Chapter 21 #2
"Hellhounds," he repeats, his voice dropping to a rich timbre that vibrates in my chest like bass notes.
"And no, they can't catch them. No one can.
Hellhounds pursue their prey until they collect the souls they're hunting.
It's inevitable. Like death. Like fate." His gaze lingers on my face as he says the last word, heavy with unspoken meaning.
Below us, Mendez now tries to corner one of the creatures, only to have it disappear through a solid wall as if the concrete were nothing but mist. Her frustrated exclamation carries clearly in the morning air, a string of curses that would make a sailor blush.
"Why are you really here?" I ask, lowering my binoculars to face him directly. "I assume it's not just to criticize my team's hellhound-hunting technique."
His smile is slow and dangerous. The kind that makes something warm uncurl in my stomach, a feeling I've almost forgotten existed after years of keeping everyone at arm's length. "Maybe I just wanted to see you."
"Right." I roll my eyes again, hoping the gesture hides the ridiculous flutter in my chest. "You tracked me to an abandoned warehouse complex at six in the morning because you missed me."
"I did miss you," he says with disarming sincerity, not a hint of mockery in his tone. Those eyes of his hold mine with an intensity that makes my mouth go dry. "It was too late last night to see you after you got home."
The electrical sensation beneath my skin intensifies, humming along my nerves like a current.
Like recognition. Like belonging. But something else clicks in my mind—a fleeting shadow I'd noticed outside my apartment window last night, a prickle at the back of my neck that I'd dismissed as paranoia.
"You were watching my apartment," I say.
He doesn't deny it, his gaze steady and unapologetic. "I wanted to make sure you got home safely."
"You followed me home from Louisiana? How? We were on a jet."
"Yes," His golden eyes hold mine, not blinking. "I have my ways."
"You can't just follow me everywhere." The protest sounds weak even to my own ears.
"Why not?" His head tilts slightly, exposing the strong column of his throat, the pulse visible there beating steadily, hypnotically.
"Because—" I begin, then stop, then start again, frustration making my words stumble. "Because we're not... this isn't..."
"Isn't what?" He leans closer, his breath warm against my cheek. "Destiny? Attraction? Two souls recognizing each other across impossible divides?"
I refuse to back away, though every instinct screams that he's too close, too dangerous, too tempting. "It's nothing. We're nothing. You're a—"
"A what?" His voice drops lower, a whisper meant only for me. "A wolf? A monster? The one who dreams of you when sleep finally claims me?"
The confession catches me off guard, sending heat rushing to my face. I struggle to find a response that doesn't reveal too much about the dreams that have haunted my own sleep since Missouri.
Below us, Sutter shouts again as another hellhound appears briefly before vanishing into mist. The perfect distraction.
"Speaking of my agents," I say, deliberately changing the subject, "if these really are... hellhounds... why can't they catch them?"
Fen allows the pivot, though his knowing smile suggests he's aware of my tactical retreat.
"Because hellhounds aren't physical creatures in the way you understand.
They exist partially in this realm and partially in another.
They can be seen by some but not touched unless they allow it, not contained, not killed.
They will not leave until their purpose is fulfilled. "
"Which is?"
"Collecting souls marked for judgment." He nods toward the complex below, his expression growing serious. "Something very evil is happening in this place, Astrid. The kind of evil that stains souls beyond redemption."
A chill runs down my spine. "What do you mean, evil?"
"I mean the hellhounds aren't the real threat." His expression grows serious, the playfulness vanishing like morning mist under harsh sun. "They're symptoms of something much worse."
I study his expression, searching for any sign that he's exaggerating or manipulating me. My first instinct is skepticism, but something in his tone, the grave certainty in those golden eyes, gives me pause.
I'm gambling by trusting him, but my instincts, the same ones that have kept me alive all these years, are telling me he's right about this. And if I'm wrong? I'll deal with the consequences. But if he's right and I ignore him, people will die.
Mendez's voice crackles through my earpiece. "Agent Mathieson, we've lost visual on all targets. Permission to expand search perimeter?"
I press the button to unmute. "Maintain current position," I reply, mind racing with implications. "I need to... assess something." Then I mute my team again.
