Page 37 of Hounded (Fire & Brimstone)

37

Loren

In the truck, Indy jostled awake as I set him in the passenger seat and helped him with his seatbelt. For the first time in several minutes, he looked at me. More accurately, he stared at me. His yellow eyes flicked over my face as though absorbing every detail.

With the belt clicked into place, I moved to close the door, but Indy caught my retreating hand. I glanced up to meet his gaze.

“It worked.” He smiled. “I remember.”

It was too good to be true. Better than whatever I’d witnessed at the gallery. The smoke, and the crying, and then he hit me… Whatever he recalled, it hadn’t been entirely pleasant.

“Do you remember now?” I asked.

I wanted to ask about the overdose. He’d said he didn’t want to leave me; said he was sorry. It was the first apology this lifetime that might have actually meant something.

“Some.” He squinted. “More than before… but I think it’s going away again. ”

I used my free hand to tug at my collar, trying to relieve the sudden strangling feeling.

Indy tracked the gesture, then gave my fingers a squeeze. “It’s okay, baby. I’m okay.”

I wished I could believe him.

Sully had no right to do this. To risk so much for an unknown reward. That made twice she’d gone behind my back and betrayed me, thinking she knew my business better than I did.

“Don’t blame Sully,” Indy said, further evidence he was reading me clearly. “I wanted to try. I would do it again.”

I nodded, but only to assure him I heard. Not that I agreed. Pulling away, I closed the door and put my back to it for a short, shaky moment.

It took longer than it should have to walk around the truck and climb inside. I started the engine and turned on the AC, aiming the vents at my clammy face.

On the other end of the bench seat, Indy rolled onto his side and watched me with hooded eyes. He expelled a fluttering breath.

“Before we go home,” he began.

There they were again: “we” and “home” together.

“Can we stop at the lookout?” Indy asked. “I wanna watch the sunset.”

The lookout was a wide-shouldered spot on the highway far from the city, headed upstate. It perched on the side of a hill with a bit of elevation and only a guardrail between it the valley below. We used to find ourselves there on lazy afternoons, sometimes with a picnic or a few snacks Indy threw in a bag. It was remote, largely untraveled, and it offered ample airspace for long talks or cozy make-out sessions.

I nodded. “Sure, Doll.”

Indy held my hand the whole way there, and the drive was quiet. Questions filled my brain, but I didn’t know where to start, so I focused on the road and the feeling of Indy’s fingers winding idly between mine.

When we got to the lookout, I killed the engine then went around to open Indy’s door. He was lethargic and unsteady on his feet, causing him to lean heavily on me as we walked to the truck bed. I let down the tailgate, then grabbed his waist and lifted him up onto it. He smiled and hooked one leg around me, pulling me in between his thighs. I stood there, gently pinned, while he tucked loose locks of hair behind my ears then cupped my cheek in his hand.

“Hi, beautiful,” he murmured, and I felt my face warm against his palm.

I ducked away, and he laughed softly.

“Get up here.” He slid his legs apart, then patted the metal truck bed beside him.

My emotions went to war as I climbed up onto the tailgate. Indy scooted backward and motioned for me to follow toward the cab where we could sit in the corner beside the stacked plastic totes. I glanced at those, feeling ashamed and wondering if Indy noticed the clothes and personal effects stored inside. If he really did remember this life and the others before, then he knew I’d moved out. Knew I’d left him at Hopeful Horizons and told him I wasn’t sure if I still loved him. Of course, I still loved him. I was just… hurt .

I had barely gotten situated before Indy climbed into my lap. He put his back against my chest and nestled his head into the hollow of my shoulder. It should have felt right, but instead, it ached. Pain thrummed so deeply in me that I didn’t breathe as we faced the horizon.

Tension strung my body tight as we sat in quiet. The questions from earlier marched through my mind like an ominous parade. Leading the charge was the most pressing concern, the source of the blame and bitterness that had plagued me for months. I couldn’t ask, couldn’t get it out, but Indy answered anyway.

“It was an accident.” He shifted around to face me, and tears shone in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to leave you, Lore. I’d stay with you forever if I could.”

It was what he’d tried to say at the gallery. Information I wasn’t sure how to receive. Sully asked if the overdose could have been unintentional, but I’d been determined. So eager to lay the blame at Indy’s feet for a century of loss and grief. I couldn’t fault him for his cyclical nature, but I may have indulged myself in this.

If he left me on purpose, I could be angry. Indignant. And spiteful, and wicked, and terribly selfish, and all the things that made me feel more demonic than ever before.

Indy’s eyes flicked across my features and ended on my collar. He frowned at it, then dragged his delicate fingers along its steel links. It was a ginger touch, almost apologetic.

“You know I love you, right?” His brows knit together as he added, “Every time. All the time. I can’t help myself.”

Swallowing, I cupped my hand over his. “Why? ”

Indy frowned. “Why do I love you?”

I shook my head. “Why the accident? What did you do?”

I knew what he did. He choked down a handful of amphetamines then burned to death. But that wasn’t what I meant.

His lips pinched, holding back the explanation I asked for—the one I needed. I waited, impatient with the truth so near, while he worked his way through a halting response.

“I wanted to be with you… but you weren’t there.”

I’d gone for the day. A matter of hours. It wasn’t like I abandoned him. My skeptical squint prompted him to explain.

“I see you when I’m high,” he said. “I see us.”

I flinched back, embittered by the admission. He’d never told me such a thing despite ample opportunities. I’d demanded answers for years. Begged him to help me understand what he needed that only drugs could give him. What more could I do to keep him clean?

