Page 3 of Hounded (Fire & Brimstone)

3

Loren

I shifted in the hardbacked seat, catching glances from the higher demons as they milled by. Most seemed keen to ignore us, which was fine with me. An event like this could drag on all day, and I had a better chance of slipping away if I stayed beneath notice.

Fishing my cellphone from my slacks pocket, I checked the time. Half an hour had elapsed since Moira’s call put a kink in my morning’s agenda. Getting home would take mere seconds, but I still had to drive to Hopeful Horizons. Worst case scenario, I could portal there then call a cab for Indy and me to ride back to the trailer park, but I would prefer to be out of here much sooner than that.

Servers passed with trays of short ribs and cuts of raw liver. My hound and my stomach growled at the coppery aroma of fresh blood. My empty gut ached since I’d been too nauseous from nerves to eat dinner last night or breakfast this morning.

Beside me, Whitney sat at attention. He sought out Moira who was encircled by partygoers holding up paper contracts like paddles at an auction. Human souls were being exchanged from one demon to another, sworn into an eternity of hellish servitude. Whitney watched the goings on, and he looked damn near proud. I didn’t feel anything but sick.

Ducking my head, I whispered to him. “What is this?”

Whitney’s mouth barely moved as he muttered a reply. “If you were ever around, you might’ve known.” His British accent was melodious despite the gravel in his tone.

My jaw flexed a firm bite. “You’re here,” I said. “Surely Miss doesn’t need us both to keep her company.”

“It’s more than that.” His head whipped aside, and I was surprised by the venom in his green eyes. “It’s your job, Loren. It’s her expectation.” He gestured to our mistress. “And she is not the sort of woman who abides disappointment.”

I fidgeted with the chain draped down my chest. Escape was as simple as unclipping it and stepping away, fading into the sea of bodies filling the room. But Whitney’s next words stalled my getaway plans.

“Frankly, I’m a bit disappointed.”

My face scrunched. “In what?”

“You take weeks, ofttimes months, to track a single soul.” He regarded me with a side-eyed squint. “You’ve been on the policeman case since June. I know you’re a better hunter than that.”

The policeman, Lieutenant Dale Abernathy, was one of Moira’s contracted souls. He’d been a young hopeful at the NYPD training academy, ambitious but wary of the dangers associated with a career in law enforcement. He’d traded his soul for invulnerability in battle, and now his time was up, which was where I came in.

After a long pause, I gave a halting reply, “I’ve been… distracted.”

“With what?” Whitney asked.

I’d gone days without leaving the trailer, without moving from the couch that was too short for my long legs. Hours had been spent scrolling through the photos on my phone, the only mementos I allowed myself to keep. Indy loved taking pictures. He made it his mission to tease smiles out of me, then capture them while bragging about how “goddamn gorgeous” I was. I didn’t care too much for the compliments, but I did enjoy his wide, enthusiastic grins. And his laughter… I pressed my hand over my pocket as though I could absorb the memories.

When I didn’t respond, Whitney filled the silence. “You’ll need a better excuse than that when Miss comes asking.” His words conveyed a clear warning.

“I’ll find the cop,” I assured him. “Soon.”

A huffed breath swelled Whitney’s bare chest as he surveyed the crowd once more. Moira had yet to check on us, too consumed with the slew of demons handing over future hellhounds. I didn’t know how many contracts she expected to gain from this, but the growing stack of parchment in her hands was impressive.

My palm remained over my slacks pocket, and I used my fingers to work my cellphone out into my hand. A click of the power button flashed the analog clock. 11:31 AM.

I nudged Whitney with my elbow, and he cut a glance at me.

“How long is this supposed to last?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Till it’s over, I suppose.”

I toyed with the chain draped across my belly. I’d seen people in Manhattan secure their pets similarly while patio dining or stepping into a store that didn’t allow animals. After a century of such treatment, it shouldn’t have rankled me. It usually didn’t, but today…

My hound’s ears pricked at the sound of Moira’s voice rising above the general din. My mistress approached with an unknown demon in tow. He was buttoned up in a cummerbund and a tailed jacket that strained across his barrel chest. His skin had an ashen sheen, and his teeth were like rows of knives as he smiled.

