Page 9 of Hounded (Fire & Brimstone)

9

Loren

One downside to my ability to travel between planes was that every homecoming brought me directly to Moira’s side. As I emerged in Hell, the usual stinging, burning sensation nipped at my fingers and toes. I shook it off, then surveyed the space in which I’d been deposited.

It was a large, windowless room made of craggy cobblestone. A tray-like inset ran the length of one wall, pooled with a line of fire that provided the only light. Across from that, fifty barred iron cages were stacked floor to ceiling, side to side.

The kennels.

Memories of my time spent here were poignant despite decades of relative freedom. Time had become my enemy in this room; solitude and silence were the things I learned to fear most. I nearly lost my mind in the days and weeks spent thinking I would do anything to be able to stretch my legs or sit up straight. Anything. Even bow at the feet of the demoness who had ordered my confinement.

I was used to the cages being empty, so it unnerved me to see wide eyes and muzzled faces peering between the bars. Pitiful cries pierced the air, grumbles and whines that were a mix of human and canine. Howl for Hope had been a success. Every cage was occupied.

Moira stood in the center of the space, speaking enthusiastically with the demon from the gala, Karst. Whitney held his position at our mistress’s side, off leash for the moment. His head cocked toward me and seemed to direct the attention of the other two.

“Ah, Lorenzo!” Moira spun toward me. A gauzy black gown billowed around her legs as she walked forward.

She took my hands in hers and held them while smiling. “I wondered where you got off to, but then I saw Abernathy’s soul come in, and I thought, that’s my good boy.” Her voice held a sort of croon as she pressed into me. “Doing what he’s told. Making me proud.”

Whitney lurked behind her with his hands clasped behind his back in that rigid, military pose. If he’d told Moira the reason I’d given for my unbidden departure, she wasn’t letting on.

I nodded slowly, dodging her eyes. “Yes, Miss.”

She moved her grip to my elbows, then pushed me backward and looked me over. “My, you look dreadful. He didn’t make it easy on you, hmm?”

She swept my hair to the side, then dusted her hands down my hole-ridden, bloodstained sweater and jeans, replacing them as she went. A white linen shirt hung open halfway down my chest, barely obscuring the smear of black left by the bullet wound.

When pressed slacks took the place of my jeans, Moira unbuttoned them then let the zipper down, tucking my shirt in all the way around before giving the waistband a tug that rocked my hips into hers. A ripple of discomfort swept over me, and I turned my head aside to focus on a spot on the floor as her breath rushed hot across my neck.

“Oh, Lorenzo, you smell divine.” She inhaled deeply, then let it out in a moan. “The sweet aroma of humanity. Still fresh.”

A few feet away, Karst stared. I saw him in my peripheral since my gaze hadn’t moved from that nondescript stone mortared into the ground. My returns to Hell weren’t often so celebrated, if that’s what this was. I preferred to come and go without notice.

The way Moira kept pushing into me while humming soft notes, she must have been trying to impress Karst either by exercising her authority or demonstrating my subservience.

When her hand crept up to my throat, I tensed.

“I wonder if I can taste it on your lips.” Her fingers curled around the nape of my neck, and her clawed nails dug in. “Kiss me, pet. Show me how glad you are to see me.”

The miserable chorus that rose from the kennels served as a reminder of my tenuous liberty. I blinked, unable to disengage any longer, then dipped in to press my lips to hers.

Everyone, even the hounds packed tightly in the kennels, stared. I shifted, feeling conspicuous, as Moira stepped back and smiled.

“Good boy,” she praised.

Karst crept forward to scrutinize me. “Is he injured?”

The wounds from Abernathy’s pistol were hidden, but he’d clearly noticed them.

Moira scoffed. “Of course not. My hounds are bulletproof. Literally. I imagine you could take his head clean off, and it would grow back.” She considered me while pondering. “Though, I haven’t tested that.”

Part of me worried she might.

Spinning away, Moira took Karst by the hand and wheeled him toward the kennels. “But enough about my hounds, darling. Let’s talk about yours.”

