Page 20 of Hounded (Fire & Brimstone)

20

Loren

Half a bottle of soap wasn’t enough to make me feel clean. I’d been in the shower long enough that my fingers were pruned, and my skin stung from the water that clouded the air with steam.

If not for the fluttering plastic curtain threatening to expose me to any passerby, I would have laid down on top of the moldy floor drain. Exhaustion had taken root in my core, and it pulled me toward an increasingly inevitable collapse.

I was no stranger to Moira’s bedroom, but she hadn’t called on me in months. I’d become spoiled by her disinterest but, last night, I was her sole focus. In the past, she marked my flesh with her teeth and claws, drawing blood she licked off then kissed to my lips. She took pleasure from me and gave none back. It was strange to realize that I preferred those impersonal encounters to the tender touches and careful attention that turned my body against me.

I’d been lonely without Indy. Sleepless and spending too much time thinking of being close to him, wishing for it. To have Moira fill that void felt like the cruelest kind of betrayal. It was a reminder that I did not own any part of myself. I was possessed not only by a hellhound’s immortal soul, but also by a demoness who could compel me into the most unsavory situations. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t scrub the stink of her off my skin.

The shower’s spray drove my eyes closed and pasted my hair over my ears, giving me a moment of peace. I’d been alone in the bathhouse since I arrived, but now a sound invaded the quiet. The slap-clack of plastic shoes striking the cement floors, drawing close.

I dipped my head to check the gap below the curtain, watching for the newcomer to pass by. When the glittery pink jelly sandals entered the narrow strip of my view, I recognized them immediately.

Indy stopped outside the shower stall, and I wasn’t sure what clued him in. My clothes were folded in a chair outside, but he couldn’t have been as familiar with my wardrobe as I was with his.

Breath hung in my lungs, and I hoped he would move along while wondering what he was doing in the grimy bathhouse in the first place.

“Legs?” His voice echoed in the cinderblock building. “That you?”

The curtain slid a few inches down the rod, and Indy’s head poked in.

“Hey!” He grinned. “Small world, smaller trailer park, am I right?”

He entered the stall dressed in a neon yellow tank top and pants with a towel slung around his neck. A bag of what I assumed to be clean clothes was hitched over his shoulder, and he carried the Caboodle case that contained every item involved in his complicated shower routine.

Stepping back, I cupped my hands over my exposed genitals too late to avoid his notice.

He whistled. “Holy fuck, you’re hung. You could rearrange my guts with that thing.” His smile persisted as he gestured to my bare body. “I get it, though. Proportional.”

Tears lined my eyes, and it took all my self-control not to let them fall. I wondered if Indy would notice. Every part of me was dripping with water; they would blend right in.

As he surveyed me once more, his forehead creased. “What’re you doing here?” he asked. “Your place not have a shower?”

I couldn’t answer, couldn’t speak at all. My throat felt raw, and my mouth was dry. I shivered, chilling outside of the shower’s spray while Indy crept closer.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

It could have been him barging in on me stark naked and vulnerable, but that didn’t seem to occur to him. He studied me, searching my expression, and I worried it would betray everything.

I wanted to be held but not touched.

I needed solitude but was tired of being alone.

I needed him in ways he didn’t understand.

A quizzical look contorted Indy’s face, and he tilted his head. “You wanna talk about it?”

This happened in every lifetime. I was summoned to Hell, to Moira’s bedroom, used to meet her every need, then sent scurrying home, pretending I had a safe place though she could easily drag me out of it. All it took was a call or a twitch of her finger. I was bound and obliged to obey.

But this Indy knew nothing about my hellhound responsibilities or the sexual encounters I struggled to see as anything but infidelity. Explaining who Moira was and why I couldn’t turn down her advances made me sound weak, and I wanted Indy to believe I was strong. He might have been the only person who thought so.

He was waiting for me to speak, so I managed to string a few words together.

“Your clothes are getting wet.”

The concern on his face eased. He dropped the plastic case and towel, then tugged off his tank top and flung it over the curtain rod.

“Better?” he asked.

My jaw flexed through a hard bite. “That’s not what I meant.”

He shrugged. “I could take it all off. Level the playing field. Only seems fair.” He started on the button fly of his pants.

I turned away to collect the washrag and few bottles I’d brought with me. When I straightened, struggling to balance them while covering my genitals, Indy snatched one of the soaps from my hand.

“No way.” He brandished it. “You use 2-in-1? On that magnificent mane? Blasphemy.”

I cranked the shower off, then faced Indy head-on. His pants were undone and hung low around his hips, exposing the lace waistband of his underwear. The sight of that and the planes of his flat, hairless belly stalled me .

