Page 40 of Hounded (Fire & Brimstone)

40

Loren

While languishing in Hell’s kennels, I had a lot of time to think.

From start to finish, I’d fumbled this whole thing. I’d been guided by fear, cornered by it, and held prisoner long before I was locked in a cage. I hadn’t even considered a plan to combat the demonic onslaught. I was too busy avoiding Indy and my hurt feelings to acknowledge the inevitability bearing down on us both.

I missed him. That night at the lookout replayed nonstop in my mind. I must have recited every line of our conversation a hundred times. Revelations that were decades delayed. Admissions that left me more conflicted than ever.

Indy didn’t kill himself. Not on purpose, anyway. Somehow, the drugs helped him remember us and, as much as I wanted to retain a white-knuckled grip on my resentment, I couldn’t blame him. He had lost, perhaps even more than I had, and it turned out he was no better at grieving than I was.

Days dragged on. The other hounds came and went from the training arena, but I was not welcome among them. No one so much as touched the door of my cage; no one spoke to me. It was simultaneously silent and terribly loud, and I spent endless hours curled up with my hands cupped over my ears, whimpering like the dog I was.

I had no way of knowing how much time passed. My limited view consisted of the fire on the opposite wall with its tongues of flame licking against the cobbled stone and Moira and Nero occasionally flitting through, engaged in conversations I strained to overhear.

The hounds were almost ready. The hunt would soon begin.

Whitney must have been on Earth because I didn’t see him. Recalling our near encounter that night in Brooklyn made me shudder. I never got the chance to warn Indy, not that he could do much about the threat on his life but bunker down in the Airstream and hope Sully’s wards would hold. I wasn’t sure what I could have done, either, but certainly more there than here where I was completely and utterly helpless.

Things came to a head when Nero and Moira were making their usual walkthrough but, rather than opening the cages and shooing the hounds toward the arena, they took positions where we could all see and hear them clearly. Moira wore a crimson ballgown with her lips and nails stained to match. Beside her, Nero was bedecked in a suit reminiscent of a military general’s uniform. Brass buttons gleamed up the front of his jacket, and tasseled epaulets crested his broad shoulders.

The demons shared a knowing look. Before either of them spoke, dread pumped like ice water through my veins.

Nero moved forward and spread his arms in a grandiose gesture.

“Noble beasts,” he began, “the legendary phoenix, a creature of immense power, roams the mortal realm. You have been prepared for the task of capturing it. Long have we all waited for this moment, but we believe you are ready to undertake the hunt.”

Moira smiled, and the tips of her sharp teeth glinted. She looked so proud, so pompous, while deliberately avoiding my eyes. It was like she knew how personal this was. Like it had nothing to do with Indy, or his sanctifying tears, or the weeks of preparation that had led to this moment. This was Hell, after all, a place rife with torment, and I felt keenly that this was torture made for me.

The hounds yipped and bayed, and the uptick in volume made it clear their muzzles had been removed. Mine remained tightly fastened, silencing me, smothering me. I whined and pulled at it, dragging my nails down my cheeks trying to loosen the material to no avail.

Nero’s voice boomed above the cries. “You, the fiercest of our kind, are entrusted with this sacred mission. Your senses are keen, your strength unparalleled, and your spirits unbreakable. Earth awaits your presence, trembling at the thought of your mighty paws upon its soil.”

With a series of clattering clicks, the kennel doors unlocked. Pushing forward, I found my cage latched tight, and I shoved my shoulder into it, rattling the metal as the hounds around me bolted out of their enclosures. Some rose to standing while others stayed on all fours. There were dozens of them. I wasn’t sure I’d ever taken count, but seeing them all emerging to fill the room was staggering.

Whitney and I were different from this lot in many ways. Foremost of which being that when we were sent to hunt, we went alone. The new hounds sectioned themselves into packs of four or five. I saw Abigail among them. When she glanced back at me, near-human sympathy shone in her eyes.

“Hunt with honor!” Nero bellowed. “Hunt with fury and bring back the phoenix. Show the world above the true might of the hellhounds. May the flames of your victory be seen from the highest heavens to the deepest abyss!”

The speech was rousing, and the hounds responded to his call, but I knew he hated them. Hated us. I’d witnessed his disgust at the gala; I’d worn his spit on my shoe. Clearly, he fancied himself a general but, in the ranks of Hell, we were foot soldiers. Cannon fodder. Highly disposable and easily replaced, but trained for this mission. A mission he didn’t bother to explain.

No words were shared about the phoenix’s tears, or purifying corrupted souls, or what was an undeniable power grab for the higher rungs of Hellish society. Dogs weren’t privy to that information. They were thrown a bone and told to fetch. And off they went.

I watched while the mass exodus began. A large male hound, possibly taller than me, led the charge through a gaping portal drawn on the wall.

Moira clapped delightedly while Nero stood aside, bobbing his horned head in wordless approval .

The demons waited until the last runt had scampered off to the mortal plane, then shared a congratulatory smile.

When the portal snapped shut, I lunged against the barred door of my kennel, creating a clattering sound my mistress couldn’t possibly ignore. She glanced back, and her red eyes drew down to slits. But she didn’t approach. Didn’t speak.

Nero took his leave without a word, and Moira trailed after him, abandoning me in the flame-lit room.

