Page 24 of How to Flirt with a Hellhound
I could see lights turning on and off, and I didn’t smell the rot of decay, so I knew he wasn’t seriously injured or dead.
Still, something wasn’t right. My hellhound was… agitated. I felt protective of Toby, and I knew I walked around half of the day with my eyes glowing red. My hellhound was an itch underneath my skin, demanding to come out.
No one needed my hellhound form going to check on Toby.
I finally gave in; I could go knock on his door, but I wasn’t sure I had a good excuse. Didn’t people need an excuse to do that? Did people really go borrow a cup of sugar? Maybe I could ask if he had some coffee I could borrow? Surely that was a reasonable thing to do.
I just needed to keep my hellhound under wraps so I didn’t scare the pretty human.
What if Toby was hurt? Or sick? Humans got sick. Sometimes they even died from sickness, even if they were young.
I growled low in my throat. Toby sick or hurt was not an option. I slipped my boots on near the door and headed over to his place, knocking loudly on the door when I got there.
I waited. I heard footsteps from the bedroom upstairs heading toward the window, light and tentative, only he wouldn’t see me with the porch overhang. I jumped off the porch and looked up to the window, only he was no longer there.
I climbed the porch steps and knocked again, leaning in to look through the door.
That’s when I smelled it—fear.
I growled, and I knew my eyes were red. Toby was afraid, and the urgency to go to him was pounding in my body.
I tried the door handle, which was locked. It took only a little bit of my strength to force it open, cracking the door jam. I would worry about that later.
“Toby!” I cried as I ran into his house.
I heard a whimper of distress, and I was halfway up the stairs to check on him when he appeared at the top of the stairs, pale, shaking the tiniest bit, reeking of fear, and wielding a butcher knife in his hand.
“Toby! Are you ok?” I asked, stopping on the steps and looking up at him.
He saw me and breathed out, his hand with the knife dropping down. In the next breath it seemed like his legs gave out and he sat down hard on the top stair, his head in his hands, the knife precariously close to his face.
“Fuck, you scared me,” he breathed out.
I had been the one to scare Toby? Shit.
I was torn between going to him and backing away since I had frightened him. But he wasn’t afraid of me the other day, so what had frightened him now about me? And if he was really frightened, would he have dropped down into such a vulnerable position? He wasn’t even looking at me in alarm. Was it me, or was it someone knocking on his door? Was he expecting someone else?
I growled without meaning to at the thought of someone scaring Toby, and he looked up at me. Only he didn’t look frightened, even with the growl. He looked… relieved.
He didn’t smell scared anymore either. Since my instinct was to go comfort Toby, I slowly inched my way up the stairs. He was looking at me, and I wondered if my eyes were red. I blinked, trying to force my hellhound down, and made my way up the rest of the stairs.
Toby only stared up at me, and I slowly reached down, taking the butcher knife from his hand. He let it drop into mine without a fight, and I sat next to him on the top step. Our knees brushed against each other. I wanted to grumble in delight at the contact, only the smell of fear was still a faint odor in the air and Toby looked exhausted. He had circles under his eyes and didn’t look well.
“I’m sorry if I scared you,” I said carefully. “I was worried about you.”
He seemed to shake off more of his nerves, and he tilted his head quizzically at me. “Worried? About me? Why?” he asked.
“I usually see you outside, and you haven’t gotten take-out in two days,” I answered. I couldn’t very well tell him I hadn’t heard him take any calls and that he hadn’t left his room much.
He giggled at that, even if it did sound slightly hysterical. “Oh my god, that’s so true. At least I know if I go missing my next door neighbor and food delivery will notice,” he said.
“I would notice if you were gone,” I said seriously, placing my hand that didn’t have the butcher knife in it on his knee.
“At least someone would,” he muttered. I didn’t know what had Toby so spooked, but I was determined to find out. I stood up, reaching my empty hand down to Toby to help him up.
“Why don’t we go grab you a glass of water or something. You can explain what’s going on,” I said.
He took my hand without hesitation, and my hellhound preened at the trust he put in me. I led him downstairs and let him take the lead as we walked toward the kitchen. He looked behind him, as if to make sure I was still there. When we got to the kitchen, I set the butcher knife on the island and stood leaning on it while Toby grabbed two cups and filled them with water, handing one to me. He sat down on one of the stools, and I heard him breathe out a sigh.