Whitney stood, testing the length of his chain leash to its limit. I remained in my seat, awaiting Moira’s command. She gave none, instead adjusting the stack of papers in her arms while batting her eyes at the male demon.

“Karst, was it?” she asked with a smile. “You said you were interested in a hound of your own?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The male demon nodded. “I was thinking of something to keep me company. Maybe fetch things from Earth from time to time.”

Moira shifted her papers and laid her free hand on Karst’s shoulder. “Don’t think so small. My hounds are capable of much more than running errands or warming your bed. They’re cruel creatures, you know. Hunters. Killers.”

Karst cast an assessing glance at Whitney and me.

“Consider these two a preview of the finished product,” Moira told him. “Though I will gladly build to suit.”

She beckoned me to stand. When I did so, the leash pulled taut and held my head low with a sort of deference I immediately resented.

The ashy demon rounded the table, sniffing the air as he drew near. When he came into range of me, his red eyes panned wide. “They’re humans.”

Moira nodded. “They were , but I think you’ll see they are much more than that now.”

For a long moment, Karst looked me up and down with tentative intrigue. Finally, he reached out. His hand hovered inches from my nose.

“May I?” he asked Moira.

Despite the vagueness of his request, she seemed to understand and waved him on.

Stepping closer, Karst grabbed the sides of my face. His clawed fingers pricked my skin as he turned my head from side to side. Every muscle in my body tensed as I tried to keep my expression stony and set.

Holding me by the chin, Karst paused and glanced at Moira. “Do they bite?”

She smiled. “Only when I tell them to.”

The demon laughed, blowing hot, sour breath straight up my nose. Without hesitation, he pinched my upper lip between his sharp nails and peeled it back. Perhaps he was looking for fangs like his own. If so, my innocuous-looking canines must have been a disappointment.

Releasing my lip, his hand roamed lower, taking hold of my collar and pulling until the chain noosed around my throat .

I swallowed protest while my mind screamed. Thoughts of running or rebellion became so loud I could consider nothing else, but I managed not to retreat until Karst gave an approving grunt.

The demon pulled back and wiped his spit-damp fingers on the lapel of my suit coat. “Fine specimens, indeed.” He turned to our mistress once more. “What tricks do they know?”

Moira cocked her head coyly. “Do you have something specific in mind?”

Hellhounds were suited to many tasks but, like real dogs, there was room for variance. Temperament was a factor Moira was keen to ignore. I’d never been sure if it was me or my hound who was predisposed to protecting and guarding rather than fighting in Hell’s arena or dispatching the wayward souls I was sent to collect. I didn’t enjoy sparring even for sport, but Whitney reveled in it. He was battle ready and made for an expert combatant. Any match against him ended with me on my back, usually disarmed, and wearing a new scar for my efforts.

“I’ll have to think about it,” Karst said. There was something in his contemplative squint that I didn’t trust.

Moira motioned for the other demon to sit beside her in the open chairs at our table. She offloaded her papers onto the tabletop, then clasped her hands in her lap.

Whitney and I returned to our seats, as well. I gripped the sides of my seat, needing more than the chain leash to tether me. I couldn’t leave. Walking away would be suspicious, not to mention disobedient, and defiant behaviors had been stripped out of me long ago .

Moira was an expert at instilling discipline and the profound desire to cater to her whims. More than that, she taught me what would happen if I stepped out of line. It was nothing to her to muzzle and cage me for weeks or months on end. She could lock me in the kennels and forget I existed. She’d done exactly that for my first years in Hell. Memories of the solitude and excruciating quiet haunted me.

While I pondered, Moira scooped the pages off the table and began leafing through them.

“I’m sure we can find something to your liking,” she told Karst.

