Page 6 of The Hellhound's Mate
FOUR
Dodge had never once touchedme. Humans never had, really. I hadn’t thought about it when I’d taken Ambrose’s hand to lead him down the tunnel to the house. I’d realized what I’d done only once he held on to my finger like he never meant to let go. And for Ambrose to now stand in front of me, holding both of my hands, and staring up at me so earnestly… A spark of something hopeful and a little frightening joined the embers of hellfire inside me.
Having the house back was one thing, but I suddenly felt like I might die if Ambrose was ever taken away from me.
“It’s settled then,” he said with a smile that lit up his beautiful face. “I’ll let you know if I’m expecting visitors since we don’t want to alarm anyone unnecessarily. Otherwise, please feel free to make use of the house as if it was yours.”
I swallowed hard, overwhelmed by the man’s kindness. “I don’t need much.”
“Pftt.” Ambrose waved one elegant hand and stepped around me to look at the room. “Whatever you need, Saph. If you’d like to make use of an upstairs bedroom instead, please do.”
“Down here suits me.”
“Alright.”
Truthfully, I did like the dark and damp of the basement. If I could’ve put a bed in the mausoleum, it would’ve been fine as well. There were two other tunnels down here that I could leave through to catch my prey, so it was convenient. Plus, I would be less likely to be caught in one of the upstairs rooms when someone did show up—unexpectedly or not. Ambrose was entirely unique in his reaction to learning about me and Hell and damned souls. I didn’t want to press my luck on whether anyone else would be so accepting.
“Oh,” Ambrose said from beside the sturdy table at the end of the bed. “I have a chef in once a week to make my meals, so I can ask her to make anything you’d like as well.”
I blinked at him. A chef? To makememeals? I licked my lips, suddenly ravenous. “That would be…very nice.”
Ambrose sat down in one of the chairs and curled himself up on the seat. I saw a flash of long, pale legs before he tucked his deep purple dress around them. A different kind of hunger slithered through me now.
“What sort of foods do you enjoy?” Ambrose cocked his head, causing a curtain of black hair to fall over his shoulder.
Honestly, I had expected him to follow me here and leave immediately for the upper rooms and hadn’t considered that he might linger. That we might talk. I had wanted companionship, of course, but now that I had it, I worried about somehow ruining our budding connection.
I sat down on the other club chair, facing Ambrose. Resting my arms on the tabletop between us, I watched his gaze slide over me. Immediately, the air was perfumed with male musk. Did Ambrose find me…attractive? It was a good thing the table hid my lower body because my cock was threatening to make an appearance all of a sudden.
What had Ambrose asked me? “Oh… Meats mostly. I’m a carnivore.”
“Mmm, yes. I can imagine you tearing into a lovely, thick steak.”
Why did that sound sexual?
“Yes, I like steak,” I said, feeling out of my depth.
“I like meat, too.” Ambrose nodded, biting his bottom lip. A pink tinge lit up his cheeks, making his deep blue eyes shine.
I wanted to free that lip, nibble on it. I hadn’t done any such thing in so very long…
“So I’ll let Chef Yamuna know I have a friend staying who enjoys a meaty diet.”
I nodded my thanks.
“Now,” Ambrose grinned, “would you mind telling me all about Hell and the afterlife and whatever else I’ve been missing?”
With no restrictions on what I could share and feeling like this was a far safer topic than…meat? I settled in and explained.
“I don’t know about anywhere else except Hell, but I see no reason that there wouldn’t be the opposite of damnation available to better souls.”
“Heaven.”
“Or something like it.”
Ambrose nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. Is Hell full of darkness and fire?”
“And pain and torture and the screaming of the damned,” I said with a nod. Sometimes, when I couldn’t sleep, I’d recall the scent of blood and all that wailing. It reminded me of my carefree youth down below.
