Page 46 of Hounded
Indy stretched a tentative hand toward my cheek, catching a loose lock of hair and sweeping it over my shoulder. Reluctantly, but also so desperately willingly, I faced away from him once more. My eyes fell closed while he sectioned my hair and began weaving it into a braid.
I’d barely begun to settle when he spoke again.
“Do you believe in soulmates?”
I tried to glance back but couldn’t turn with him holding my head in place. “Why do you ask?”
“You seem like a deep guy,” Indy replied. “Thoughtful. I figured you’d have an opinion on it.”
Treasure, my hound trilled.
I bit my lip.
I knew how Indy felt about this, how he’d felt in the past, at least. He thought it was terribly romantic to have someone made especially for you, a missing piece that would make you whole. But the notion of a soulmate took choice out of the equation. If I had learned anything in my long life, it was that I wanted to be chosen. I valued freewill above nearly anything and didn’t like the idea of fate or fortune weighing in on matters of the heart.
That was why I waited—part of me was always waiting—for Indy to choose me. Not because he’d chosen me before. Not because I convinced him he should. Not even because he was my treasure.
I waited because I didn’t believe in soulmates but, before I decided how to tell Indy that, my cellphone hummed with an incoming call. It was probably Sully; I could get back to her later. I felt through the denim of my jeans and clicked the volume button down.
Indy dropped a braid down my back, then expelled a breath. He climbed off the couch, leaving me looking after him as he scooped a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the table and stuffed it in his mouth. He chewed while pacing the narrow space in front of the television.
I hadn’t answered his question, but it seemed he’dmoved on or become so engrossed in his own thoughts that he was no longer interested in mine.
After a few turns through the space, he stopped and faced me with his lips pursed.
“Listen,” he began. “I don’t know where I am half the time. I sure as hell don’t knowwhoI am. But you…” He stared at me intently, searching for I didn’t know what.
Finally, he shook his head. “I was pissed at you that first day because you didn’t show up, and I sat, and I waited, and I felt like the piece of shit I probably am.”
I started to protest, but he barreled on.
“I was ready to be mad at you. I stewed on it. But then you showed up, and it felt like…”
My phone buzzed again. I fumbled into my pocket this time, silencing the ringer with a hasty click.
Indy glanced at it, then continued. “It felt like I knew you, and that sounds dumb because all I really know is you’re Italian, you look damn fine in a suit, and you aren’t into women, and that’s not very much. I don’t even know your last name.” When he searched my face again, shades of my own turmoil reflected in his golden eyes.
“Moretti,” I offered. It was the barest concession, but Indy perked to it.
“Loren Moretti?” he asked.
“Lorenzo.”
He nodded, taking the information on board while emotions played across his features. He seemed to be thinking, like he was testing the bulbs in a broken strand of lights until one made the rest turn on. After a moment, he frowned, and I knew the lights were still dark.
“I guess I’m still just Indy,” he said.
My phone rang again. This time, I retrieved the cell and checked the ID on the screen. M.
I had ignored my mistress’s calls twice already, giving the demoness time and cause to work up a blistering rage. My brain churned through excuses as I stood and made my way around the couch, headed for the trailer door.
“Sorry,” I said to Indy’s perplexed expression. “I have to take this.”
Bursting out into the dusky afternoon, I answered the call moments before it rolled to voicemail. I was out of breath and frantic enough that a single word of greeting shot out of me like a bark.
“What?”
Silence came from the other end of the line, then Moira’s voice cut through coldly. “Excuse me?”