Indy’s fingertips grazed my temple, then traced up over my ear, giving affectionate touches that never failed to soothe me. “It’s beautiful, Lore. It’s life, and it’s love, and it’s everything I don’t wanna lose.” His voice was thick with the same emotions that had weighed me down for weeks.

“I like to visit there sometimes,” he continued, “but it gets harder and harder to leave.”

His honesty was an affront to what I’d believed for decades. I was right about one thing: he had kept things from me. But not his sadness. He concealed his secret escape. His attempts to resurrect the forgotten past.

“You killed yourself,” I reminded him, as if we didn’t both know.

The statement held enough judgment to give him pause. “I’m sorry, baby. I know you were scared—”

“You don’t know,” I argued. “You weren’t there.”

“I’m here now,” he said. “ Really here. And it’s all here, too.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “All of us.”

His hands slid down to clasp mine, then he tugged my arms around him. He settled in with his head under my chin and his legs tangled in mine.

I wasn’t ready to forgive him, but I didn’t want to waste this time. After a century together, we had the opportunity to reminisce like old couples ought to, and that seemed so desperately fragile.

With my view cleared, I gazed across the valley before us. The setting sun illuminated the scene, making everything look as warm as I felt with Indy curled against me. We’d been here many times, done exactly this, and I wondered if he came here more for himself or me. I cherished familiar things, moments that blurred the line between this life and a dozen others. It made the world feel smaller and time not quite so fleeting.

“Is it going away?” I asked.

Indy hummed a soft sound. “Yeah.”

After a few minutes, Indy craned his neck to meet me eye to eye. He reached up to coil a strand of my hair around his finger, and a smile curved his lips. “You’ve had the same hairstyle for a hundred years.”

I huffed a laugh.

Indy kept twirling that lock of hair while studying me like he was seeing me for the first time. In many ways, I supposed he was.

“You told me about me,” he said. “At the laundromat. And a whole bunch of times before that.” His grin turned wily. “Now, I can tell you about you.”

I wasn’t sure how I expected this to go. A large part of me didn’t believe it. Thinking that he knew me as completely as I knew him, more fully than anyone else ever had or would, was daunting. It meant he recalled all my mistakes, my failures, and my bumbling attempts to usher him back into the world. Those ranged from better to worse.

“You don’t like change,” Indy began. “Or loud sounds, or new things, or PDA.” That made him snicker, and I rolled my eyes. His impish look softened into one that was nothing short of adoration. “And you are so very, very shy.”

His tender expression brought the flush back to my face, and I turned to scrub my cheek on my shoulder.

“Sully called you rigid,” he added. “That’s true, too.”

The mention of the witch stirred feelings of fresh betrayal. I bristled, but no sooner were my hackles up than did Indy offer a final reassurance.

“But you keep me safe, Lore.” He smiled. “You take care of me.”

For all the things Indy knew—for however long he knew them—the trouble in Hell remained a secret. I should have told him, warned him, that he was wanted. There were more vicious beasts than me currently straining on their leashes, anxious to scour the world until they cornered him .

I tried to keep him safe. I’d managed for a long time now, but previous threats paled in comparison to this. This was an onslaught, set to be a massacre, and it terrified me.

Indy expelled a deflating breath. He had moved from playing with my hair to dragging the backs of his fingers along my jaw. The repetitive motion mollified me so I almost didn’t hear him say, “I’m sorry.”

I cocked a brow. “For what?”

His smile turned wistful, and his gaze cut away. “For being everything you don’t like. I make you sad.”

“I’m not sad.”

The sun was lower now. Its descent felt final, time slipping away along with Indy’s memories.

He shook his head. “You can’t lie to me. I remember. I know what it looks like.” He reached up to cup my cheek and turn my face toward his. “It looks like this.”

“Indy, that’s not…” I grabbed his hand. “You’re everything I love—”

“I love you, too, Loren.”

The words stole my breath. I’d heard them before, thousands of times, but this time they felt complete. Despite what I’d believed in my human life, despite who and what I’d died for, I knew beyond a doubt that Indy was the only man who had ever truly loved me. He professed it proudly and often, even in times when it was shameful to be how we were. What we were. He never hid any part of himself or any of his care for me.

He swiveled to face me, then brought both of my hands to rest in his lap. “And I miss you. I want you to come home. No more of this.” He indicated the plastic totes I had hoped he would overlook.

My head began a slow shake. “You don’t know me, Indy. You may now, but tomorrow…”

Or even sooner. Who knew how long this strange reverie would last?

“My heart knows you,” he replied. “My soul does, too.” He wove his fingers between mine and his glittery nail polish sparkled in the waning light. “I think we’re soulmates,” he said as he looked up once more. “Don’t you think so, baby?”

He’d asked me that, in this lifetime even, and I’d given him no answer. Now, the strangling feeling returned, an invisible noose around my neck that held me silent.

“I love you,” he repeated, and then he kissed me.

I whimpered against his lips, unable to deny how badly I needed this. He pressed into me, and I enveloped him in my arms, wishing I could contain the parts of him that were slipping away. It seemed I was always grasping, clinging on to Indy because he was everything I loved. More simply, he was everything.

The kiss deepened. Our mouths crushed together until I was certain my lips would bruise, but I couldn’t get enough. I raked my hands through his curls then down his back, quickening his breaths until he was panting. When he rolled his hips against me, and I felt the hardness in his pants, I almost came undone.

“Indy, I…” My voice was thick, choked. “I need you.”

Indy trailed his hand down my neck, and I chased his touch with a moan, with want.

He leaned close, brushing his lips against mine as he whispered, “Then have me.”