Page 24 of Hounded (Fire & Brimstone)

24

Loren

For the next several days, I was in Hell more than out of it, and in Moira’s bed more than I had been in years. With the Airstream’s shower restored to working order, the trailer park bathhouse was again a safe place to retreat, regroup, and reconsider my options when it came to the threat on Indy’s life.

It seemed the only choice I had was to fight. The new hellhounds were fresh and untested. I had decades of experience in combat and in navigating New York. There were plenty of places to hide or bunker down and, if Indy was found, we could relocate and put up new wards as many times as it took.

So, I maximized my time away from Earth. I watched the other hounds spar and brawl; I even fought against them. Moira assumed I was helping them improve, but I’d given up on that. I needed to beat them. Soundly. I swept their legs out from under them, feinted at their throats, and pinned them to the dirt floor of the arena so that when we inevitably met in combat, defeat would be fresh in their minds.

Whitney remained the larger threat. Since Nero took ownership of my fellow hound, I hadn’t seen him. I wondered if he was locked in the empty abyss of the archdemon’s chambers or roaming Earth in search of my phoenix.

Those worries kept me awake on nights like this one, after I’d slipped out of Moira’s post-coital clutches. I sat in my truck with the windows down, letting the cool air whip through the cab. It fluttered the golden feather that hung from my rearview mirror and made the plain gold band that dangled beside it slowly sway. I reached for the ring and rubbed my thumb over the smooth metal.

Brooklyn, New York

June 25 th , 2011

Last night, Indy fell asleep with a rainbow painted on his cheek. This morning, color was smeared across his pillowcase, but he was gone, up before the sun and rattling around in the kitchen.

We’d spent the previous day in Greenwich Village, wearing pride shirts and waving flags while we waited for the court’s ruling. By the time it was announced, we were hot and sweaty, but joyful. I’d witnessed more historic moments than I could count, but this one felt personal. It resonated all the way back to my first life and my first love. It made peace with things about myself I’d tried to change and been forced to hide.

I was born in an era when men couldn’t be the way I was. We were cursed, spat on, cast out, and even killed. But I’d lived long enough to see the world change. Yesterday, it changed for the better.

I slid out from under the sheets, a bit bedraggled with my hair frizzed. Before I could swing my legs to the floor, Indy’s voice carried from the other end of the trailer.

“Don’t you dare move! I’m coming right back!”

Chuckling, I elbowed my pillow into a rounder shape, then laid back with my hands clasped behind my head.

A few seconds later, Indy returned. He went to the bedside table and clicked on the lamp. He’d washed his face and was dressed in a fuzzy blue sweater and white chinos. He flashed a wide grin over the wooden tray he held, laden with a plate and mug and a vase of multicolor roses.

I shoved to sitting. “What are you up to, Doll?”

Indy set the tray across my lap. Steam rose from the coffee mug set beside flatware and a folded napkin. French toast drenched in syrup, scrambled eggs, and sausage links made for my usual order from our favorite brunch place. I gave the roses an appreciative sniff while Indy climbed onto the mattress beside me.

He squeezed in as close as possible with the legs from the lap tray between us, then he nodded toward the spread.

“Well?” he asked, still grinning.

I smirked. “You did not cook this.”

“I did not.”

“You went for takeout… this morning?” I glanced at th e clock on the bedside table displaying 6:47 AM. My brows arched. “I didn’t know you were aware this time of day existed.”

“Yeah well, it shouldn’t.” Indy yawned and tipped his head onto my shoulder. “Are you gonna eat or what?”

Given the option, I would have tucked him in and curled against him until we both fell back asleep. But this spontaneous gesture merited appreciation, so I wouldn’t turn my nose up at it.

Grabbing the fork, I began cutting the corner off a slice of French toast. “Where’s yours?” I asked.

Indy covered a yawn with his hand. “In the fridge,” he answered. “I’ll get to it later.”

I made it through a few bites, then sipped the espresso.

Indy was so quiet I thought he’d dozed off until he asked, “What do you think of the flowers?” He gestured toward them.

I cheeked a piece of sausage long enough to reply, “They’re nice.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked.

Swallowing, I nodded.

He sat up. “Just nice? That’s it?”

I looked at the arrangement of yellow, white, pink, and red roses a glass vase. When I turned from them to Indy, he frowned.

