Page 97 of Hounded
“Drugs?”
Another nod.
Blowing out a long breath, Indy walked around the rack and lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the open floor in front of me. His hands clasped in his lap, and he twiddled his thumbs while staring at them.
Any other time, he would have crawled in my lap and been cradled there. My arms felt empty without him in them. But I didn’t welcome him, allowing the unseen wall between us to hold him at bay.
“You could’ve told me,” I said.
Indy straightened from the beginning of a slouch. “Told you what?”
“Anything.” I bounced my shoulders. “Everything. I like it when you talk to me, Indy.”
In Hell, I was often dismissed and ignored. Moira preferred me silent—more of a prop than a person—but Indy engaged with me. He welcomed me into his sunny world, and when he left, his light went out, and everything became so very dark.
Emotions were thick in my throat, and I swallowed them down to the pit of my gut where bad feelings stewed and simmered. They formed a tarry pit in my middle, a swiftly sucking mire that threatened to devour me.
“Okay. I’ll talk, then.” Indy’s eyes flicked up to meet mine. “I’m a phoenix. A bird. And you’re…” He tipped his head in that avian way. “You’re a dog. So, some cross-species shit going on here? Is it bestiality or…?”
Slumping back, I let my skull knock against thecorrugated metal wall. The sound echoed as I grumbled, “Jesus, Indy.”
“Okay, okay.” I heard the smile in his voice. “And we’re boyfriends. Or we were. Before I died.”
And demons were raising an army of hellhounds to hunt him down. His life was in danger, and I wasn’t sure I could save it. Iwassure I couldn’t bear to lose him again. And I knew I would, regardless.
When I looked at Indy again, he was waiting with a question. “Are we boyfriends now?”
I studied him, analyzing the details I’d committed to memory long ago: his freckled cheeks tinted with blush, his cupid’s bow lips halfway to a pout, and his curls going every which way like mischief bursting out of his brain.
I rubbed up my face and over my closed eyes while silence swelled between us. I’d explained this, endured it, a dozen times, yet it never got easier. I needed a moment to compose myself and piece together a response that wouldn’t leave us both in shambles.
“You don’t get to do that.”
Indy’s statement prompted me to peel my fingers away from my face. He was puffed up, full of hot air and ire, and his rosy cheeks were splotched red.
“Do what?” I asked.
He pushed to standing, then loomed over me with his fists balled. “Toy with me,” he replied. “Jerk me around. Change your mind and say you shouldn’t have said things that…” He drew halting breaths while his features contorted in a near-snarl. “Theymeantsomething to me, Loren!”
I flinched.
“Those pictures you deleted? They meant something to me, too!” Indy stabbed his finger at my chest. “You stole my life. You ruined my chances of recovering whatever I lost, and you left me in that fucking rehab center alone. For months. When I got out, all I had was a note and your name.”
The force of his wrath pinned me to the wall. I shrunk back, wanting to run, but I managed to stay put while Indy carried on, growing louder and more hostile with every word.
“I forgave you for putting me there,” he said, “and for missing pickup, and for showing up late like you had better things to do. I apologized without knowing what for. And now, I’m not sure you’re worth it because you are everything I have in this life, but you’re giving me nothing. Less than nothing because you took everything else.”
Anger rolled off him, blistering hot. I remembered what Moira said about phoenix fire being the only thing that could burn a demon, but Indy’s fire went out long ago. This was not supernatural rage, but it singed me all the same.
I needed to say something, but all I could think was how broken he looked while he hugged one arm to his side and blinked tears off his long lashes.
In all my indecision and my insistence on having a choice in matters for once, I’d never considered that Indy had a choice, too. I’d certainly not thought about him being done with me. The idea of him pulling away and leaving me for good stirred me to sickness.
Who would protect him, then?
That was all I’d tried to do. The only thing I wanted was to keep him safe and, every time he died, I felt like a failure.
I felt that way now. For mismanaging things. For indulging my hurt feelings and maybe, just maybe, turning a blind eye to his suffering because I wanted someone else to be as miserable as I was.
