Page 23 of Hounded

“Oh, Lorenzo, you smell divine.” She inhaled deeply, then let it out in a moan. “The sweet aroma of humanity. Still fresh.”

A few feet away, Karst stared. I saw him in my peripheral since my gaze hadn’t moved from that nondescript stone mortared into the ground. My returns to Hell weren’t often so celebrated, if that’s what this was. I preferred to come and go without notice.

The way Moira kept pushing into me while humming soft notes, she must have been trying to impress Karst either by exercising her authority or demonstrating my subservience.

When her hand crept up to my throat, I tensed.

“I wonder if I can taste it on your lips.” Her fingers curled around the nape of my neck, and her clawed nails dug in. “Kiss me, pet. Show me how glad you are to see me.”

The miserable chorus that rose from the kennels served as a reminder of my tenuous liberty. I blinked, unable to disengage any longer, then dipped in to press my lips to hers.

Everyone, even the hounds packed tightly in the kennels, stared. I shifted, feeling conspicuous, as Moira stepped back and smiled.

“Good boy,” she praised.

Karst crept forward to scrutinize me. “Is he injured?”

The wounds from Abernathy’s pistol were hidden, buthe’d clearly noticed them.

Moira scoffed. “Of course not. My hounds are bulletproof. Literally. I imagine you could take his head clean off, and it would grow back.” She considered me while pondering. “Though, I haven’t tested that.”

Part of me worried she might.

Spinning away, Moira took Karst by the hand and wheeled him toward the kennels. “But enough aboutmyhounds, darling. Let’s talk about yours.”

Standing before the wall of cages, Moira and Karst peeked into one kennel, then the next, discussing the looks and merits of the hounds who whimpered in response.

Hellhounds had once been status symbols, high society house pets used to travel and send communication to and from the mortal plane. Interest in our kind had waned over time, and those demons who owned hounds now kept them confined in their private quarters, in cages much like these where they languished mindlessly. Endlessly. I shuddered at the thought.

Howl for Hope must have been an effort to reverse that trend. With no more than Whitney and me to lord over, Moira’s influence in Hell had become negligible, and I’d never known a demon who was satisfied with a bit part.

After a lengthy perusal, Karst stabbed a meaty finger at a cage in the middle row. In the shadowy recess, its occupant cowered, a petite young woman with ratted brown hair that blanketed her huddled form.

“That one,” Karst said.

Moira grinned, flashing the tips of her sharp teeth. “Excellent choice. Shall we take her out for a walk?”

Karst nodded and stepped back, leaving Moira ample space to pluck a key from between her breasts and slide it into the lock on the kennel door.

No sooner had she opened it than did the girl burst free. She tumbled the few feet to the stone floor to land on her hands and knees in a tattered dress. She scrambled forward at a frenzied pace, trying to put distance between herself and the demons.

As she crawled across the floor, her sobs and whines were muffled by the muzzle strapped to her face. Karst laughed, a boisterous noise that, combined with the girl’s frantic cries, drove me to cringe away.

Ruckus rose from the locked kennels, the sounds neither human nor animal. They were somewhere in between, mortal souls mingling with the hellish beasts that inhabited them.

I shivered and tucked my chin into my chest before someone grabbed my legs. The young woman’s clawed fingers tore through the fabric of my slacks as she latched onto me. She stared up, her blue eyes swimming with tears and her wordless pleas somehow louder than everything else.

Before I could react, she flew backward, jerked by the chain leash Moira now held. The new hound landed on her back at Moira’s side, writhing on the cobbled floor.

“She has a bit of fight in her,” Moira mused, planting one spiked heel in the middle of the girl’s chest.

The caged hounds howled.

Karst approached. His dark eyes glittered, and his forked tongue snaked around his lips.

“She’s lovely.” The lust in his voice made my skin crawl. He glanced at Whitney and me, then asked Moira, “Do you findthemlovely?”

She smiled. “Some humans are more aesthetically pleasing than others.”

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