Page 40 of Hounded: Ashes to Ashes

“What about you?” I asked in favor of a more spiteful retort. “You seemed pretty pissed yesterday. About Moira and the angel.”

Pissed at me, thinking I’d masterminded some scheme to get devils into Heaven. If I’d known I could get rid of Moira, I would have done it decades ago, but this wasn’t that calculated. While it had yielded ideal results for me, I got the impression Whitney was less than pleased.

He wandered over to my art desk and inspected the contents of my brush cup. “Trying to make sense of it is all,” he muttered.

Honestly, so was I.

“She didn’t tell you what she was going to do?” I asked.

“It wasn’t my place to know.”

Loren had no fond feelings for his demonic mistress, but Whitney and Moira’s farewell had been bittersweet. Now, he seemed more on the bitter side.

“Did you love her?” I wondered aloud.

Whitney glanced up, green eyes peeking through straw-blond locks. He was startlingly handsome. It chagrined me to think Moira and I had similar taste in men.

“She was all I had,” Whitney replied. “Hellhounds belong on the lower plane with their masters or mistresses. We’re bound in that way. My soul was tethered to her. Lorenzo is—somehow, I think he’s always been—cut loose.”

I sputtered a laugh. “Nothing about Loren isloose.”

“What I mean is,” Whitney continued, “I found my place there. With her. I was content.”

“But were you happy?”

Considering we’d begun this conversation on the topic of my boyfriend’s depression, that was a loaded question.

“I’m not sure happiness is always deserved,” Whitney replied.

I couldn’t help but point out the obvious. “So, you’ve been going through some stuff, too.”

The hellhound rounded on me and crossed his arms. “I made my choice. I was resigned to it and, again,content. I drew a better lot than many other hounds. Infinite lost souls suffer eternal torment. I was spared that.”

There was pain behind his words. He was bitter, yes. And confused. I recognized the hurt and the unsettled way he glanced about like he wasn’t sure whether he was coming or going.

“Loren’s all I have, too,” I confessed. “I’m lost without him.”

Whitney nodded, then returned to the couch with a sigh.

I looked toward the locked bathroom door, then I sighed, too.

“You want some coffee?” I called over to Whitney. “It’s not as good as a Twinkie, but some people like it.”

He raised a shoulder in what I interpreted as an unspoken “sure,” and I loaded the machine to brew a cup.

My stomach growled. Since the hellhounds were content to do without, I would be fending for myself when it came to the morning meal.

Carrying the coffee to the sofa, I handed the drink over. Whitney answered my courtesy “Be right back,” with a grunt, and I returned to the bedroom.

I scooped my cellphone off the bedside table and opened the contacts. It was too early to order pizza, or Chinese, or from most of my usual places. I scrolled, frowning, until the list seemed to stop on Chaz’s number.

My thumb hovered over the screen. Chaz didn’t have food, and that was what I wanted. That wasallI wanted. And he didn’t deliver, besides.

I set my phone face down on the table and went back into the living area. Whitney held the coffee mug, sniffing more than sipping it as I perched on the stool in front of my art table. Igot the impression he wouldn’t appreciate me crowding onto the couch beside him, at least not until I put on some more clothes.

My gut gurgled, and I picked at the hem of my robe. I needed a distraction. Something to do besides think about getting my keys and taking the Pontiac out on the town. For breakfast and nothing else.

Gripping the sides of my stool, I looked at Whitney and asked the first question that came to mind. “What was your deal for?”

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