Page 73 of Hell Kissed
“The hellhound is chained. Can’t we just skirt past him and go through the gate?” It seems like an obvious plan, but it’s apparently flawed from the way they’re looking at me.
“That chain gives him plenty of leeway,” Latham explains.
“And you have to prove your strength and cunning before he’ll allow you to pass.”
Torben shrugs, not disagreeing with the others. “Garm’s strength and ferocity are legendary, plus he has a wicked bite and breath of fire. You won’t get within ten feet without being roasted to a crisp for daring to cross him.”
“So what the hell are we supposed to do?” I stare at the beast, still standing by my assessment. “Don’t tell me you’re going to take him out.” For no apparent reason, I have a lot more loyalty to this sleeping beast than I did for the ogre, and I can’t stand the idea of him getting hurt. Unlike the guardian of the bridge, the guardian of the gate has no freedom. The chain binds him, digging into his black fur and rubbing him raw where the iron shackles around his neck.
No one should be stuck like that. The wolf inside of me agrees, howling out her feelings on the matter.
She’s just as appalled as I am at Garm’s treatment.
“No one ‘takes out’ the guardian of Hell, Love,” Aric tells me.
The three of them huddle together like Hell’s hottest football team to create a game plan.
“Draw it to the left until the chain is taut. If you keep it distracted, Aric can swoop down from above and singe the fucker before he can roast us,” Torben muses.
“Or…” I hold up a finger, chiming in from the cheerleading section they’ve so obviously put me in. All I need are some pom poms and an outfit with a little skirt that shows off my legs and tits. “Latham could poof in and out, keeping him distracted while we sneak past the gate.” It seems like a perfectly plausible option, so I have no clue why they’re all staring at me with skeptical, unimpressed expressions.
“I don’t go poof.” Latham shakes his head, accidentally tossing his hair across his forehead before flicking it away with that sexy head jerk thing guys do.
“You are kind of poofy.” Aric smiles that feral cat grin, the wicked, mischievous glint in his golden eyes burning as brightly as the fiery river I’m content to never see again.
“If I am, so are you, you shadow asshole.” Latham nudges Aric, the two of them bantering like old women. It warms my heart to see them together like this, but I take the opportunity as they go back to planning to tap Aric on the shoulder.
Distracted, he only gives me half an ear.
“Do you have any more of that dried meat?” I inquire sweetly, and he grunts as he listens to Torben’s new plan that involves flaming swords.
He distractedly pulls out a hefty portion of meat and plops it in my palm without so much as a glance my way. Latham nods almost manically when Torben mentions the fiery sword again. I’m fairly sure these men would agree to anything that includes flaming weapons.
If the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, the way to a hellish god’s heart is through weaponry.
And sex. Let’s not forget the sex.
I hum quietly to myself as I take the hunk of meat and sneak away. It’s honestly too easy. They’re not even paying attention as my soft, padding footsteps carry me toward the resting beast.
He rouses in his sleep the moment I get close, one large eye popping open as he assesses what disturbed his slumber.
“Hey there, big fella,” I coo in that voice that Loki despises but secretly loves. I hold the meat behind my back, easing forward as he lifts his monstrous head, both fiery, glowing red eyes fixated on my slight form. Compared to Garm, I’m a pixie. He’s massive, his paws span the entire width of my body.
A deep rumbling growl begins, and I hold out a hand.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” I tell him, hoping he’ll understand my nonthreatening tone, if not the words themselves. “That looks like it hurts.” My heart aches at the bleeding skin I spy chafing below the metal collar. No living being should ever be chained up, their freedom stripped to ribbons.
Anger curls in my stomach.
“Rhys!” Torben barks as they finally realize I’m not standing around waiting for them.
Maybe it’s stupid, but I don’t want anyone else to hurt this guy.
The beast stands, towering far above my head, and I hear the loud cursing suffuse the air behind me.
“Easy.” I take a step back, realizing that the beastly hellhound they call Garm could reach me in one bound. A single bite from those powerful jaws, and I’d be a goner. There wouldn’t be enough of me left to bury six feet under.
The hound prowls forward, his massive paw shaking the ground until I’m stumbling around like a drunk person on Mardi Gras.