I study Fen's face for any sign of deception. The early morning light catches on his features, highlighting the angles of his cheekbones and jaw, the impossible shine of gold in his eyes. "You're sure about this?"
"As sure as I am that you look beautiful even when you're glaring at me." His mouth curves into a smile that makes my stomach flip like I'm sixteen again. "Which is to say, completely."
Heat rises to my cheeks. "I'm not glaring."
"You are." He reaches out, his finger hovering just above the furrow between my brows. "Right here." The almost-touch sends waves of anticipation cascading through me, as if my body is leaning into contact that hasn't yet happened.
"Shut up," I mutter, refusing to acknowledge how his almost-touch makes my skin come alive even more, every nerve ending standing at attention like soldiers awaiting orders. "I'm trying to think."
"A dangerous pastime."
"Not as dangerous as flirting with a GUIDE agent." The words slip out before I can stop them.
His smile widens. "So you admit we're flirting?"
"I—" Damn it. "That's not what I meant."
"Isn't it?" He shifts imperceptibly closer, his thigh now pressed against mine, generating heat that seeps through layers of tactical gear straight to my skin.
"Your heart rate increases when I'm near.
Your pupils dilate. Your skin flushes." His voice drops to a whisper, intimate as a lover's confession.
"I can hear it, see it, and smell your interest."
"That's..." Disturbing? Invasive? Embarrassingly accurate? "...irrelevant." I struggle to maintain my professional composure, though every cell in my body seems to be gravitating toward him like iron filings to a magnet.
His eyes never leave mine, gold rimmed with something darker, hungrier. "I think it's very relevant."
I look away first, uncomfortable with how easily he reads my physiological responses, how effortlessly he slips past defenses I've spent years building. "These hellhounds," I say, steering back to safer ground. "If they're hunting souls, why have there been no deaths reported here?"
"Yet," Fen corrects. "No deaths yet. But they wouldn't be here without purpose." His expression darkens. "Like moths to flame, they're drawn to something wicked brewing beneath the surface. Something hidden."
Below us, Sutter trips over debris, cursing loudly as he sprawls across the cracked concrete. Mendez rushes to help him up, their movements awkward and uncoordinated. Against invisible, supernatural predators, they don't stand a chance.
"If what you're saying is true," I say slowly, "then we're wasting time and resources on the wrong target."
"Precisely." Fen's approval shouldn't please me, but it does, a warm glow in my chest that has nothing to do with the sunrise now painting the eastern sky in shades of gold and crimson.
I make a decision and press the button to unmute again. "Agents," I call into my comm. "Return to rendezvous point."
"But ma'am," Sutter protests, "we haven't contained any of the targets."
"That's because you can't," I reply, already forming my plan. "Report back for debriefing. I'll explain there."
I mute them again and turn to Fen, who watches me with interest, those golden eyes seeming to catch fire in the growing daylight. "You need to go."
His eyebrow rises in challenge. "Just when the conversation was getting interesting?"
"My agents will be here in five minutes, and I'd rather not explain your presence." Or why I'm consorting with exactly the kind of being I'm sworn to hunt.
He stands in one fluid motion, making it look effortless, like gravity is merely a suggestion rather than a law. "Fair enough. But we're not finished with this conversation."
"Clearly." I rise as well, maintaining a deliberate distance between us, though the electrical hum beneath my skin seems to pulse in protest at the separation.
"If what you're saying about these hellhounds is true, I need to convince Hayes to let me stake out this complex properly. Find out what's really happening here."
Concern flashes across his features, genuine worry that makes something in my chest tighten. "Alone?"
"It's the only way I'll get approval," I say.
"Hayes already thinks I'm distracted, unfocused.
If I come with a solid lead about suspicious activity here beyond 'rabid dogs,' he might give me the assignment, but he won't waste other resources on it.
This is my chance to redeem myself, to climb back from the professional abyss I've been cast into. Besides, I work better alone."
What I don’t say is that without other agents watching my every move, I won't have to pretend and hide the abilities that make me both valuable to GUIDE and a target if they ever discovered the truth.
"It could be dangerous," Fen says. "Whatever draws hellhounds is not to be taken lightly, Astrid."
"I can handle myself." I meet his gaze directly, chin tilted in defiance. "As you well know."