Page 129 of Hounded
“Now,” I replied.
“Tonight?”
“Now.”
Indy sprung off the couch and stomped his foot. “No!” he shouted. “You can’t ditch me here! Where even are we?”
My hound whined, and I grimaced. He should haveunderstood. Protection was his job, like Sully said, and it was his instinct to lure the predators away from what needed protecting.
I stayed seated, looking up at Indy while he grew increasingly agitated.
“Pennsylvania,” I replied quietly. “I’ll be back—”
“The last time you said that, you were gone for ten fucking days.” Indy shook his head, whipping his curls around his face. “You’re not leaving me inPennsylvania, Loren. I’m coming with you.”
He was quaking all over, shaking so hard I thought he might break apart. I stood and tiptoed through the clutter on the floor to draw close to him.
Taking hold of his shoulders, I ducked into his line of sight to speak in earnest. “Indy. Doll. They’re following me. I can’t stay here.”
His arms crossed over the wadded blanket, and his bottom lip quivered. I remembered the raw power he’d displayed at the automotive store, every bit the immortal, formidable being I knew him to be. Now, a few hours later, he seemed entirely the opposite.
“They almost killed you.” He blinked his watery eyes. “And I killed them because they… they were ripping you apart.” His knuckles went white where they clenched around the fleece.
I traded my grip on his shoulders to cup his face instead. I tipped it toward mine and brushed my thumbs over his freckled cheeks.
“Look at me, Doll,” I said.
He reluctantly obeyed.
“I’m fine,” I assured him. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’m supposed to take care of you,” he protested, and my hound whimpered again.
He looked fragile, ready to fall apart, so I held him. I wrapped him in my arms and pulled him to my chest, then laid my head on top of his.
“You already did,” I said. “Now, I’m taking care of you.”
Releasing the blanket, Indy clung to me instead. I nuzzled into his curls, missing the honey-sweet smell masked by Sully’s ward, but loving the feel of him all the same. It was a sensation imprinted on my memory after a century spent together. His body fit against mine. He made me whole.
I wanted to be confident that I would be back. That the hounds wouldn’t catch me. That this would work. But life had taught me more about failure than success, and I wasn’t confident enough to offer any further assurance before Indy spoke again.
“I’m sorry about the drugs.” His face pressed against my chest, softening his voice as he continued. “I just… They make me feel things. And I think I need them to be… me.”
“I know,” I replied.
He rattled on without a pause for breath. “There’s so much missing, and it’s like this hole I’ve gotta fill, and I…” He pushed back and blinked, belatedly registering my words. “You know?”
I nodded.
His features relaxed, then he sagged against me with a heavy breath. “But you’re still mad.”
“I’m not mad.”
Not mad. Hurt. Afraid. And out of time.
Catching Indy’s chin with one crooked finger, I drew him in for a kiss. He pushed onto his tiptoes, savoring the moment that ended too soon. I straightened and brushed his hair back, then placed one more kiss on the tip of his nose. That never failed to make him smile.
I turned and picked my way across the room to the DVD cabinet. Its contents were shuffled and scattered, worse for wear after our time on the road, but I found what I was looking for: a young Molly Ringwald posed on the cover ofPretty in Pink.
