Page 32 of Hounded (Fire & Brimstone)

32

Loren

Joss Foster was a dead man the moment I got in the cab. The car ride spent searching for solitude, the conversation that became more about me than I intended, and the way I forced him out of the vehicle with my glaive aimed at his throat, then had him kneel in the dark corner of the airfield before I removed his head… all of it was inevitable.

His body wisped away, and his soul was sucked into the depths of Hell. I needed to follow him. With no assignments outstanding, Moira would be expecting me and, without Whitney to distract her, I would be missed sooner rather than later.

I preferred to draw my portals on walls, making my entries into the underworld as painless as walking through a door, but I could make them anywhere. The car door worked as well as anything. I dragged my finger along the curve of the window frame, then down each side until the opening was large enough to squeeze through.

When I emerged into Moira’s bedroom, my chest tightened. Tension worked its way up my neck, restricting my breath as I peered around. The demoness’s quarters were sprawling. Not as large as Nero’s boundless domain, but this single room could house the Airstream four times over. It boasted a pair of fainting couches, a grand piano I was occasionally called upon to play, a dining table set for twelve despite there being no kitchen in sight and, of course, the bed.

I found my mistress there, swathed in red satin sheets and cast in candlelight. It was as if she’d known I was coming and made ready for me. As prepared as she may have been, I was far from it.

“Lorenzo,” she cooed and sat up. When the sheets fell away from her bare breasts, my gaze dropped to the floor.

Fabric swished as Moira worked her way to standing, then padded over to me. She came close, pushing her nude body against me and crowding into my line of sight.

“Such a good boy coming home so quickly.” She smiled. Her lips were deep burgundy and damp, making her look like a freshly fed vampire. Hooking a finger around the links of my collar, she pulled me toward her.

I fought the urge to buck as my face was drawn mere inches from hers. “Joss Foster is dead,” I blurted. “Do I have another assignment?”

Moira paused, so close I felt her breath on my skin. “Lorenzo, darling, you know how I feel about idle chatter.” She tittered a laugh. “Especially when there are so many better things you could be doing with your mouth.”

She kept pulling, dragging me down past her exposed breasts until I was on my knees before her, my eyes level with her navel. I had the feeling she wanted me lower than that.

“The phoenix,” I said.

I couldn’t look down with her grip tight on the chain cinching around my throat. So, I stared at her visage instead, seeing the nurse from the sanatorium and feeling as vulnerable now as I had the day she bargained for my soul.

“Whitney’s hunting it,” I said. “Shouldn’t I join him?”

Moira’s features contorted into a scowl. “Pfft.” She flapped her free hand. “You’ll begin with the rest of them. The advantage of an early start is Nero’s, not mine. Besides, what need do I have for a fancy bird?”

It was risky to carry on when she could silence me so easily, but I couldn’t miss the chance to get answers to the questions that had plagued me for weeks.

“What need does anyone have?” I asked. “Immortality? A given. Healing? You’ve no need. What else is there?”

She frowned, angling my chin sharply up while she tucked the hair behind my ear. Air was getting thin, and pressure built in my head while I held her gaze.

“There is more to it,” Moira said slowly. “More than I knew when Whitney proposed the hunt. The phoenix is a heavenly creature, and Nero believes—though I doubt this—that the bird’s tears have purifying powers. Not only for bodies, diseases and such, but for souls. Even the most corrupt.” Her sadistic smirk sent a chill down my spine.

“What does that mean?” I asked, my voice a wheeze.

“For us?” the demoness mused. “Sanctification. Ascension… We could return to Heaven.”

Moira released my collar. I drew a lung-swelling breath but stayed on my knees with my hands behind my back as though they were bound there.

I remembered Nero giving Whitney the order to kneel and how deeply it had unsettled me to see my fellow hellhound bow to a new master. Did I appear equally compliant now? Thoroughly cowed by a higher—or lower—power?

I swallowed, then grimaced at the bruised feeling in my throat. “Do you want that?” I asked. “To ascend?”

“No.” Moira scoffed. “Neither does Nero. He intends to use it as a weapon against those who stand in his way. We are immortal, as you said. Invulnerable, but not immovable.”

I’d never known a demon to be satisfied with his or her station. They were always reaching toward the next rung of the hellish ladder. Satisfaction wasn’t in their nature. It never occurred to me that the hierarchy they all vied for was limited. Without death or retirement as options of removal, how could anything ever change?

The threat to Indy was clear now. The thought of scores of demons, or one singularly cruel demon, wringing tears out of my phoenix by torturing him, making him cry endlessly, stole my breath.

Moira’s pat on my cheek stirred me to awareness. “You have odd taste in pillow talk, Lorenzo.” She laughed again. “But, now that I’ve indulged you, I think I shall indulge myself.”

Her thighs pressed against my chest and spurred a retreat. I toppled back until the demoness stood over me, smiling wickedly down. Her face was as pale as a ghost’s between the straight spills of her ebony locks .

“Where were you tonight, darling?” She scanned the vest and slacks I’d worn to the art exhibition. “Is it too much to hope you dressed up for me?”

Moira slid her foot between my legs, then moved it upward until it nestled into my crotch. I froze, rigid and beginning to shake.

The demoness laughed. “It is nice, but why so many layers? Haven’t you learned by now, precious? Less is more.”

Her gaze raked over me again, and my clothes began to change. The button-down dissolved into a wisp of smoke, leaving only the vest hanging open over my bare chest. When her attention moved to my waist, and my belt buckle jingled loose, I squeezed my eyes shut.

I’d run out of stall tactics, and excuses never served me well. Moira expected us to meet all her needs and, since “us” had been reduced to me, there was no avoiding her.

She knelt, spreading her legs to rest her nude body atop mine. Her hands roamed over my exposed torso, every touch prickling, painful. It hurt mentally more than physically, and my mind screamed protest that escaped in a weak whine.

“Please don’t,” I said, then sucked a sharp breath as though I could take it back.

I peeked out at Moira perched overhead. Her clawed nails dug into my shoulders and pinned me to the ground. “Excuse me?” she asked.

It wasn’t a question. It was an invitation to try again, to remember what I’d been taught and reconsider her comments about my behavior lately. She wanted to retrain me with the other pups, pick out the parts of me she didn’t like and grind them beneath her heel, make me less than I already was.

Less autonomous. Less resistant. Less human.

I opened my mouth but couldn’t say what I needed to. Neither could I force my body to respond to her touch as she reached toward my groin. Her fingers cupped around my cock, soft and limp inside my slacks.

Her teeth flashed in a predatory smile. “Actually, say that again. I love it when you beg.”

A knock at the door was my saving grace.

Moira let out an agitated growl as she stood. A long dressing gown materialized, dropping from her shoulders to the floor. She stepped over where I remained prone and made rapid progress to respond to the intrusion, grumbling all the way.

I didn’t know who to expect on the other side of the door, and I didn’t care beyond wishing I could thank them for their intervention. The demoness had her back to me as I rose and crept toward the wall through which I’d arrived.

I knew better.

That thought resonated with every beat of my heart. I was digging myself a second grave, committing sins that were unforgivable even in Hell. I would be punished for running away, for refusing my responsibilities, but I couldn’t lie there and let my mistress take what little I had left to give.

Across the room, Moira opened the door to the unexpected guest. I hoped she didn’t see as I swiped my finger hastily across the brocade wallpaper, cutting a gap I slipped through without a backward glance.