Oh, shit.” Indy dipped back, stricken. “I’m sorry.”

His apology failed to appease me because I wanted an explanation. We were in love. I was happy. I thought Indy was, too, and I didn’t understand why it all went wrong. But this new Indy didn’t have the answer to that question, so I never would, either.

I blew a breath to clear my hair from where it had fallen across my face. “I have to go.” I waggled my cellphone meaningfully. “Work.”

Indy rose and descended the steps to stand on level ground with me. He’d shed his boots at some point, lowering his height so the top of his head barely came to my chin.

“That was your boss?” He snorted. “They must have you on a short leash.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay, well…” He looked toward the parking lot where my truck waited, then shrugged. “Thanks for coming.”

It felt so formal, so stilted that I regretted everything. I preferred his advances to this retreat. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him about the death. I’d done it to punish him, but the person I was angry at was gone.

“Thank you ,” I said as sincerely as I could. “For everything.”

He bounced his shoulders again. “Not sure what I did besides make things awkward, but you’re welcome.”

We stood longer than was wise with Moira doubtlessly counting the seconds until my arrival. Finally, I stepped backward.

“Call me?” I meant it as a statement, but it sounded uncertain, so I followed it with, “If you need anything.”

“Like those driving lessons?”

“Sure,” I said, but what I meant was please.

Please call me. Please invite me back. Please don’t hurt me again.

Indy smiled, and I waved, then started up the path toward the bathhouse. As I moved, my apprehension grew. I didn’t run to Hell—I wasn’t that beat—but I hurried. I scuttled along while my hound nipped at my heels, urging me on.

When I crested the hill outside the small cinderblock building, I cast a parting glance at the Airstream, gleaming in the waning sun. Reassured that my phoenix was tucked safely away, I swiftly drew a portal and descended into the depths of Hell.