Page 33 of Muzzled

“I have reason to believe the shade tracking you now is the same one you saw as a child. With my role as the guardian of Hades, it would be naturally repelled by my presence, which is likely why it stays clear of you when I’m near.”

Her lips drew into a thin line, and she stared long and hard at the carpet. “And it’s tracking me because?”

He rubbed his jaw and she could see the tension knotting his muscles and stiffening his movements. “Again, I’m guessing here. But I suspect you’re connected to the last of the line in some way. Maybe an ex-boyfriend or another artist.”

“Logan,” she whispered, her eyes widening at the thought her sweet—albeit flighty—apprentice could be linked to anything dark or sinister. “Him?”

“A decade too young,” he muttered. “I’ve looked into every male artist and performer on site for the past few weeks. And eliminated each one of them. While the scent is all around the festivals, I haven’t been able to track the target.”

Her grip on the doorknob relaxed. “And that’s why you’ve been hanging around me,” she replied, catching the hint of bitterness in her voice too late to stop it. “All the questions you were asking about my past was just you hunting for information?”

Of all the places for her thoughts to go while she stood talking to a man claiming to be a hellhound bound to a mythological god, disappointment and hurt should have been last in line.

Yet it wasn’t.

Because shewasdisappointed and hurt. Angry, terrified, skeptical, and a whole lot of curious, too, but beneath all those expected emotions, disappointment and hurt were pulsing and writhing. The Ryan who leaned in when she spoke, who appeared so invested in understanding what made her tick, who calmed her mind with his stoic presence, was simply a role he was playing to gain information.

And it stung.

“Initially, yes. The whole Mike thing threw me a bit, especially when combined with that,” he said, gesturing toward her artwork. “Micah Wheaton, a male born thirty-two years ago, was my target. Of course, once I realized you were you and you weren’t in the gender demographic I was hunting, you were eliminated from my target prospects and I was free to…hang out.”

She grunted and crossed her arms. “Were you now?”

Keeping his movements slow and steady, he walked over to the dresser and opened his computer. “Since we’re on the topic of where you fit into this, who is this guy?”

He turned the laptop toward her and waited while she leaned in. “Where did you get that?”

“Old social media page tag I found last year during my research into the whereabouts of the final Pirithous. It was tagged with your name, but I mistakenly believed him to be Micah.”

A small smile crossed her face as she remembered Ken and his zest for life. “I dated him briefly when I was twenty. He’s not your guy.”

“If you tell me his name, I can find out for myself,” he said, closing out the photo.

She leaned against the door and shook her head. “Kenny passed away ten years ago. If he was your guy, a waterfall in Belize did your dirty work for you.”

Tapping the dresser in frustration, he cursed under his breath. “I’m sorry,” he finally said. “Sorry for your loss.”

“And judging by your reaction, you’re sorry for the loss of a lead, too,” she snarked, knocking the back of her head against the door a few times gently enough not to hurt but enough to let her know none of this was a dream. “Now what?”

He glanced at the clock and began collecting his keys and wallet. “Now, we get you home.”

Chapter Twelve

Mike laced upher sneakers and swung her jacket over her shoulders. “I didn’t say he would be traveling with us, Logan.” She sighed, jingling Ryan’s keys in her pocket to reassure herself she hadn’t misplaced them. “This is just temporary. He needs a home, and I like the protection when you’re out tramping around.”

“Tramping around?” Logan snorted. “It’s called sampling the local goods. And all I’m saying is a dog that big probably has an owner, so don’t be surprised if it’s already gone. Besides, I thought you didn’t like dogs.”

Nudging the heavier bags toward him, she wrinkled her nose. “It’s not that I don’t like dogs. It’s that I don’t prefer them.”

“Big fucking difference,” he grumbled, hoisting the packs onto his shoulder and hooking his thumb into the bulkier case. “You look like hell.”

She flipped him off, grabbed the last of her supplies, headed up the basement steps, and stepped into the sunlight. As her eyes adjusted to the brightness, she scanned the rooftops for darkness, jumping when something nuzzled against her arm. “Hot damn, you need to not do that,” she hissed, holding the door open for Logan. “Hey, Taste-Tester. Say hi to my temporary pet.”

Logan released his hold on the art case, sending it flying back down the stairs and scattering the supplies everywhere. “Holy shit!” he yelled, flattening against the entrance as Ryan backed away and sat quietly on the path. “That’s no fucking dog, Mike. That’s a goddamn bear.”

“And that’s a goddamn mess,” she countered, pointing at the toppled case. “I’m going to go ahead of you and stop at the pet store for a collar and leash before I get ticketed. You get that dealt with, meet me on site, and I’ll buy lunch. Deal?”

Nodding, he eyed the dog warily. “If you aren’t there in an hour, I’m going to assume that thing ate you.”

---