Page 50 of Hounded
A grin teased my lips. I didn’t mind the sound of that. And every weekend, no less. With my only memories being very recent ones, they were incredibly vibrant, filling the empty space in my brain with the way Loren’s hair felt in my hands and his smell of cedarwood and smoke, woodsy and warm.
As much as the idea of pressing my body against Loren and letting his long arms wrap me up enticed me, I had to wonder, “Did he like it?”
Chaz’s attention had begun to drift as his interest in me waned. He peered across the dance floor while he muttered a response, “I’d hope so. Some people pay money for what you do to that man.”
Tingling heat prickled my cheeks. I couldn’t fight the smile any longer and found myself practically beaming at Chaz while he scowled.
“But seriously,” he added, “your sidepiece may like that, but he definitely don’t like me. Keep him outta here,all right? Can’t run a business if I’m laid up in traction.”
Considering the pill Chaz had offered, I got the impression that was entirely the point. To his request, I offered a noncommittal shrug, and Chaz gave the hem of his jacket a tug.
“Take care of yourself, kid,” he said. “If you change your mind about going straight, gimme a call.”
Before I could protest that I didn’t have his number—or anyone’s—Chaz broke into motion, angling across the dance floor where he faded into the thin crowd of bodies.
18
Loren
I arrived in awide corridor. Runnered rugs marked the path forward and back, and the black walls were flecked with gold. Sconces provided dim light, but they were different than the ones near Moira’s private chambers, more elaborate. Everything here seemed ornate, a step above, from the embossed brass doorknobs to the stars sparkling in the ceiling overhead.
Moira and Whitney loitered nearby. The demoness draped one arm over Whitney’s shoulder and twirled her finger through his blond locks.
“It’s becoming habit, I fear,” Moira said as I walked toward them. “Waiting on you.”
She leaned side to side, peering around me as though searching for someone in tow. “And no soul to show for it.” She clucked her tongue. “Pity.”
I wanted to argue that it had only been a few days, but that was not an acceptable excuse to someone who had no grasp of how I actually spent my time. As far as Moira was concerned, I had nothing to do but sniff out wayward souls, and it was best she continued to believe that.
“No matter,” she said. “For now, other things require our focus. We’ve been summoned.”
Sometimes I forgot that, as adept as Moira was at jerking me and Whitney around, she was at the behest of a higher power. Nero rarely called on her, though. More often, she requested his attention, asserting herself and hoping he would notice. He did, but his response was rarely pleasant.
Still, she looked optimistic as she looped her arms through ours and advanced down the hall.
We walked for several minutes before finding the end. The last door on the left had a gilded knocker carved into the face of a horned beast with thick red liquid dribbling past the ring that hung from its open maw. Moira pulled free of us and paused before the entry, and a brief flash of uncertainty crossed her features. I remembered seeing her and Nero overseeing the combat ring days earlier, and how he’d run her out of the gala in tears before that. So much went on in Hell without my notice. Whitney was right, I would know more if I was here.
Drawing a breath, Moira fluffed her hair back from her shoulders, squared her stance, then took the ring and rapped it against the tap plate.
The door opened as though of its own accord, swinging slowly into a deep, green space.
I’d never been allowed in Nero’s chambers before, and I was immediately impressed by its haunting beauty. The floor was veined marble, shiny and slick. Ivy vines crawled up the walls and swagged from hanging chandeliers. A trio of tall, arched windows defined the back of the room and admitted light through glass panesstained in verdant shades.
We moved forward with Moira in the lead, and I caught myself watching the vines, waiting for one of them to shoot out and ensnare me.
In the center of it all, Nero stood with his arms barred across his broad chest. He peered down his long nose, his red eyes glowing dimly in the darkness.
Moira stalled a dozen feet away from the archdemon. Whitney and I stood behind her, and I mimicked his at-ease pose with my hands clasped behind my back and my feet set shoulder-width apart.
“Moira?” A question hung in Nero’s voice. “Must you drag those mongrels everywhere you go?”
The demoness tensed, and a vein throbbed in the side of her neck. “My boys are my pride and joy, sir. They are a testament to my work. A sample of the product I intend to deliver.”
When Nero turned his head, the metal tips on his horns glinted. “I allowed your frivolous gala, and I attended that mass brawl in the arena the other day. I fail to be impressed by your—” his lip curled— “product.”
I felt his eyes on me. He’d seen me throw the fight with Abigail, showing damning mercy. Kindness was not a quality valued by any demon.
Moira shuffled side to side, wearing shades of the apprehension I’d noticed in the hallway.