“Come on, Lore, you’re supposed to be the observant one. Look right…” He stabbed a finger at the blooms, and his expression faltered. “Shit, it’s turned the wrong way.” He grabbed the vase and spun it, causing something shiny to clink against the glass .

A gold band was looped around the stem of a red rose, glinting in the light from the bedside lamp.

The warmth drained from my face, and I whipped aside so abruptly it made the dishes rattle on the tray.

Indy’s smile spread, and burgeoning tears made his eyes sparkle more than usual. He got up on his hands and knees to move the tray to the foot of the bed. Plucking the rose from the vase, he removed the ring and turned around to sit on his calves as he held it out to me.

“We can finally get married, baby,” he said. “Would you let me marry you?”

Finally . That word stood out from the rest.

For Indy, it had been nine years of waiting. For me, forever. I’d imagined it before it was possible, dreamed of a future that had become my present seemingly overnight.

Yes, I thought long before I said it.

I wasn’t sure if I ever did say it, or if my head just bobbed wordlessly while Indy slipped the band onto my finger.

He dove at me then, grabbing and squeezing as hard as he could. His chest fluttered with nervous giggles.

“I love you, Lore.” He pulled back, holding my face and fixing me with a tearful gaze. “I fucking adore you.” His lips crushed against mine, and he never stopped smiling.

I looped my arms around him while resisting the urge to stare at the ring fit snugly around my finger.

I was engaged—promised, betrothed, wanted, adored —and desperately in love.

We stayed entangled until Indy withdrew. He was wide-eyed, wobbly, and flushed from his neck to his forehead. He maneuvered his body into my lap, then sagged against my chest. His heart thundered a rapid rhythm, and mine chased after it with a stuttering, unsteady beat.

In the pause, I motioned to the half-eaten meal shoved to the end of the mattress. Breakfast in bed and a bouquet of flowers made for an idyllic morning, but I couldn’t help but comment, “This was surprisingly tame for you.”

Indy sighed while curling a lock of my hair around his finger. “I canceled the flashmob last minute.”

I could picture the swarm of strangers gathered outside and me being dragged into the middle of it. Indy on one knee wearing a sequined bodysuit and belting out Kiss’s “I Was Made for Lovin’ You” while our neighbors emerged from their trailers like groundhogs drawn from hiding.

The thought made me shudder.

Indy pitched back enough to meet my gaze. “But I’m going all out on the wedding. That’s my day.”

I chuckled and smoothed the curls along the side of his head. The band on my finger shone warmly, and I marveled at it. “Whatever you want,” I told him.

Indy’s expression turned wily. “You’ll regret saying that.”

Flashmobs, shiny bodysuits, ‘80s hair metal, I would endure it all. Part of me would love it because it was Indy. Because he was mine. I didn’t need a proposal to tell me that, but it didn’t hurt.

I drew up my knees to tuck him in tight as I whispered in his ear. “I don’t regret anything when it comes to you. ”

We spent the rest of the day planning a wedding, but it never happened because Indy waited nine years for his finally, and that was all the time he had.

Moonlight gleamed across the wedding ring as I studied it for what must have been the thousandth time. For himself, Indy would have picked some flashy thing with rows of diamonds, but he knew me better than that. I wanted something simple, like love should be, and as timeless as we were.

Some days, I wanted to wear it again. It was different than Moira’s collar. Another kind of binding contract, but one I would have entered into wholeheartedly. I would have sworn my soul to Indy in an instant, and that frightened me because I’d been equally sure about Jonathan. I was so obsessed with the man that I’d thought his life was worth more than my own. And I’d lived to regret it.

I’d told Indy I didn’t regret him; I couldn’t fathom it. He was my world. My reason to live and, soon, fight. But he’d given me cause to consider if I pledged myself too fully to people who only gave me half of themselves. Jonathan had his wife; Indy had his drugs.

The flicker of headlights across the trailer park lot drew my notice. So late at night, not many residents came or went, which made this an anomaly. I sat up straight and peered into the sideview mirror, tracking the light to its source .

The taillights of Indy’s Firebird flashed red. With my windows down, I heard the Pontiac’s motor rumble alive, then abruptly choke. It died, and the brakes beamed brighter. The coupe started again, then revved. The V8 engine purred for a few seconds, stalled again, and fell quiet before the car ever moved from its space.

