Page 113 of Hounded
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 couldbreathe.
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 myshoulder 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.”
