Page 7 of Hounded

Demons in all their finery cluttered the floor. The music had stopped and that, combined with the announcement, brought a halt to everything else. Horned heads turned and gazes fixed on Moira, Whitney, and me where we stood at the top of the staircase. Eyes in every color from lustful red to greedy green were trained on the three of us. Even the silence felt loud, and I fiddled with my coat sleeve again, dragging my nails over the flocked burgundy fabric until I thought I might scrape it smooth.

A male demon scampered up the steps toward us, holding a microphone for Moira to speak into.

Her smile spread, flashing fanglike teeth as she launched into a greeting. “Ladies and gentlemen, demons and denizens of the underworld, I thank you all for coming to our first, and hopefully annual, Howl for Hope Charity Gala.”

The declaration made me frown, and I looked to Whitney for answers. He surveyed the crowd with his hands behind his back and his posture rigid. I followed his example and tried to keep the bewilderment off my face as Moira carried on.

“Tonight, we gather not only to revel in the flames of hellish delight, but also to ask you to extend your claws of compassion toward a noble cause,” she said. “We seek your donations of unneeded or unwanted souls to fill the hound kennels for the first time in a century!”

My stomach lurched. The kennels were comprised ofdozens of stacked steel boxes in a dank corner of Hell. I spent the first twenty years of my afterlife confined to that claustrophobic space, caged and muzzled, deafened by the whimpers and cries of other trapped souls. Falling into Moira’s favor bought me a pass out of there, and her bed was now mine. At least, it was on those infrequent occasions I couldn’t find a way to avoid it.

On the floor below, the crowd continued to stare. Their targeted focus caused sweat to prickle up my neck and bead on my temples. I swallowed, feeling hot and itchy despite my open suit jacket letting in plenty of air. The demons’ eyes were like lanterns beaming toward me, and their murmurs became a mounting cacophony in my ears.

Moira grew more boisterous as her speech neared its end. “With each given soul, we pave the path to a brighter future for our beloved hellhounds.” Reaching back, she cupped her palm to Whitney’s cheek and fixed him with a loving look. “These creatures of unwavering loyalty deserve our support.” She faced the assembly, and our leashes jingled as she flung her arms wide. “So, tonight, let us answer their call with resounding howls of solidarity!”

A chorus of wolven cries answered her, complete with yips and whistles. The whole thing might have been comedic if it wasn’t so unnerving. Indy would have been cackling for sure, pointing out that it was like the reverse of the yearly Clear the Shelter event run by our local dog rescue. Rather than emptying the kennels of unfortunate souls, Moira planned to pack them in. I could have used a joke or snickering laugh, even at my own expense, but Whitney provided neither while Moira descended thegrand staircase with us in tow.

On the lower level, we were swarmed by horned and fanged fiends. I felt immediately crushed as they greeted our mistress with congratulations and handshakes. Her lips curved a wicked, winsome smile, and her vermilion eyes glittered as she addressed each new arrival.

When one of the demon gentlemen placed a kiss on Moira’s knuckles, a flash of anger pinched Whitney’s blond brows, but it smoothed away as our mistress turned toward us.

“Boys,” she began while tugging us toward one of the tables that lined the perimeter of the room. Finding a pair of unoccupied chairs, she positioned us beside them, then looped my leash around the metal seatback.

A pat on the cushioned seat accompanied her command. “Sit.”

My hound snapped to attention, and I dropped as swiftly as if I’d been kicked in the knees.

She repeated the process with Whitney before issuing another terse statement. “Stay. I’ll be back.”

3

Loren

I shifted in thehardbacked seat, catching glances from the higher demons as they milled by. Most seemed keen to ignore us, which was fine with me. An event like this could drag on all day, and I had a better chance of slipping away if I stayed beneath notice.

Fishing my cellphone from my slacks pocket, I checked the time. Half an hour had elapsed since Moira’s call put a kink in my morning’s agenda. Getting home would take mere seconds, but I still had to drive to Hopeful Horizons. Worst case scenario, I could portal there then call a cab for Indy and me to ride back to the trailer park, but I would prefer to be out of here much sooner than that.

Servers passed with trays of short ribs and cuts of raw liver. My hound and my stomach growled at the coppery aroma of fresh blood. My empty gut ached since I’d been too nauseous from nerves to eat dinner last night or breakfast this morning.

Beside me, Whitney sat at attention. He sought outMoira who was encircled by partygoers holding up paper contracts like paddles at an auction. Human souls were being exchanged from one demon to another, sworn into an eternity of hellish servitude. Whitney watched the goings on, and he looked damn near proud. I didn’t feel anything but sick.

Ducking my head, I whispered to him. “What is this?”

Whitney’s mouth barely moved as he muttered a reply. “If you were ever around, you might’ve known.” His British accent was melodious despite the gravel in his tone.

My jaw flexed a firm bite. “You’re here,” I said. “Surely Miss doesn’t need us both to keep her company.”

“It’s more than that.” His head whipped aside, and I was surprised by the venom in his green eyes. “It’s your job, Loren. It’sherexpectation.” He gestured to our mistress. “And she is not the sort of woman who abides disappointment.”

I fidgeted with the chain draped down my chest. Escape was as simple as unclipping it and stepping away, fading into the sea of bodies filling the room. But Whitney’s next words stalled my getaway plans.

“Frankly, I’m a bit disappointed.”

My face scrunched. “In what?”

“You take weeks, ofttimes months, to track a single soul.” He regarded me with a side-eyed squint. “You’ve been on the policeman case since June. I know you’re a better hunter than that.”

The policeman, Lieutenant Dale Abernathy, was one of Moira’s contracted souls. He’d been a young hopeful at the NYPD training academy, ambitious but wary of thedangers associated with a career in law enforcement. He’d traded his soul for invulnerability in battle, and now his time was up, which was where I came in.

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