It was him I had wanted last night, not Moira. His hands, his mouth, his body. I could have him now, but I was too raw for thoughts of intimacy. I felt tainted, used, defiled.

My face wrenched in a scowl as I sidestepped him. “Shower’s all yours.”

With my back to him, I uncovered my manhood long enough to yank my towel off the rod and wind it around my waist. I knotted it hastily, then exited the cement stall. Indy dogged my steps, swatting the curtain aside and joining me beside the chair where I’d piled my belongings.

I tugged my shirt on over my head, then pulled my hair through the collar. The drippy locks fell against my back, wetting the fabric and sticking it to my skin. I dug for my boxers next, trying to ignore Indy standing by half-dressed and holding my bottle of shampoo/conditioner like it was a live grenade.

Wadding my boxers in my fist, I faced him. He looked so lost that I had to ask, “What are you doing here?”

His freckled cheeks pinked. “My, uh… the shower at my place isn’t working. I think it’s bad pressure?” He huffed an awkward laugh. “Add home repair to the list of things I don’t know shit about.”

I grunted, shimmying the boxers up under my towel then untying it. Jeans came next, shaken out of their fold before I stepped into them.

“Head’s probably clogged,” I muttered.

When I stooped to retrieve my discarded towel, Indy gave a little cough. “Is that something you can tell me how to fix, or…?”

“I’ll take care of it.” Pinpointing the shampoo he held, I reached for it. “May I have that now? Unless you’re gonna use it.”

Indy shook his head furiously, then handed the bottle back. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Loaded with everything I’d brought, I was ready to leave, but Indy stood between me and the exit. He made for a small obstacle, but I wasn’t willing to barrel past him a second time. Not when it was taking all my restraint not to collapse on him and beg for the comfort he could not provide.

Nibbling his lip, he swayed from side to side. “Sorry I kinda barged in there.” He jerked his thumb toward the shower. “I forget you’re shy.”

“I’m not shy.”

“Okay…” Indy dragged the word out. “Introverted, then.”

I frowned.

Indy bounced his shoulders. “It’s a valid observation. But you don’t need to be self-conscious. You’re gorgeous.” The way his golden eyes softened as they met mine should have extinguished the fire in my gut. In another life, it might have, but his compliment rang hollow.

“Another valid observation.” My gaze sharpened into a glare. “Aren’t you astute?”

The words cut through the air, so piercing even I felt their sting. Indy flinched, and I could have kicked myself for hurting him. I loathed the moment I sounded like a demon spewing condescension. I was demon ic , though. Sometimes that line blurred.

Indy raised his hands as he looked me over with renewed bewilderment. “My bad,” he said. “This went different than I expected.”

I thought he would let me go before he added, “But if something’s bothering you, you can tell me. I like to talk… and listen.”

“I don’t have anything to say,” I told him.

“You sure? You seem upset.” When his hand grazed my arm, I knocked it away in a reaction so fast it was practically explosive.

“I’m fine.” My teeth flashed in a snarl, and Indy swayed back, abruptly pale.

I was worn out. Bone tired and aching from everyone touching me, groping me, making me look handsome or proper. I didn’t want to be Moira’s pet or a dog on her leash. I didn’t want to be assaulted and used, but everyone seemed determined to turn me into an object. Even Indy’s advances were too much. He’d lost the right to come so close to me and, if he was the only person I could keep at arm’s length, I just might.

Indy’s throat bobbed through a hard swallow. “Loren, I…”

He was going to apologize again; I could feel it, and I didn’t have it in me to hear those words one more time.

“Would you stop pretending you know me?” I asked, hugging the damp towel and tiny bottles to my chest. “Quit acting like we’re something we’re not!”

Indy’s face regained its color, then flushed red. “What are we, though?” he asked. “You’re the only person in my life; you must be important.”

Tell him, I thought. Tell him everything.

As if I hadn’t tried that before .

And after I explained that he was a fiery bird and I was a hellish dog, I could tell him the foulest demon in Hell was about to sic an immortal soldier on him, and that a fight with Whitney was not a fight I won.

Indy stood before me, and I knew he hurt. I knew I’d caused it, and some wicked part of me felt powerful because I wanted someone else to suffer for a change.

I skirted past him so I didn’t have to see the damage I’d done. He didn’t follow or question as I called back, “I’ll come by tomorrow and fix your shower.”

By the time fresh air hit me, all thoughts of vindication had gone, and I felt ill. With danger on the horizon, I should have been keeping Indy close, not pushing him away. How could I turn my back on him now? But I did, I was, staggering down the hill away from the bathhouse, awash in sunshine, clear skies, and misery.

How could I have gone through so many lifetimes with Indy and only be getting worse at it?

Practice was not perfecting me; it was tearing me apart.