Wrong Side of Hell Page 6

  Kira’s hands were frozen in midair—she wanted to cover herself, but she paused instead and shoved her chin up. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure of knowing he’d gotten under her skin.

  “A real gentleman would turn around.”

  His teeth flashed white as his smile widened, though his eyes remained hard as stone. “Lady, there’s nothing gentle about me, and as you now know, I’m no man, either.”

  “No shit,” she muttered under her breath.

  “And as much as I appreciate the peep show, I’d get into some clothes if I were you.”

  Her eyes flashed steel blue as she met his gaze full-on. “What? Don’t think you can control yourself around me?”

  “Control isn’t the issue.” His smile vanished and the flame that lit his eyes intensified. “This isn’t a game, little girl.” She swallowed heavily at his low growl. “And it’s not me you should be worried about.”

  Logan nodded toward the store window and Kira’s stomach clenched so tight she thought she was going to be sick. Hundreds of the same creatures that had come after them in the park lined the sidewalk opposite Le Grand Design. Hundreds. They stood shoulder to shoulder and stared toward the store in silence.

  The red moon had disappeared and rain now fell, great big drops of it that splattered up inches upon hitting the pavement. The alley behind them, the other storefronts—all of it had disappeared. There were only the trojans. It was truly a sobering sight. Gray mist mingled with shadows and light that slithered across their powerful forms. Massive heads with dark, silent eyes looked as if they could stare into her soul.

  “Shit,” she whispered.

  Logan ignored her, scooped her clothes off the floor, and tossed them at her none too gently. He turned around and she supposed she should be grateful for that, but she caught sight of the muscle that worked its way across his cheek, the tight set to his mouth.

  That spelled worry and that scared her more than anything.

  Trying to ignore the painful tightness in her chest, she dragged the jeans up over her hips and pulled the t-shirt over her head. Next she slipped her feet into the boots and straightened up, her gaze settled on the crowd outside.

  “What are they waiting for?”

  A long moment passed before he answered, his rough voice loud in the quiet.

  “They’re done waiting. The master has arrived.”

  Chapter Eight

  LOGAN’S SHOULDER HURT like a son of a bitch. He cracked his neck and put the pain aside. One of the trojans had latched on but good before he’d had a chance to snap the bastard’s neck.

  He glanced outside once more and frowned. A sore shoulder was the least of his worries.

  “You dressed?” Creamy flesh; soft, feminine lines; and long bits of hair flashed before his eyes. He shook his head aggressively. No fucking time for that either.

  “Yes.”

  Kira moved beside him—she barely reached his shoulders, though the determined chin and squared shoulders made her seem taller somehow.

  He knew it was a front . . . her fear hung in the air like a wet towel, its scent cloying and thick. For the hundredth time he cursed Askelon—or Bill, as the little fucker wanted to be called. This mission was a hopeless mess and at the moment he had no idea how he was going to get both himself and Kira to safety.

  Time was ticking and he knew his window of opportunity was fast leaving.

  Logan whirled around. “Where’s the exit?”

  Kira ran to the door and swung the deadbolt into place. He arched a brow. If the girl thought that would stop the mass of trojans she was sadly mistaken.

  “I don’t . . . I don’t think there’s another door.”

  His gaze moved over the entire room and he realized she was right. There was no door, no changing rooms. Nothing.

  A loud moaning rent the air and his beast shifted once again, the pull painful as fire ripped across his shoulder. The trojans were restless, waiting for the command from their master. As of yet, Logan couldn’t see the fucker, but he sure as hell smelled him.

  It was the traitor. The one who’d ended Kira’s life in the human realm, and Logan still had no idea who it was. If not for the human, he’d sure as hell find out. But he couldn’t chance anything. Her life was on the line and she was much too fragile.

  “There has to be another way out of here. You need to think and do it fast.” He motioned around the store. “All of this means something to you. That is what the gray realm does. It brings to life bits and pieces of your soul . . . of your memories.”

