Wrong Side of Hell Page 7

  Logan swore as she dug in her heels so that she could watch him, and when the boy reached the Ferris wheel, he stopped and turned back to her. Their eyes locked and the smile disappeared from his face.

  A chill swept over Kira. Was the child trying to tell her something?

  “I told you to keep your head down, Dove. What part of that don’t you understand?” Logan’s anger snapped her out of it. She blinked, but when she looked again, the boy was gone.

  Kira yanked her hand from his. “I don’t understand any of this.” She stepped back—chest tight, heart pounding hard and heavy inside her—and turned in a circle. She winced as she caught sight of yellow-tooth maggot-mouth man. He was following her.

  Logan’s hand was on her shoulder and he spun her around. He was close. His scent was inside her. His spice, his overwhelming maleness . . . his strength. He was a man and an animal. On what planet was that even possible?

  His mouth was tight and she knew he was angry. Well, too fucking bad—so was she. Kira had had enough.

  “I want answers now.” She took a step backward.

  He growled, “Kira—”

  “No,” she interrupted. “No, no, no! I don’t want to hear ‘Kira.’ I don’t want to hear anything but the goddamn truth.”

  His face darkened into a cold mask and his chest rumbled as he stared back at her.

  “And I really don’t want to hear that either.”

  “That?” he said stiffly.

  She thumped him on the chest. “That animal sound you make or whatever the heck it is.” She snorted. “It’s not normal. None of this is normal or right or even possible. I’m not going anywhere with you until I know exactly what happened to me fifteen years ago.”

  Logan swore and tried to grab her, but she stepped back and twisted out of his reach. His eyes flashed blood red and she knew his anger had just ramped up big time.

  “You stupid little girl. You have no idea what the hell is going on because if you did—”

  “Enlighten me, asshole.”

  Logan’s face whitened. He stared at her for several moments, eyes cold and harsh.

  “Before this is all over, you will pay for your insolence—understand?”

  No, I don’t.

  Kira leaned forward, as if she was about to share a confidence, and whispered. “Fuck you.”

  She’d crossed a line . . . hell, she’d damn well jumped over it, but in that moment it felt more like she’d just reclaimed something.

  Her life.

  She whirled around and rushed into the crowd, ignoring his bark of rage. She was filled with a shot of exhilaration, or maybe it was adrenaline or something else entirely. Whatever it was, she liked it.

  The trojans and the terror she’d felt in the sewer disappeared as the carnival-like atmosphere surrounded her. She wanted to lose herself in it and never come back.

  “Dove, get your ass back here.” His voice had elevated from pissed off to pure rage.

  She ignored him, accepted a huge pink balloon of cotton candy as she ran past a six-foot clown. It was reckless what she was doing, but it felt sweeter than the pink cloud of sugar in her hands.

  Kira darted among the crowd, her legs strong and sure as she slipped around the people, running past the rides, the games, and food booths. Ahead she saw the dog—the small golden thing from before—waving its tail rapidly, its little chest heaving as it barked crazily . . . at her.

  She ran toward the animal, wincing at the bellow that followed behind her. All of a sudden everything seemed much more in her face. The crowd was louder and a hint of menace touched all of them, electrifying the air and filling her chest with dread.

  The dog disappeared between something called The Zipper and a red-and-white–striped candy apple stand. Kira stayed hot on its heels, though she stopped abruptly when she rounded the side of the tall ride. Thick, rolling mist swirled in front of her—a wall of it—and everything around her was flooded with its heaviness. The sounds of the carnival faded as the wet air slid over her.

  A touch of fear turned in her gut. It was as if the carnival had never existed. She stumbled, blind as a bat, until finally the fog cleared and she found herself in the middle of the market.

  A cool breeze swept along the street, spreading bits of paper and refuse into the air. They danced like snowflakes, hitting her in the face and arms. The sun was hiding, the colors and scents of the Caribbean gone—not a soul stirred and Catherine’s booth was empty.

  The entire market was painted by the same dull gray brush that seemed to follow her everywhere.

  “If I never see this color again . . .” Kira muttered.

  She stepped forward and winced at the sad echo of her boots on the pavement. Her gaze darted here and there, searching for anyone who might be hiding in the shadows, but there was no one. A bark echoed from down the way and Kira peered into the gloom. Suddenly the wisdom of following the dog was definitely in doubt.

  “Shit,” she murmured, unsure and feeling very much alone. She heard a scuff behind her and froze.

  “You are the most annoying, frustrating, and ill-behaved human I’ve ever met.”

  It was Logan. She relaxed a bit and turned around. He stood a few inches from her, hands fisted at his sides and mouth set into a tight, grim line.

  “Human? You say that like it’s a disease or something. Should I be insulted?”

  A vein throbbed near his temple. “This isn’t a fucking game.”

