Page 126 of Hounded: Ashes to Ashes

It never really ended because I missed him always, in both the lead-up to tragedy and its aftermath. I mourned what I hadand what I’d lost, and it confirmed over and over how much I hated change. Even the shifting seasons came as an affront, like sand slipping through an hourglass counting down days, months, years.

He was transient, this phoenix of mine. Always passing through but never failing to cut his path through my life and leave trenches in his wake. The landscape of my existence had been carved by him. Valley-deep aches and euphoric peaks.

I didn’t know what I would do without him.

He was sleeping, but this was an infinite sort of rest, and flames would come soon. Then I would have to move away from the only kind of fire that could burn me and watch as it stole Indy away.

I couldn’t do it again.

Curling closer, I pressed my face into his hair and squeezed my eyes shut until I saw nothing but stars. I heard nothing but the shallow pants of his breath and, deep in his chest, the timid beat of his heart.

Then a voice. Make that two. Arguing behind the bedroom door I’d closed.

“I don’t know how you got in here?—”

“You warded against Hell, Miss Sullivan. Not Heaven. And I’d advise you let me through.”

The door opened, but I didn’t sit up. I didn’t even lift my head to look at the new arrival because I already knew who it was.

That damned angel.

Soft footsteps carried Evander to the bedside while I stiffened and hugged Indy’s motionless form. He may have finally found peace, but it continued to elude me. I couldn’t even get a moment of privacy.

The angel loomed, casting me in his shadow. I didn’t move. Let him watch. Let him gloat, if that’s what this was. Or—the more I considered, the more it rang true—let him grieve.

When I cracked open a tear-blurred eye, I saw past the foot of the bed to the doorway where Sully and Whitney crowded in the frame. Abigail, Dottie, and Gunnar flanked them.

The room had become a theater, or maybe this was a wake, and we were all mourners giving final farewells.

But there was still a pulse. A slim chance of survival remained as long as Indy’s chest rose and fell. I clung to that and to him, clutching the edges of the worn old quilt until my hands throbbed.

I’d been so determined to restore Indy’s warmth, but it startled me when it actually happened. Something hot and fierce swelled in his core, pushing through the layers of the patchwork blanket until the fabric began to glow.

I recoiled with a hiccupped breath, expecting sparks, then flame. And it was a bit like that.

The warmth, the light, continued to rise. It broke free of Indy’s body to form a tiny ball in the air. It flickered, surging bright then dimming in an uneven pattern. It reminded me of a firefly, something that begged to be caught and kept, a natural nightlight to war against the dark.

The tiny beacon flashed again, a yellow-orange smear in the water of my eyes. I stared, afraid to blink and miss it, and my eyes fixed on that stubborn flare until, abruptly, it went out.

I searched the space where it had been. The emptiness. The hole torn in my universe. And my hound bayed.

My eyes shuttered closed, and I buried my face in the crook of Indy’s neck where his pulse thumped against the thin skin.

It beat as softly as a butterfly’s wings while Evander heaved a breath.

“It would appear my job is done,” the angel said. “I think yours is, too.”

I didn’t need to see him to know he was talking to me.

When I didn’t look up or loosen my grip on Indy’s limp body, Evander spoke again.

“Loren, I’d like to give you something. Rather, I’d like to take something from you. Assuming you’re ready to be rid of it.”

I tensed.

Helltook from me. Starting with Moira and ending today. I had nothing left to give.

“Some might consider it a miracle,” the angel added, his voice distant.

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