If he couldn’t even shift into reverse, I didn’t have high hopes for an impromptu driving lesson, but the fact that he was willing to sneak out and risk stalling the Pontiac in traffic rather than asking me for a ride informed me that I had done something very wrong.

Opening my truck’s driver door, I stepped out onto the gravel. My boots crunched as I walked past parked vehicles toward the struggling Firebird. The taillights glared angrily, and I should have taken it as a warning before the Pontiac lurched backward, kicking up grit and speeding toward me.

I leaped aside, so the rear fender barely clipped me. The impact sent jarring pain through my knee and almost took my legs out from under me. The car stalled, the engine died, and Indy barreled out.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed, wide-eyed and trembling. “Are you all right? I-I didn’t know…” Recognition crossed his features, and he started to relax. “Oh, hey, Loren.”

I sidestepped to give the Pontiac a wider berth, then nodded to Indy. “Hey yourself.”

He ran his tongue across his lips, visibly flustered. His curls were tousled like he’d been running his fingers through them on repeat. In fact, he did that now, snagged one hand in the teal coils and pulled .

“What’re you doing here?” he asked at last.

“I live here.”

“In the parking lot?”

He meant it as a joke, but it was truer than he knew.

I tipped my chin toward the Firebird’s open driver door and the lit dash panel inside. “How’s it going?”

Indy turned and gave the car’s roof a pat. “Think I’m getting the hang of it, actually.”

“Really?” My brow arched, and he heaved a sigh.

“No.”

His legs and feet were bare under the satin shorts he’d been wearing the day I fixed his shower, and a cable knit cardigan swathed him from shoulders to hips. The sweater gave me pause. It was mine, apparently left behind in the postmortem purge, but he couldn’t have known that.

I swallowed against the grit in my throat and asked, “Want some help?”

When he faced me again, his lips twisted in an uncertain frown. “I nearly backed into you. Didn’t hit you, did I? You aren’t hurt or anything?”

I shook my head. It was barely a bump, and he looked embarrassed enough already.

Indy nipped his lip between his teeth while dodging my gaze. After a moment, he tilted his head toward me and grinned. “Is Ghost driver’s ed still on the table?”

My deadpan stare wiped the humor off his face.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I… I’ll work on that.”

With a nod, I approached while shooing him toward the passenger side of the coupe.

“ I’m the one who needs practice,” he protested.

I slid past him and dropped into the driver’s seat, reaching immediately for the lever to slide it backward so my knees weren’t crowding into the steering wheel.

“And parking lots are great places for that,” I replied. “Empty ones, though. Too many obstacles here.”

“And pedestrians,” Indy muttered glumly.

He trotted around the car and got in while I started the engine. Once he was settled, I pulled forward into the parking space, then reversed again before angling toward the road.

“Besides the lesson,” I began, “was there somewhere you wanted to go?”

“Out,” Indy replied. “Just out. If I have to see the inside of that dumb trailer for one more minute, I’m gonna go homicidal.”

I hummed and nodded. This was typical Indy behavior. He got an itch for adventure at odd hours, dragging me out of bed and across town to 24-hour diners, dance clubs, or to wander the aisles of the nearest convenience store. As much as I complained about the impromptu jaunts, I had missed them in the doldrums of my recent weeks of solitude.

“There’s an all-night ice cream place a few miles from here,” I mused. “Could be a reward for getting this old girl in gear. Literally.”

Indy swayed back, aghast. “I can’t go in anywhere dressed like this. I’m not wearing shoes.” He pulled one leg up into the seat and waggled his painted toes. Sliding his foot back down, he asked, “Why’re you up, anyway? Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“Just got off work.”

I steered the Firebird onto the road, feeling the motor thunder as we picked up speed.

Indy huffed skeptically. “Emergency TV delinquency?”

I rolled my eyes. “Televisions aren’t even that expensive anymore.”

Clearly unconvinced, Indy reached for the radio dial. Aftermarket speakers pumped out the rich melody of a Bon Jovi song. Indy bobbed his head and hummed along while drumming his fingers on the passenger door window frame.

I watched as his fingernails sparkled in the passing streetlights and wondered how a wedding ring would look on him. Almost fifteen years later, I still remembered the afternoon after his proposal. He dragged me to the bookstore and bought a stack of wedding magazines to pore over. He’d gushed over every detail, dogearing pages and circling photos. It should have been his day. I would have given it to him, but he was gone before I could. The loss made my heart ache.