My hound wailed. He snarled and snapped his frothy jaws. I thought he might find a way to tear out of me, to rip open my chest and free himself to do what I couldn’t: bend the bars, break the lock, or peel off the muzzle so I could breathe .

I was too antsy to lie down, which left me braced on aching forearms or resting on bruised shins. With the other hounds gone, I was the loudest thing in the world. Each swish of my jeans or scrape of my fingers seemed to vibrate all the way into my teeth.

It felt like I’d been entombed. The walls were crowding, crushing, and the air was thin. I rolled onto my back and stared at the dented ceiling while gulping down waves of nausea.

I’d been here before, early in my afterlife. I knew escape was impossible, but I didn’t have Indy then. I had tolerated my own suffering, but I wouldn’t abide his.

I grabbed the door and shook it. I rammed my shoulder into it, then contorted my cramped body until I could brace against the back wall and kick. I struggled until I was sweaty and sobbing. Tears pasted my ratted hair to my cheeks, and my face and neck were bloodied from me dragging my blunted nails across them over and over again.

If I got out of here, I would go straight to Indy. I would move back in and stay beside him in this life and the next. I would throw my arms around him and bury my nose in his hair, breathe him in and assure myself that he was alive. He was mine, and I would fight all the fury of Hell to keep him.

Time passed—too much—before someone entered the room. Whitney strode in, stiff-backed and square-shouldered. His military saber was sheathed at his side, and his blond hair brushed his cheeks as he glanced around the space.

It was eerie to see him alone instead of dogging Moira’s heels or, more recently, Nero’s. For a flash of a moment, I hoped he was looking for me. Any acknowledgment after days of being ignored would be welcome, and I was relieved when his green eyes did, in fact, settle on me.

He huffed a breath and walked over to my kennel before turning to sit on the floor beside it. He leaned against the cage beside mine, stretched one leg out, then folded his arms atop the other.

“They’re gone, eh?” he mused.

Shifting forward, I strained to see his face in profile as he stared at the tray of fire spanning the opposite wall. He must have known I couldn’t answer through my muzzle, so he carried on without giving room for reply.

“I didn’t intend this, you know. None of it.”

He tipped his head aside, and I wondered if my eyes showed my anger. They must have, because Whitney frowned and faced forward once more.

“I gather the bird is precious to you, but I’m lost as to why.”

My hound whined. I couldn’t tell if his sorrow was over the judgment in Whitney’s tone or the thought of how long it had been since we’d seen Indy.

I told him I would come back. Days later, what was he thinking?

Before Sully’s memory charm, he’d been angry, perturbed about being kept in the dark for weeks. I’d been offered forgiveness in the form of a spot on the couch, but even that was forfeit now.

My hound cried again, more defeated than before, and I grabbed at the top edge of my muzzle. It was too tight to slide even one finger underneath. I sucked another stunted breath, and Whitney turned around before puffing out a sigh.

“May I?” He held out a hand.

I looked him over warily, then gave a permissive nod.

Rolling onto his knees, Whitney reached through the door’s bars and around to the nape of my neck.

As soon as the material was removed from my nose and mouth, I gasped at the air. I licked my lips and wiped my mouth on my shirt sleeve. The chapped skin was already beginning to heal, and I got a better idea of how long I’d been in captivity when I felt the scrub of stubble along my jaw .

Whitney tossed the muzzle aside, then sat back on his haunches. Wrinkles cut a channel between his pale brows.

“Well?” he prompted. “The phoenix. What is he to you?”

“He’s mine,” I croaked out.

Whitney’s nose scrunched as his frown deepened. “An unfortunate paramour, but I suppose we don’t choose who we love.” He seemed to ponder that for a moment, then he asked, “Is it a recent development? Some sort of torrid affair?”

I shook my head.

“How long?” he asked, and I answered reluctantly.

“Decades.”

“Goddamn.” He cast his gaze aside, visibly at war with himself. Seconds passed before his eyes found mine again. “What do you intend to do?” Rather than wait for me to answer, he shook his head. “Not much from in there.”

He stood, and the metallic ring of his saber being drawn from its sheath drove me backward in the kennel. I didn’t believe he would stab me, but I’d felt the burn of his blade enough times to fear it. When he thrust the weapon, it found its mark far from me. The tip of the sword lodged in the lock of the kennel door, and the cage swung open.

Whitney stepped aside as I scrambled out, crawling into the empty space where I could shove myself to standing. My neck and back ached from too long spent cramped and crowded, and my knees throbbed with deep bruises. They would heal, and the pain would subside. I had more pressing matters to attend to.

Fully upright, I looked at Whitney as he sheathed the saber.

“Thank you,” I told him.

“I did nothing.” He shook his head, and a smile curved his lips. “If you say I did, I’ll deny it, and we both know Miss will readily take my word over yours.”

My focus drifted to the bare spot on the wall that waited for me to draw a portal out of here, but I had to ask, “What about Nero? The hunt?”

Whitney flapped his hand. “Consider me withdrawn. Better the horned bastard thinks me a failure and casts me aside. I’m ready to come home.”

I would never understand his affection for our demon mistress, but I related wholly to the rest. I offered my agreement with a final, parting nod, then I left.