Page 39 of Hounded (Fire & Brimstone)

39

Loren

I grabbed a change of clothes from the truck—too many clothes, Moira would say—then stopped at the bathhouse to wash up.

After a quick soap and rinse, I dressed in jeans and a cowl neck sweater. It was warm and comforting, and I had a feeling I would need all the comfort I could get.

Placing my palms on the cinderblock shower wall caused the portal to open, and my heart flopped as I stared through the doorway. It was Moira’s dressing room, where I’d met her before the Howl for Hope gala. I didn’t see her, but she must have been there. That was how it worked. My soul was bound to her, and every return to Hell was a call to heel.

I tripped over my own feet stepping into the dark space. I was unsteady enough, wavering and looking around until I saw the demoness reposed on a chaise lounge. She held an old book of poetry by E.E. Cummings, I’d owned a copy some years ago, and used it to fan herself.

As the portal wisped shut behind me, Moira tossed the book to land splayed open on the ground. I stared at it for a moment before dragging my eyes up to meet hers.

“Lorenzo.” She said my name like it was a statement in and of itself. “What am I to do with you, pet?”

She stood, wearing a navy-blue gown with a plunging neckline that exposed her chest and most of her stomach. Her skin was the faintest shade of pink, as nearly human as she liked to pretend she was. The train of her dress trailed on the ground as she sauntered toward me.

As always, she crowded in, but she didn’t touch me this time. She stood near enough I could barely breathe without brushing against her breasts, but she didn’t raise a finger toward me.

Her head tilted, and her brows drew together in the slightest furrow. “I am benevolent, am I not?”

“Yes, Miss.”

Her gaze raked over me, casting scathing judgment. “I allow you your whims. Your freedom to come and go. I don’t keep you fettered or caged like the other dogs.” She hummed a discontented sound. “You’re quite a spoiled boy, aren’t you?”

A nod wouldn’t do. She wanted me to say it, so I forced the words out. “Yes, Miss.”

She stepped back. The dressing room was cramped with little walking space between the mirrored dressing table, clothing rack, and the couch, so she cut a tight circle while she spoke.

“Then why do I feel I must force you to keep my company? Have I done something to offend, or have you simply forgotten that your place is by my side?”

I had no excuses, nothing truthful or marginally acceptable to pardon my behavior, but I had to try.

“I’ve been searching,” I tugged on my collar, “for the phoenix, Miss.”

Her gaze sharpened, red eyes like gems in the shadow of her brow. “Failing at that, too, I see.”

I looked away. The bare bulbs around the wall-mounted mirror seemed too bright while doing little to dispel the darkness in the room. It felt close and tight, and my chest felt tight, too, like my ribs were a vise closing around my lungs.

“They have a saying about these things,” the demoness mused. “Dogs who can’t hunt or, in your case, do much of anything. I thought you would help train the new pups, but I’ll be damned before I give them this as an example.” She made a sweeping gesture toward me. “Do you know how they grovel, Lorenzo? Do you know how they beg to bed me? To attend my side? To earn half the privileges with which I have graced you? Yet you remain ungrateful.”

I knew this conversation; I had been the subject of this scorn. Last time, I’d argued, defended myself, and had been defeated. This time, I hung my head.

“Perhaps I should make you like them.” Her statement rang alarm bells in my brain. “I could make you crawl for me, pet. I think I might.”

When the chain leash appeared in her hand, I shied back. It was a desperate move, reactive, and Moira didn’t miss it.

“No,” she snarled through sharp teeth. “You are going to stay , Lorenzo. You’re going to stay until you don’t want to leave. Ever again. ”

She clipped the leash to my collar, and I choked even before it cinched down.

“Come.” She spun toward the door to the hall.

I stumbled as my body tensed to trembling. I wasn’t certain where we were going, but I had a nauseated feeling that I wouldn’t like it once we got there.

Moira jerked on the leash, relishing the chance to toy with me as I followed her from the room. We walked, and I should have paid attention to the path we took, but every sight was a blur.

I needed to go home. To Indy. To where I belonged. I told him I would be back and now… that seemed unlikely.

What would he think if I didn’t return? Ever?

Moira’s high heels click-clacked a foreboding beat. It felt like a gallows march, like this was the end. Not of life, I’d already met that, but of what made death tolerable.

I heard the racket of the kennels before they came into view. My hound’s ears pricked to the chorus of whimpering and muffled cries from beasts in cramped cages. He understood Moira’s intention and, when we rounded the corner into view of our destination, he drew me to a stop.

The choke chain noosed down, pinching my throat as my heart raced. The wall of barred doors was full of faces. Human visages masked by cruel leather muzzles, leaving only wide, panicked eyes looking out.

It was bad enough to see the place and all its squalid gloom, but my mistress had more in mind than showing me around. A cage was tucked in amidst the others, empty and waiting .

When the length of leash ran out, Moira halted. She turned on me and gave a single, strangling jerk.

“I said come ,” she growled.

I grabbed the leash near my collar in a bid to alleviate the mounting tension. Protest built in my chest, but I couldn’t speak. I held her smoldering glare and shook my head.

I chose the wrong moment to be brave. If I’d had courage before, I would have slept with her when she asked. I would have stomached the sight of Abigail’s misery. I would have come when I was called. Now, it was too late.

