Page 6 of Hounded

I fought to keep my eyes from going wide, or worse narrow, as the demoness considered our shared image in the mirror.

“What do you think?” She brushed her fingers over my smothered lips. “Seen but not heard?”

After a few seconds, the muzzle fell away. I sucked a greedy breath, and Moira tittered a laugh. She tossed the muzzle onto the vanity table, where it landed with a clink of its metal buckles.

She stepped around in front of me to tug on my jacket lapels and smooth the grain of the brushed velvet. Every touch was jarring, despite having endured her dress-up games for more than a century.

My eyes slipped out of focus while she combed her claw-like nails through my hair, then dragged one down the bare expanse of my chest. She claimed we were on a deadline but took her time caressing and finessing every inch of me, smoothing down my sides and cinching in at my waist. When her palm cupped over my groin, I ground my teeth together but didn’t protest.

Finally, Moira withdrew, reaching to the vanity tableand the length of chain coiled there.

The leash unfurled into a string of steel links with a black leather handle. It couldn’t have been more than three feet long, creating a clear boundary for how far I would be allowed to stray from my responsibilities today.

“You’re such a good boy, Lorenzo,” she said with a smile. “So patient.” Leaning in, she clipped the chain to my collar, then gave it a taunting tug. “Shall we go?”

I followed her to the door, which she pushed open into the corridor. Across the hall, Whitney stood, holding up the wall beside a blue flame sconce. He wore a suit identical to mine, except his was piney green. The chain around his neck was gold, and his matching leash was looped around the sconce.

I spared a lingering glance on the other hellhound. Moira claimed she got me for him—a pet for her pet. I’d thought at first that he was meant for me, as well. He was undeniably handsome with tousled blond locks, strong shoulders, and a square jaw, but he was devoted to Moira and disinterested in me, so our mistress’s plan for us to be anything more than coworkers was doomed from the start.

The demoness pulled me into position on her left and freed Whitney to take his post on her right. She kissed his cheek, then ventured ahead toward an undetermined destination.

I cut my gaze over to Whitney, hoping he might explain. Hellish events could last hours or days, and I had little time to spare. But, while Moira might have felt the need to threatenmewith a muzzle, Whitney was a better-trained hound. He wouldn’t utter a word unless ourmistress commanded it. He didn’t even tear his eyes away from her, practically drooling over the way her hips swayed as she led us along.

I’d realized not long after my death that Hell was much like a hotel. Scores of rooms occupied expansive floors that defied the laws of physics. One door could open into a closet while the next allowed entry to a multistory theater. We had libraries and gardens and beauty parlors and torture chambers, all obscured by innocuous, identical doors.

The walk was long, bypassing a half dozen options for our destination until only one remained: the grand ballroom. That explained the vacancy in the halls; none of the higher demons would miss a chance to prance around at a formal event.

Rather than take the path to one of the side entrances, Moira directed us to a secluded stairway. It was too narrow for us to ascend in stride, so Whitney and I fell in line at her back. Our leashes jingled and jerked with every mounting step.

Our mistress said nothing as we arrived on a landing, where my curiosity piqued. With only a single sconce and a heavy black drape obscuring the doorway leading into the ballroom, darkness swallowed the space. The sounds of music and chattering voices came from the other side of the curtain. From the volume alone, the place must have been packed.

Moira spun around. Her heels clicked on the stone floor as she faced Whitney and me.

“My handsome boys,” she gushed. With a tug on our leashes, she pulled us down one at a time and placed a red-lipped kiss on each of our cheeks.

Whitney beamed at the attention while my features pulled tight.

“You’ll do me proud tonight,” Moira said. “I want everyone to see how wonderful you are.”

Not how vicious, or cruel, or even dangerous. Many of our public appearances took place in the fighting pit. Demons loved any excuse to carouse and twirl around the dance floor, but they craved violence immensely more. Hound fights were a bloody sport and always well-attended. There we didn’t wear suits, and Moira doled out commands instead of kisses.

Today was clearly different.

“Ready?” the demoness asked.

Whitney bobbed his head. I almost missed it, fixating on the strip of light beneath the curtain and pulling on the hem of my jacket’s sleeve until Moira snapped her fingers.

“Lorenzo!”

I met her eyes and found them blazing hot. My hound dragged belly-low inside me and pinned his ears in submission.

“Are you ready?” she repeated.

As if cued, someone boomed from the other side of the drape, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our Mistress of the Hounds.”

The curtain swept aside, admitting a flood of orange-yellow light. I stood, squinting, until Moira yanked on the leash and cinched my collar tight. I lurched into motion without being sure of what I was walking into as the scene ahead became slowly clear.

The ceilings soared upward into a dark abyss.Chandeliers made of bone and glass hung throughout the space, suspended from nothing. Flame dripped from them like balls of lava that wisped into smoke before they reached the ground.

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