  She shook her head, not understanding.

  “You’ve been here before.” He stepped toward her. “Think!”

  The keening noises from outside grew louder. “They’re not gonna take a smoke break while you dive through the mess that is your mind.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “Old news.”

  She tugged a long piece of hair from her eyes and whirled around. She was completely still for a moment and Logan’s anger reached near boiling. He’d do whatever it took to get her out of the gray realm, and then he was going to find Bill and kick his sorry little ass all over the fucking place.

  “There!” She ran behind the counter that held the cash register and disappeared from his sight. “You were right. I was here when I was, like, eight or something, with my mother. It’s a shop in Paris.”

  Logan reached her just as she drew back the carpeting behind the counter and grinned up at him to reveal a trap door. “When I was here with mother there was an attempted robbery, I think, or something.” Her brows furled and fear replaced the excitement. “Someone was after me . . . a man.” She glanced up at him. “His face wasn’t real. It kept changing.”

  Sounded otherworld to him.

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand, but I remember the clerk sending us down here.”

  Logan grabbed the edge of the trap door and ripped it back. Dank, stale air rose up and he didn’t bother to look down. What was the point? He nodded into the darkness.

  “You ready for this?”

  “Hell, no.” She tossed a quick smile his way and he watched, surprised, as Kira jumped down. Logan followed suit and tugged the heavy door behind him.

  He landed in ice-cold water and it took a bit for his eyes to adjust. His nostrils were full of Kira, of old, dead air, and wet cement. A heavy rumbling was heard and the foundation began to vibrate. It was subtle at first but within seconds they were both struggling to keep their balance.

  Logan’s eyes, now well adjusted, bored into Kira’s. “We’ve no time.” He pointed to his right. “That way. I’ll follow.”

  Her eyes were wide and though he smelled fear, he saw determination. She nodded—a quick, curt move—and took off at a good run.

  They were in an underground sewer system and their breath misted into clouds that disappeared almost immediately. The walls were rounded—dark gray wet cement—and the pipes that ran overhead glowed an eerie green color. None of this made sense, but Logan had learned long ago that not much in either the lower or upper realms ever did.

  The gray realm was a total mind fuck. All of this was part of Kira’s past, and even though he knew she wasn’t technically crazy, she wasn’t untouched either. She was part of the otherworld, whether she liked it or not.

  An unearthly screech sounded somewhere behind them and Kira stumbled, this time the fear evident as she glanced behind them.

  “They’re here, in the tunnel.”

  “Down there.” Logan pushed her to the left, down a narrow shaft. He knew they couldn’t outrun the bastards. Not like this.

  “I don’t . . . Logan, where can we go?”

  Her hand was on his chest, the only warmth to be found. He stared down at her for several seconds, watched as her eyes widened, filled with something else. Awareness?

  “The only way we can outrun them is if I shift.” He waited for a heartbeat. “I know you’re scared of what I am, but you’ll have to trust that I wo
n’t hurt you.”

  Her hand slowly slipped away and he was surprised at the strong urge he felt to grab it, to hold it against him and drink in her warmth and softness.

  Logan backed away, his gaze not leaving hers, and when he thought she was ready . . . when the noise from down the sewer grew louder . . . he called on the ancient magick of his people.

  His human clothes slipped away, disappearing into the nothing as mist rolled over his body. Limbs elongated and cracked—painfully—but it was something he relished—the pain. It spoke of his power and of his heritage and of the beast that lived inside him. As his body size tripled and quadrupled, never once did his gaze falter.

  Kira’s face was pale, her mouth pinched, but she didn’t move an inch as he stood before her, a hellhound. Her fear had tripled and how could it not? He was the size of large horse.

  The rumble of hundreds of trojans shook the foundation of the sewer. He bared his teeth and shook his head, stretching his long legs in front of him so that she would be able to climb on.