My fingers itched, wanting to summon my glaive or let my claws out. It wouldn’t work. Demons couldn’t die, and the contract on my soul prevented me from harming my mistress. If I raised a hand to her, she would be within her rights to destroy me. As much as I sometimes fantasized about a permanent end, it would take me away from Indy, and I would suffer eternally if it meant having one more chance to be with him.

“Lorenzo.” Moira’s voice was deeper and more menacing than I’d ever heard. The sound of it made me shake.

She stabbed her manicured finger toward the stacked cages, my hell within Hell. “Get in your box,” she said.

Sure enough, one of the doors swung open, revealing a small, dark space. I knew from experience that the metal walls were cold and unforgiving. They seemed to shrink over time until they crushed the body along with the soul.

I tried to shake my head again but only managed a weak wobble .

Home , my hound whined.

Home wasn’t here.

Clutching the leash and doing little to ease the strain on my neck, I dropped to my knees. Moira liked me that way: subservient and small. So, I knelt for her, then released the leash, giving her the submission she desired.

A smile broke through the scorn on the demoness’s face. “Ah, Lorenzo, are you going to cry for me? Plead with me?”

I hadn’t noticed the tears washing over my face until she mentioned them. Blinking scattered more from my lashes as she stooped to my level and caught my chin in her palm.

“Go ahead,” she said through a wicked grin. “Use your words, pet.”

It was hard, painfully so, to push through the wall of terror, to think past my feelings and express what felt indescribable. But I didn’t have to tell her how I felt, only what it took to stay her hand.

“I’ll do what you want.” I cursed the crack in my voice. “Whatever you want—”

“Simpler.” She trailed her finger over my lips. “Less is more.”

Gulping down a swell of sickness, I barely uttered, “Please.”

She leaned so near I felt her breath hot on my face as she commanded, “Say it again.”

“Please, Miss.”

“ Again .”

I grimaced, and my knees scraped against the stone floor as I battled the urge to pull away. “Please… ”

“Enough.” She shoved my face aside. “Get up.”

For the briefest moment, I thought I’d convinced her. She cared for me in some way, perhaps as best she knew how. And she did spare Whitney and me from harsher treatment. Perhaps she would spare me this, too.

I stood, barely supported by my wobbly knees, and waited for her next words. But my tenuous thread of hope snapped when she stabbed her finger toward the open kennel.

“Get in the cage, or I will strip the soul from your body,” she seethed. “I can find a more suitable host for my hound. Perhaps that old lover of yours. I’m sure he’s here somewhere.” She cast a glance around the room as though genuinely searching.

“J-Jonathan?” I stammered. “He’s—”

“Damned, of course.” She crossed her arms over her cleavage while holding the end of my leash.

My head shook of its own accord, as though I could shirk the overwhelming disbelief. “He can’t be.” My eyes watered again, leaking out the corners in hot streams. “I gave you… we agreed…”

Moira gave her hair a toss. “Your deal was for his life, not his afterlife. And, truly, he was a despicable man.”

I swayed on my feet, so lightheaded I feared I may pass out. I wouldn’t wish eternity in Hell on my worst enemy, and Jonathan wasn’t my enemy. I died for him; part of me still cared for him. I had to. Otherwise, the regret would destroy me.

“But you didn’t know that, did you?” Moira clucked her tongue. “Sweet, simple soul. That’s why I chose you, you know. You’re loyal. I thought if you could devote yourself to a philandering narcissist, then you could surely give yourself to me.” She sniffed a haughty breath. “Perhaps you would have if I had a cock.”

The statement struck me dumb. For a hundred years, I’d believed I had spared Jonathan a miserable fate. I thought I saved him by sacrificing myself, but he was damned despite it all.

Indy deserved a better protector. An effective one, to start. I was far better at fleeing than fighting, but I was loyal. Moira never got my devotion because Indy had it all. And, if I wanted to get back to him, I couldn’t run from this.

Breaths crowded in, and my hound whined so hard it made my ears ring, but I obeyed. I walked past Moira and approached the grid of packed cages.

The other hellhounds grunted and growled as they tracked my approach. The tray of fire on the wall cast an ominous orange glow.

“Lorenzo.”

Moira stopped me, and that spark of hope reignited, a flash of light in the abysmal dark.

I turned toward the demoness, who gave a beckoning wave. One step closed the gap to her, and she reached toward my face. When she touched my teary cheeks, a stifling strip of leather materialized beneath her fingers. The muzzle wrapped across my mouth and nose, then stitched itself shut at the nape of my neck. The immediate restriction of airflow made me want to gasp, to suck at the smothering fabric and fill my lungs before I knew they’d be starving.

I held in a sob as Moira smoothed her palms over my face. The chain leash clinked in her grasp.

“Good boy,” she said, and I whined an eerily canine sound.

Beside me, the kennel door yawned open. The walls inside were dented and rent from hellhound claws, slashing swipes and pounding fists desperate for escape. Moira reached down and unclipped the leash, and I took a single, suffocated breath before crawling into the metal box.

The door swung shut, then locked, and the world became a cacophony. Sounds echoed, the sides of the cage squeezed in, and I shifted on all fours, too cramped to sit upright in the restrictive space.

The other hounds yelped and howled, their racket deafening despite the muzzles combating their cries. Twisting and turning, I worked my body around to face the barred door. As much as I thought I’d resigned myself, my fate did not feel truly sealed until I watched the train of Moira’s gown slither out of sight.