They skimmed the documents as Whitney and I sat, seen but not heard, the way our mistress liked it. The demons were so engrossed in their study that they didn’t notice another man marching toward our table. I recognized him immediately.

Nero was an archdemon and the nearest thing I could equate to my mistress’s boss. He rarely ventured from his private chambers, preferring to summon Moira there where they would speak in confidence while Whitney and I loitered in the hall. Sometimes for hours. Once, it stretched into an all-day event.

Whitney had been a soldier in life and didn’t seem to mind standing endlessly in place, but my mind was apt to wander and tempt my feet to follow. I thought of home, always home, and Hell had never been home to me.

Nero advanced with stomping steps, towering head and shoulders above everyone in the room. Yellowish horns spiraled from his slick black hair. It was hard to tell if he was redder in the face than usual since his complexion was always a deep shade of crimson, but the lines cut across his brow suggested a level of contempt that rippled through his words as he spoke.

“What is all this?”

Moira leaped up, as surprised as I was to see the recluse drawn from hiding. “Sir!” She gestured toward the contracts now strewn across the black tablecloth. “Sir, the event has been quite successful. Donations are still coming in, and Karst here is in the market for—”

“No.” Nero’s voice rumbled so deep I thought it might shake the ground beneath us. “What is this ?” He stabbed a meaty finger at Whitney and me.

Moira’s lips fell apart as she tracked his gesture to us. “My pets, sir,” she replied. “My hounds. You know them—”

“You brought your mongrels to our party?” Nero’s cheeks tinged purple as his rage mounted.

Karst rose from his seat and backed slowly away until he vanished into the crowd.

In his absence, Moira babbled. “It’s for them, sir,” she told Nero. “The party is for the hounds, to fill the kennels—”

“And the kennels are where such beasts belong, not prancing about feigning civility,” Nero replied, every word a dull roar. He glanced at Whitney and me, and his mouth twisted in unmasked disdain. “Get them out of here. Immediately.”

Moira blanched. “But, sir—”

“Despicable.” Nero spat at my feet. The glob of saliva struck the toe of my boot, then slid down to puddle on the marble floor .

Moira’s pale skin splotched with an angry flush. She squared herself with Nero and set her stance. “If they can’t stay, neither will I.”

The archdemon barely batted an eye. “Then we’ll carry on without you. Begone.” He flapped his hand toward a doorway on the far wall.

The ruckus of the room swallowed Moira’s protest. Nero folded his arms and watched as she rounded the table to usher Whitney and me to our feet. She unhooked our leashes from the chairbacks and took one chain in each hand. With her chin held high and her lower lip quivering, she led us through the crowd, bearing the weight of Nero’s glare all the way out of the ballroom.

She sped up as we exited, forcing us to trot to match her pace. She neither slowed nor stopped until we had wound our way through the firelit corridors back to her dressing room. Outside the closed door, she paused and drew a shuddering breath. In the glow of the flickering sconce, I saw tears streaking mascara onto her cheeks.

Whitney whined and sidled closer to her. She turned into him and touched her forehead to his while she drew a sniffling breath. In the growing silence, it was all I could do to fight the urge to check my phone for the time.

With a kiss on Whitney’s cheek, Moira pulled back from him. She unclipped the leash from his collar, then mine, and patted my chest.

“I’d like to be alone for a while.” She glanced over us both. “Stay close, won’t you?”

Whitney nodded, and his blond hair swished against his cheeks. I should have done the same but couldn’t bring myself to offer assurance before Moira retreated into the dressing room. The door latched, the lock clicked, and I spun away. I made it exactly two steps before Whitney’s voice halted me.

“Where are you going?”

Home , my hound thought.

Indy was waiting.

Whitney’s green eyes narrowed while he waited for my answer.

There was nothing I could say to explain my departure. Moira told us to wait, and that should have been the end of it. For him, it was. But I had stronger pulls on my heart than my mistress’s commands or anything Hell had to offer.

With my hands poised to open a portal on the wall between the gilded sconces, I glanced back at Whitney and told him the truth.

“I’m going home.”