  Her hands, tentative at first, sank slowly into the thick fur between his shoulder blades, but then she dug in with her fists and hopped on top of him. She slid forward and her arms wrapped themselves around his neck, her legs pinned tight to his ribs.

  “Get me out of here,” she whispered hoarsely, “please.”

  Logan took off. His long legs and preternatural speed carried them down the shaft in a blur of fur, fangs, and Kira. His nostrils flared as hundreds of scents flew at him. When he was in his hellhound form all of his abilities were amplified. He became the ultimate tracker, and once he was set on a scent there was no escaping.

  He twisted and turned, going left and then right, picking up speed as adrenaline flooded his cells. After a while there was only the sound of water splashing against his paws, of his heart beating heavy in his chest, and of the ragged breaths falling from Kira.

  He didn’t slow down—if anything, he picked up speed and held his head low as he streaked through the underground tunnels wanting to put as much distance between him and the trojans.

  Eventually the dank smell of the sewer lessened and his ears pricked forward as he was able to filter other sounds.

  A crowd. Laughter. Excitement.

  By Logan’s estimation he’d been running for nearly an hour. He had no idea what was above them, but it was time to find out. The clock was ticking. He needed to get Kira back to the Regent Institute before her human form degenerated.

  He came to a stop and waited for her to slip from atop his body before he called upon his human skin. He transitioned as fast as he could, welcoming the pain—anything to distract him from the conflicting emotions Kira brought out in him. Moments later he stood before her, staring at her in silence. The eerie glow from pipes above them danced off the water and encircled her in swaths of green light.

  Her hair was a mess of tangles, her eyes large, luminous balls of oil. Her mouth parted and he saw the tip of her tongue. She took a step toward him, unsure, her tongue now moistening her lips as she bit down.

  For a second he imagined that tongue wet and glistening, gliding across something else. Logan exhaled harshly, banishing the image from his mind just as quick. What the hell was wrong with him?

  “That was . . .” She ran shaking hands through the tangles at her neck. “That was incredible. You’re incredible. I’ve never . . .”

  “Christ. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that line, I’d be a fucking millionaire.” The result was worth it.

  Her lips pinched briefly, and the fire he needed to see in her eyes returned. Considering what lay ahead, she sure as hell was going to need it.

  Kira rested her hands on her hips and the tongue that had been teasing him disappeared, which, if he was to be honest, was disappointing.

  “You may be an incredible . . . dog or whatever the hell you—”

  “Wrong.”

  “What?”

  “A dog is a pet.”

  “And?” Her brow was arched as she took a step closer.

  “I’m no pet.”

  “So what are you, then? A big-ass fur ball with fangs?” She was pissed now.

  Logan’s eyes glowed red as he leaned down until only a whisper separated his mouth from hers. “I’m like nothing you’ve ever met before, lady.”

  “You got that right.” She retorted. She pushed him away and took a step back. “My entire world has been the Institute and crazy people. Real crazy people.” Her chest was heaving with anger. “Nurses with syringes, orderlies, and doctors.” She was nearly spitting at him now. “Mergerone with his lectures, and greasy smile, and hands and . . .”

  “And what?” His voice was sharp. He sensed her pain.

  Kira smoothed her hair and exhaled. “Nothing.” She whirled around and jumped on the steel ladder that led topside. “What do you care? It’s all your fault anyway. You invaded my life when I was ten and I’ve been in hell ever since.”

  Logan watched her scramble for the surface, his jaw clenched tight, his brows furled. She thought she knew what hell was? Kira Dove had no fucking clue.

  Logan grabbed the bottom rung and quickly followed her up. If he was lucky, he might be able to save her from finding out.

  Chapter Nine

  KIRA KNEW THAT Logan was right behind her, but even so, she tensed when his long arms reached around and pushed the sewer grate open. She scrambled out and immediately rolled to the side as two large wooden stilts crashed down around her.

  Noise flooded her ears. Laughter, songs, conversations. It was a mad melee of music and people.

