Chapter 21
Hellhounds
Astrid Mathieson
The early morning fog curls around the abandoned warehouse complex like ghostly fingers, softening the jagged edges of rusted metal and crumbling concrete.
I adjust my position on the roof of what was once an administrative building, now just a hollowed-out shell perfect for surveillance.
The cold concrete beneath me seeps through my tactical pants, a dull ache in my knees that I ignore.
Below me, Sutter and Mendez move with all the stealth of drunk elephants, their tactical gear catching on debris as they sweep the area for our targets. It's almost as if they've gotten worse since the Louisiana mission.
The air tastes of rust and stagnant water, tinged with that unmistakable scent of urban decay that clings to abandoned places. My breath puffs white in the pre-dawn chill, dissipating into the mist that shrouds everything in ghostly ambiguity.
Though to be fair, we all barely had a night's sleep before being sent out on this noise disturbance call about rabid dogs. The rest of yesterday was a blur of excuses and paperwork.
After Fen and his companion disappeared into the mist in Louisiana, I'd spun a story about an unexpected gas pocket in the dead forest causing my rookies to pass out momentarily. Hayes seemed skeptical but couldn't argue with the physical evidence we'd collected of environmental toxicity.
The five-hour flight back to headquarters, followed by three hours of decontamination protocols and debriefing, left all of us exhausted.
I barely had time to shower before collapsing into bed, my dreams haunted by those red-eyed birds and the sensation of Fen's fingers against my cheek.
My phone had chimed at 4 AM with this new assignment, the perfect punishment for an agent who'd lost two teammates to mysterious unconsciousness in the field.
"Anything?" Sutter's voice crackles through my earpiece, too loud as usual, the static making me wince.
"Negative," I reply, scanning the complex through high-powered binoculars. "Continue your search pattern. Remember, these are likely rabid animals. Approach with caution."
"Copy that." Mendez at least knows how to modulate her voice on comms.
This assignment is so far beneath my pay grade it's practically subterranean.
Hayes clearly meant it as continued punishment—chasing reports of "rabid dogs" terrorizing workers at a half-abandoned industrial complex outside of town.
The only reason GUIDE is involved at all is because the property owner, Ellison Holdings, has political connections and insisted the animals displayed "unnatural behavior. "
Translation: I'm dog-catching with two rookies who couldn't handle a brownie in a restaurant kitchen. My fall from grace is practically Luciferian at this point.
I track Mendez through the binoculars as she clears another building. Her silhouette moves jerkily against the grey backdrop, all inexperienced angles and hesitation. Meanwhile, my brain keeps circling back to golden eyes and bare skin and the impossible pull I feel whenever he's near.
Fen. The wolf-shifter who saves my life, cooks in my kitchen, disrupts my missions, and makes my skin buzz like I've stuck my finger in an electrical socket. The magickal being I should be hunting but instead find myself thinking about at completely inappropriate moments.
Like now, when the memory of his fingertips on my face sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the morning chill.
Something dark flickers between buildings. Just a glimpse of what might be our target. "Movement at your two o'clock, Mendez," I say, forcing my attention back to the mission. "Sutter, circle around to cut off escape routes."
Through my enhanced vision, I catch another fleeting image of what we're hunting.
It's canine in shape, but something about it feels wrong.
Its movements are too purposeful, too deliberate for a rabid animal.
The creature moves like liquid shadow, flowing rather than running, its paws never quite seeming to touch the ground. And there's something about its eyes…
They. Are. Red.
Glowing like embers in the fog. Not reflecting light like an animal's eyes should, but generating it, pulsing with an internal fire that seems to burn from somewhere beyond this world.
What the actual fuck…
"I've got nothing," Mendez reports, frustration evident in her voice. "It's like they're ghosts."
"Or invisible," Sutter adds. "Ma'am, is it possible we're dealing with something... you know... weird?"
I roll my eyes. "Define 'weird,' Agent Sutter."
"Like... not normal dogs?" His voice drops to a whisper, as if saying it any louder might summon something. "Maybe something... you know... magickal?"
