Page 39 of Hounded
“They’re dangerous, you know,” he carried on, agonizingly calm. “Their fire burns hotter than Hell’s depths. Even we aren’t immune to it.”
What the demons didn’t know—and hopefully never would—was that those powers left Indy decades ago. Along with the memories he lost over lifetimes, his supernatural abilities were fading, as well.
Forty years ago, he had wings. Beautiful, golden things that he used to soar. The feather that hung from my rearview mirror was a final remnant of that part of him. His fire had snuffed out much the same way. Flames only came now at the end of his life, a sort of ceremonial blaze that consumed him.
My heart ticked like a stopwatch. Second by second.
“Miss says we’re dangerous, too,” I murmured.
“Aren’t we?” Whitney asked.
Blood misted the air a few dozen feet away, and a shrieking scream rang out after it. I grimaced.
“I don’t smell him anymore,” Whitney said after a pause. “Did you kill him?”
My look of horror served as a resounding denial.
“Still alive then.” Whitney shifted his weight from one leg to the other while pondering. “He would make a nice trophy for Miss. Something pretty she could put in a cage.”
My hound rumbled deep in my gut, a garbled sort of growl that I refused to give voice.
Imagining Indy imprisoned drummed up feelings of panic like I’d never known. He deserved to be free. I’d worked tirelessly to ensure it. It was the purpose I’d given myself—something that mattered more than kotowing to Moira’s whims. To have that taken from me, to see the only thing I’d loved for a century suffer… I couldn’t bear it.
I tugged my sleeve cuff down over my palm, worrying the fabric beneath my fingers.
“She has us for that,” I muttered.
Whitney’s laugh rattled me all the way into my teeth. “She’ll haveyoufor it if you don’t shape up. No more sudden disappearances, lengthy absences…” He fixed me with a narrow look. “Or half-assed combat.”
At least he’d moved on from Indy, enough that I could speak past the lump in my throat. “Thank you for your concern, but it’s not necessary.”
Whitney tilted his head toward me. “You say that…”
I turned away, ready to escape, but I had a stop to make first.
14
Loren
I crossed the arenato where Abigail stood, hugging her arms around her middle to hold the cut pieces of her dress together. As I approached, I tugged out of my sweater, exposing the thin white A-shirt underneath. My side throbbed through the motion, and I muscled back a grimace. Puncture wounds healed slowly, needing to knit together from the inside out. I’d be sore for a day or two, bruised, then scarred, but ultimately not much worse for wear.
When I reached Abigail, the hounds around her recoiled as though shrinking into their skins. She remained at the front of the group, wide-eyed and shivering.
I held out my sweater. Despite being blood-soaked and sporting a new hole, it was in better condition than her dress.
Abigail stared at the garment until I practically pushed it into her grasp. Reluctantly, she shouldered into it, finding it was so oversized for her petite frame that it hung to her knees. It reminded me of Indy bundling up in my clothes whenever he got cold, and I smiled.
Abigail’s expression relaxed, as well, but the hounds behind her remained wary.
“Are you okay?” she asked. Her gaze darted to my injured side.
I nodded. “Just a scratch.”
The pinch of her features indicated doubt, but she carried on despite it. “I don’t know how I got here… or why…”
I wanted to tell her it wasn’t her fault but, truthfully, I didn’t know. Souls landed in Hell for any number of reasons. She could have been an irredeemable sinner, but all I saw was Indy in her soft, guileless face.
“How long have you been here?” she asked.