  Strong arms lifted her and Kira blinked rapidly, rubbing her eyes as the darkness gave way to a bright sun and a kaleidoscope of color. From atop stilts, a pale man in red, white, and blue—sporting an Uncle Sam beard and hat—grinned down at her.

  She had no time at all to wonder, to look and to take in—Logan had her hand gripped firmly inside his and pulled her through a crowd that danced and sang.

  “Stay close and keep your head low.” Logan said tersely, his breath warm against her ear. “Those that don’t belong are watching.”

  They were in the middle of a parade of sorts, a mad crush of people running through the streets waving banners that made no sense—symbols with markings beneath them—she didn’t understand any of the words.

  The sidewalks were filled with folk as well, watching and cheering as the group in the street passed. They were as varied in dress as those who surrounded Kira—similar to what she’d seen in the market. Men, women, and children were draped in silks and satins, cotton, denim, and leather. Kira spotted a nun and Sumo wrestler. All were laughing, enjoying whatever it was Kira and Logan were now part of.

  But somehow it didn’t ring true, as if the music notes on first listen, though perfect, were off key.

  Kira caught the eye of a tall, thin man who nodded as she passed. His complexion was as pale as his dirty gray shirt and pocked with many scars that gave him a craggy appearance. He wore a dark pinstripe suit and shiny patent leather shoes, and sported a dingy fedora that at one time must have been black, but now was faded to a dull gray.

  Oh God, how she hated gray.

  He touched the brim of his hat and smiled, his dark eyes glowing a vibrant green for just a second. His teeth were yellowed, his tongue black, and she was fairly certain maggots twisted and turned along the corners of his mouth.

  Kira couldn’t tear her eyes away, even though the sight of him made her stomach roil.

  Logan tugged on her hand, murmuring, “This way,” and she was forced to follow as they wove among the crowd. Kira chanced a look back and swallowed thickly as maggot man’s gaze continued to follow them. His smile widened and the queasiness inside her belly tripled.

  Her hand gripped Logan’s tightly and he paused, his eyes as dark as obsidian. “Are you all right?”

  Was that concern in his voice?

  Her cheeks flushed, her heart sped up. He was so big that she had to crank
her neck back in order to meet his gaze. She shook her head—didn’t trust her voice to speak so she remained silent.

  “You need to suck it up and grow a set. Contrary to what you may believe, this isn’t all about you. My ass is on the line, too, and I don’t mean to get it shot to hell here in this place.”

  Concern? Hell, no. The only thing he cared about was himself.

  “Let’s go.”

  They swept along with the crowd and she took a few moments to study the street. Logan had said this “gray realm,” as he called it, held memories from her mind. Of course that didn’t make any sense to her, but she was willing to go along with it since it seemed to be true, judging from the market and Central Park.

  They were on a main street of a small, picture-perfect town. The storefronts were quaint, whitewashed with blue trim. All of them. They boasted intricate wood design along the roofs, painted in crisp white trim, very much like a gingerbread house. Overhead seagulls flew, and as her eyes followed a pair of them, she smelled the scent of the ocean.

  Sand, sea, and salt.

  One of the signs hanging above a store caught her eye: The Sea Shell. It triggered pictures, memories of lazy summer afternoons at the beach, ice cream, and summer’s end carnivals.

  “I know this place,” she whispered. My family has a summer house close by on the beach.

  The crowd spilled into a large field that boasted rides and games for everyone. Kira smiled at the sight of a massive red, white, and blue Ferris wheel. It lumbered slowly, turning in a circle as the off-key song continued to play.

  Booths filled to the brim with stuffed animals and candy and prizes galore greeted her. It was overwhelming. The smell, sounds, and crush of people.

  A rush of gold and white appeared among the crowd—it was the dog she’d seen in the market—followed by the little boy. The young child laughed loudly as he followed the barking animal, waving his hands above his head like an airplane. He ran past, his mouth alive with buzzing noises as he snaked crazily through the crowd.