The radio cut to commercial break as we continued into the city. Most of Brooklyn was cluttered and crowded, so finding a space open enough I didn’t need to worry about Indy crashing into parked cars or passersby was a challenge. But I knew these streets better than anyone, so after about fifteen minutes, I was able to locate a vacant lot with nothing but a pair of dumpsters and a few flickering streetlamps to serve as road hazards.

I bumped the gearshift into neutral, then set the emergency brake before climbing out of the coupe.

Indy stood on the other side and looked expectantly at me across the roof .

“You’re up,” I told him.

Once we had traded places and settled in, I turned down the radio and pointed at the floorboard.

“Clutch first,” I said. “Push it all the way down, step on the brake, and start the car.” Reaching over, I released the emergency brake.

“What’s that?” Indy looked at the lever.

“E-brake.”

“There’s another brake?” He sounded exasperated. “Is your truck automatic? Maybe we should trade.”

The thought of Indy clambering into the C10 only to be dwarfed behind the dash made me grin.

“Holy shit, you smiled,” Indy gasped.

I turned toward him, indignant. “I smile all the time.”

“No way. You’re a serious son of a bitch, but I made you smile.” He jabbed his elbow into my ribs. “Do it again.”

Leaned away, I flapped my hand at the floorboard. “Move the shifter all the way to the left and forward.”

Indy bobbed his head in exaggerated assent. “Okay, okay. All business. But I’ve seen it now. I know it’s possible.”

He followed my instructions, growing increasingly focused as I walked him through the steps.

“Let off the clutch while you ease on the gas,” I said. “Slow.”

The Pontiac navigated the parking lot in a wide loop. We made it through first gear and into second while the engine purred.

As we cut a serpentine pattern through the lot, Indy brightened. “I think this is the farthest I’ve ever gone. ”

A smile eased onto my face, and Indy stabbed his finger at me.

“Twice!” he exclaimed. “Hot damn, I’m on a roll.”

With the drive going smoothly, my attention was free to wander. My eyes skimmed down Indy’s bare thighs, then up to his face. His cheeks were rosy, and his eyes crinkled with a perpetual grin.

God, he was cute, and wiggling in a way that made me want me to wrap my fingers around his knee and dig in.

Oblivious to my attention, Indy cranked the radio up to an uncomfortable level and swayed to the thumping beat of “Edge of Seventeen.” I tucked my hands under my legs so they didn’t wander, then faced forward, squinting out the windshield at the nearby sidewalk.

In the time we’d been here, only a few people had passed. None paused at the sight of Indy’s classic car doing slow donuts, so I paid them little mind. But someone had stopped.

Whitney stood at the base of a streetlamp, illuminated by its glow. A sheathed military saber hung at his hip. Left side draw.

I’d never thought my fellow hound looked especially demonic. Now, though, he appeared almost divine, his blond hair crowned with a halo of light. But I knew who his real master was.

“Stop.” I jerked on the emergency brake and threw out my arm to bar across Indy’s chest. We both pitched forward in our seats as the Firebird skidded to a halt.

Indy looked over at me, his previous cheer swapped for confusion. “Is this a test or something?” he asked.

“Move.” I lowered my arm to free him .

He glanced around the car’s cramped interior. “Move where?”

“Here.” I grabbed his elbow and pulled him toward me while I stretched my leg across the center console.

“Can’t we just get out? Chinese fire drill, right?” He reached for his door handle.

“No!” I snapped sternly enough to stop him.

My gaze flicked back to Whitney leaning against the lamppost base. He wasn’t looking our way, but that failed to ease my panic. He was smart, strategic, and he had decades of life and experience beyond mine. I glanced at his saber—the weapon that had put more scars on my body than anything else—then lunged into motion once again.

Indy and I became a tangle of limbs as we squeezed past each other, raking over the gearshift and knocking into the steering wheel in an awkward scramble. With us both in our seats and a bit winded from the scurry, I released the emergency brake and shifted into drive.

We peeled out of the empty lot with the RPM needle hitting the red line. Indy’s mood changed from questioning to delighted while the Pontiac’s motor roared. He cranked down his window, and my hound howled as night air coursed through the car.

The radio blared the Beastie Boys, and Indy belted out song lyrics while I watched in the rearview as Whitney’s silhouette faded from view.