Chapter 30
GREY
We were fucked. And that was putting it mildly.
Hellhounds had our scent, and the way it acted last night was unusual. Like it was guarding something rather than hunting.
I stifled a cry as I pulled a sweatshirt over my head. My left arm hung at my side. Blood still leaked from the open wound, but with the sweatshirt, Lyra wouldn’t be able to see that it hadn’t started healing.
A high-pitched whistle traveled down the hallway. The smell of freshly brewed coffee spilled from the kitchen, meaning Lyra was already up.
“You bought a coffee maker?” she asked, bringing a full mug to her lips.
I’d bought the stupid thing on a whim but hadn’t used it yet.
“Yeah.” I rubbed at the back of my neck and walked toward the machine to make my own cup.
“I didn’t think you liked coffee.” Pure amusement danced in her eyes.
“Can’t start my morning without it.” I set the coffee cup under the machine, not having the slightest idea how it worked. Normally, I’d just pour myself a glass of whiskey, but I guess I could just add it to my cup.
“I can tell.” She pushed off the counter, coming up beside me. She fidgeted with the latch on top, replacing the old coffee pod with a new one. A second later, freshly brewed coffee spilled from the machine.
I reached for the bottle of whiskey, wincing at the burning pain in my arm. Lyra’s eyes dropped to the floor where a pool began to form.
“Why isn’t it healing?” She gasped, reaching for my arm. I yanked it away, instantly regretting the sudden movement.
“It just takes time.” I brushed off her worry, picking up the whiskey bottle and opening it with my teeth. I poured a healthy amount into my steaming cup and then poured another splash to top it off.
“Let me get a better look at it.”
“It’s fine,” I gritted out.
“Yeah, I clearly believe you.” Her fingers trailed under my sweatshirt, and my dick begged for her attention. “I just wanna take a peek.” The tips of her acrylic nails scraped over my stomach, traveling up my chest. “Shit,” she murmured. “We should not have had sex last night.”
“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it. How about round two?” I wanted nothing more than to wear those tanned legs around my head like a crown as I ate her alive. A true breakfast of champions.
“Absolutely. Fucking. Not. Are you crazy?” She pulled away.
“No, I’m fucking hard.”
“I’m going to clean your wound, so you don’t die from blood loss or infection, then I have to meet Emory to explain what happened last night. So, sit down, drink your coffee, and wipe that smirk off your face.”
She stormed down the hallway, quickly re-emerging with a towel.
“Why is a hellhound in Twisted Spires?” she asked, killing my mood. “Aren’t you both on team hell?”
“No, hellhounds aren’t on a team. They have a singular task and don’t stop until it’s completed.”
A burning sensation spread down my arm as she poured the whiskey over the wound. “Fuck. You could have given me a little warning.” I said, grimacing.
“I was afraid you’d try to stop me.”
I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth quirked upward. “Let me at least get another sip before you waste it all.”
“I don’t think saving your arm from infection is a waste,” she said, reluctantly handing over the bottle.
I took a long pull. It was getting dangerously low. Maybe only a few more good swigs remained. My fingers tightened around the bottle, but Lyra ripped it away.
“Do you think the hellhound was trying to drag us to hell?” Lyra’s eyes widened as she asked.
“If the hellhound wanted to drag us to hell, he could have easily devoured our souls last night.”
“Oh, that’s good, I guess,” Lyra said each word slowly like she was trying to convince herself it was true.
“But once a hellhound has your scent, it never forgets it. Time and distance mean nothing.”
“That’s a less comforting thought. But if it wasn’t after us, what was it hunting?” she asked, finishing up cleaning the wound.
“I don’t—” I sucked in a breath. “Think it was hunting. It was almost like it was guarding something.” An even scarier thought crossed my mind. “Or trying to keep something from getting out. Something powerful enough to rise from the dead.”
“My Mom always said our gift was to help the spirits pass beyond the veil and insisted that those who came back weren’t the same as those who left us.”
“She was right.” But humans still tried, refusing to learn their lesson.
“You think someone sacrificed the girl in the river to bring someone back?”
“It’s a working theory.”
“Shit…” She downed her second cup of coffee in a matter of minutes. I hadn’t picked up creamer for the coffee so she had to drink it black. I swore she ran off caffeine.
“Last night.” Her voice lowered to whisper. “You used your power.”
Lightning crackled at my fingertips. I’d missed the sensation of it flowing through my veins. “The spell must have weakened the magic, allowing some of my power to escape.” My finger trailed over the slight crack.
Her phone vibrated on the counter. “Emory is picking me up and if I’m not waiting for her outside, she’ll barge right in.”
She pushed past me, but I gripped her arm, pulling her to me. My lips brushed against hers as I murmured, “Next time, I’m eating you for breakfast.”
She inhaled deeply and squeaked out, “Get some rest. And please don’t bleed out and die.”