Standing before the wall of cages, Moira and Karst peeked into one kennel, then the next, discussing the looks and merits of the hounds who whimpered in response.

Hellhounds had once been status symbols, high society house pets used to travel and send communication to and from the mortal plane. Interest in our kind had waned over time, and those demons who owned hounds now kept them confined in their private quarters, in cages much like these where they languished mindlessly. Endlessly. I shuddered at the thought.

Howl for Hope must have been an effort to reverse that trend. With no more than Whitney and me to lord over, Moira’s influence in Hell had become negligible, and I’d never known a demon who was satisfied with a bit part.

After a lengthy perusal, Karst stabbed a meaty finger at a cage in the middle row. In the shadowy recess, its occupant cowered, a petite young woman with ratted brown hair that blanketed her huddled form.

“That one,” Karst said.

Moira grinned, flashing the tips of her sharp teeth. “ Excellent choice. Shall we take her out for a walk?”

Karst nodded and stepped back, leaving Moira ample space to pluck a key from between her breasts and slide it into the lock on the kennel door.

No sooner had she opened it than did the girl burst free. She tumbled the few feet to the stone floor to land on her hands and knees in a tattered dress. She scrambled forward at a frenzied pace, trying to put distance between herself and the demons.

As she crawled across the floor, her sobs and whines were muffled by the muzzle strapped to her face. Karst laughed, a boisterous noise that, combined with the girl’s frantic cries, drove me to cringe away.

Ruckus rose from the locked kennels, the sounds neither human nor animal. They were somewhere in between, mortal souls mingling with the hellish beasts that inhabited them.

I shivered and tucked my chin into my chest before someone grabbed my legs. The young woman’s clawed fingers tore through the fabric of my slacks as she latched onto me. She stared up, her blue eyes swimming with tears and her wordless pleas somehow louder than everything else.

Before I could react, she flew backward, jerked by the chain leash Moira now held. The new hound landed on her back at Moira’s side, writhing on the cobbled floor.

“She has a bit of fight in her,” Moira mused, planting one spiked heel in the middle of the girl’s chest.

The caged hounds howled.

Karst approached. His dark eyes glittered, and his forked tongue snaked around his lips .

“She’s lovely.” The lust in his voice made my skin crawl. He glanced at Whitney and me, then asked Moira, “Do you find them lovely?”

She smiled. “Some humans are more aesthetically pleasing than others.”

When Karst nodded in response, Moira’s smile spread. “You can fuck her, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

The girl on the floor gasped against the tight leather of her muzzle, struggling and suffocating while the demons looked on.

I glanced at Whitney, wishing he would say something while knowing he couldn’t. Neither of us could. We were better trained than that.

Moira continued. “I’ve found the happiest hound owners are those who allow their pets to serve them in every capacity.”

Karst came forward to crouch beside the girl’s prone form. “Whaddya say, pretty? You wanna be my lapdog?”

The demons laughed again, a discordant sound.

Earlier, while lying on the street in Brooklyn in the wake of Abernathy’s fatal crash, I couldn’t breathe. I felt the same way now, standing in the room where I’d been unmade, watching the next unfortunate soul about to be subjected to Moira’s training regimen. After that, it seemed her new owner Karst had sordid plans for his pet.

Moira stepped off the downed girl and gave a rough jerk on the leash, tightening it around her throat. “Back in the box with you,” she snapped.

How many times had I heard those words?

The new hound wailed. She fought and lost the battle as Moira shoved her into the tiny kennel, then slammed the door. The chain leash disappeared, and Moira dusted her hands together.

She closed the gap to Karst, who stared at the girl now thrashing inside her cage.

“When can I have her?” he asked.

“I’ll need time to train her,” Moira replied. “A few weeks.”

Moira and Karst exchanged further pleasantries, but I didn’t hear them while my hound circled restlessly inside me. Whitney kept a wary eye trained on me while my breaths shortened into pants. The smells, sights, and sounds were all too close, too fresh in my mind despite the decades since I’d last been imprisoned here.

I couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t bear to linger any longer.

So, I left.