"All possibilities remain open," I answer diplomatically. "Continue your sweep."
The truth is, these creatures move too quickly, appear and disappear too easily.
And the rookies can even see them right in front of them, while I see them even from a distance.
Another reminder of the cursed gift I hide from everyone, the magickal enhancements that make me both an excellent hunter and would-be-hunted.
A slight shift in air pressure behind me is my only warning. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, a primal recognition that comes before conscious thought.
I whirl, weapon drawn, to find Fen standing there—all six-plus feet of him, dressed in dark slacks and a fitted black button-up shirt that does nothing to hide the muscled frame beneath.
The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing off powerful forearms corded with veins and tendons that make my mouth water.
His golden-brown hair is pulled back in a half-knot, emphasizing the sharp angles of his face and those impossible eyes that seem to see straight through me—like pools of molten amber backlit by sunlight.
"Good morning," he says casually, as if appearing on rooftops in business casual is perfectly normal behavior. His voice carries that hint of ancient accent that I can't quite place, something old-world and wild wrapped in modern cadence.
I press a button to mute the comm in my ear. "Fucking hell," I hiss, lowering my weapon but not holstering it. My heart hammers against my ribs, both from surprise and something else I refuse to name. "Do you have a death wish?"
"You wouldn't shoot me," he replies with infuriating confidence, his mouth curving into a smile that does ridiculous things to my insides. "Your aim is too good to miss if you truly wanted me dead."
I turn back to my surveillance position, ignoring the way my pulse has accelerated and the soft hum beneath my skin has turned into an all-over-body buzz that feels like champagne bubbles dancing in my veins. "What are you doing here?"
He crouches beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the now-familiar scent of earth and pine and something wild, like winter forests after a thunderstorm, primordial and electric. "Hunting."
"Hunting what? The rabid dogs we came for today? You going to try to save them too?" The sarcasm drips from my voice, a defensive mechanism against the way his proximity makes my breath catch.
"Is that what GUIDE calls hellhounds?" Amusement colors his tone. "Rabid dogs." His lips twist with something like mockery, but his eyes remain warm, as if sharing a private joke rather than insulting me.
I snap my head toward him. "What did you call them?"
"Hellhounds." He gestures toward the complex below, his movements fluid and graceful. His eyes meet mine, the gold in them seeming to swirl and deepen. "You see them more clearly than your team, don't you?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with implications I'm not ready to address. A direct challenge to the carefully constructed lie that is my entire life. Instead, I deflect. "They're rabid dogs."
"Astrid." My name in his mouth sounds like a caress, rolling off his tongue like honey, sweet and slow and tempting. "We both know that's not true."
A flash of movement below saves me from responding.
Through my binoculars, I track one of the creatures as it stalks silently behind Sutter.
The animal is massive, easily the size of a Great Dane but leaner, with a coat so black it seems to absorb light rather than reflect it.
Its eyes glow like hot coals in a face that's more skull than flesh, lips pulled back from teeth too long and sharp to belong to any natural predator.
I press the button on my shoulder. "Sutter, behind you!" I bark into my comm. "Target approaching your six!"
Sutter spins, raising his weapon, but his confused expression tells me he sees nothing. "I don't—wait—" He fires wildly at a shadow that seems to melt away before the bullets can connect, the reports of his weapon echoing off concrete and metal like thunder trapped in a canyon.
"Fuck!" His curse echoes through the empty complex.
Beside me, Fen makes a sound that might be a suppressed laugh, low and warm and too close to my ear.
I press the button again to mute before speaking to Fen. "Something funny?" I ask, keeping my binoculars trained on my rookies, though I'm hyper-aware of every inch of him beside me, the heat of him like a brand against my side.
"Your agents." He settles more comfortably beside me, his shoulder brushing mine in a contact that sends electricity arcing between us. "They're like children chasing shadows."
"They're doing their job," I say defensively, though privately I agree. "Not everyone can see... whatever these things are." The admission slips out before I can catch it.