Page 100 of Hounded

I turned toward the gallery once more, glimpsing paintings with splashes of color that made my brain spark alive. I’d messed around with the art supplies in the trailer, and the feeling of a brush in my hand was almost second nature. I didn’t have to think about it, my hand moved like muscle memory. But those pieces in the storage unit didn’t feel like mine, just like the décor and knickknacks in the Airstream seemed to belong to a stranger, someone I would like to know, but didn’t.

I sighed. “I thought if I knew more, if I remembered, I would feel better. But so far, it’s kinda worse.”

Sully hummed a soft sound. “Indy…”

I glanced at her. “Yeah?”

“Did Loren tell you I’m a witch?”

“Yeah.”

It was no more incredible than anything else he’d said. Once you crossed the line into the existence of supernatural beings, everything was fair game. But I still would have balked if she told me she was a vampire hungry for my blood.

Sully scooted back and opened the top middle drawer of her desk. She reached inside and fished out a small paper box, then set it on the desk top between us. It felt as ominous as a live grenade.

Her lips twisted. “If you could get your memories back—”

“Yes!” I surged between the chairs, making a mad grab for the box.

Sully snatched it away and held up her other hand in rebuke. “There are risks,” she said.

Bent over the desk, I remained poised to snatch it from her grasp. “I don’t care.”

Her brows dipped. “Loren cares.”

“He knows about this?”

She gave a slow, deliberate nod. “I asked him about it, yes.”

I braced for the answer before I voiced the question. “What did he say?”

“He said no.”

It was another fact left out. A secret kept. Anopportunity stolen. But I intended to take this one back.

“Fuck him.” I bit off the words, and Sully winced.

“Indy…”

“I want it.” I held out my hand.

She retreated, palming the box as though she could hide it from my piercing glare. “You don’t even know what ‘it’ is.”

“Something that’ll help me get my memories back.”

Her frown deepened. “Itmight,” she allowed. “It also might make things worse.”

My fingers wrapped around the edge of the desk top, barely enough of a tether to keep me from lunging forward and robbing her of the mysterious box.

“Things already are worse, Sully.” I leaned forward until the cold metal pressed into my thighs, then I met her gaze squarely. “If you can make them better, I want you to. Please.”

She clutched the box, riddled with indecision that tempted me to beg again until she relented at last.

“You should probably be sitting down for this.”

36

Loren

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