  “Really? What is it? ‘Cause I have no idea. No one’s had the balls to let me in on that little secret.”

  His dark eyes studied her in silence and she shifted, uncomfortable beneath his intense glare. “I don’t have time for this.”

  “Newsflash, buddy. If I’m already dead, then seems to me I should have all the time in the world.”

  He snarled as he moved closer, and though Kira would have preferred to keep some space between them, she refused to budge. “That’s where you’re wrong, little girl.”

  “Don’t call me little girl.” She spat at him.

  “Then stop acting like one. Your situation is a lot more serious than it appears, and right now death is the least of your worries.”

  “I find that hard to believe.” But Kira saw the look in his eyes and her stomach twisted harder than it already was.

  Logan ignored her. “Time is your enemy.” He paused, ran his hands through his hair, and nailed her with a look that spoke volumes. “The clock is ticking and you’re almost out of it.”

  Chapter Ten

  THE DOG SHE’D been following howled. It was a hairsplitting cry that cut between the two of them and ended on an abrupt note that was jarring. Silence followed, the kind that weighed heavily. Fear, thick and foul tasting, filled Kira’s mouth, and when Logan grabbed her hand she offered no resistance.

  His touch wasn’t gentle—in fact, his fingers dug into her flesh, causing her to wince. But it was real, and hard, and if she knew nothing at all, she knew that blood flowed beneath his veins the same as hers. And in this place of chaos and falsehood, it was reassuring.

  They ran across the deserted street and headed toward a series of buildings that bordered two of the four sides of the market square. What made up the remainder of the square couldn’t be seen; the fog was too thick. Logan pushed open the third door and bolted it behind them once they were inside. Only then did he let go of her hand.

  They were in some kind of gift shop, one filled with candles, pottery, and artwork. Several large and small canvases filled the walls, full of varying shades of gray with the odd dash of color. Kira glanced at them but they didn’t register, not really. Nothing in here did. She couldn’t focus.

  You’re almost out of time.

  That’s what Logan had said. But what did he mean?

  She turned to him and was more than a little unnerved to find his dark eyes settled onto her, arms crossed over his chest as he glared at her.

  “I want some answers or . . . I’m not going anywhere w
ith you.” Did she sound childish? Maybe. Did she give a rat’s ass? Hell, no.

  He remained silent and anger stirred within Kira. “Who are you?” She shook her head savagely. “No, that’s wrong. I think the question should be what are you.”

  “Hellhound.”

  “Say again?”

  Logan moved toward the window and peered out. He dropped the blinds and turned back to her. It was several degrees darker now, and the shadows that flickered across his face made him look a hundred times fiercer than he already was.

  “I’m a hellhound. I escort souls to the hell realm for processing.”

  “Hellhound,” she repeated as an image of his furriness flashed before her eyes. She thought that maybe a normal person would reject what he’d just shared. But how could she? After all she’d seen?

  “Are we talking . . .” She pointed below and waited, breath caught in her throat as he nodded. Okay, then.

  “I’m not sure I understand exactly,” she paused, “what you mean.”

  “Souls that have been marked for the lower realm usually require,” a ghost of a smile played around his mouth, though his eyes remained cold as winter, “a little coaxing.” He shrugged. “Most try to escape, but once scented, there is no evading a hellhound. I bring them in to be processed.”

  “Processed?”

  Logan was quiet for a moment. “I guess ‘sentenced’ would be the correct word.”

  She snorted. “You have a judge and jury in hell?”

  He shook his head. “No judge. No jury. Just a pissed off demon who decides what district the term will be served in. District One being almost heavenly compared to, say, District Three.” Logan’s smile was harsh. “Trust me. Rarely does one get sentenced to District One for the term of their punishment.”

  “Term?”

  He shrugged. “Term means nothing, really. A trip below means forever. Once you’ve been marked, there is no turning back.” Logan watched her closely. “Hell is no different from anyplace else. There is order,” he grimaced, “of a sort.”

  Kira’s mind moved fast, processing what Logan had shared. “So, when I was ten you came for me because I’d been marked?”

  He nodded but remained silent.

  Flashes of heat, moans of pain, and the smell of fear as thick as acrid smoke filled her mind. She exhaled slowly and took a few steps, needing some space between them.

  His dark eyes followed her as she moved away—she felt them on her skin as surely as if he’d taken his hands and run them across her shoulders and down her arms. A shiver followed in their wake and she ran fingers through the tangles that fell around her face.

  Why?

  “I was ordered to.”

  Okay, he was a mind reader now?

  “Ordered . . . you have a boss?”

  “I answer to the Overlord Santos.”

  “Overlord,” she repeated. “That makes sense.” Her eyes flashed. “It’s not like you’d have a boss called, say . . . Mr. Smith or Mrs. Hannigan or anything like that. No way, because that would be normal and you’re about as far away from,” she felt him just behind her and froze, “normal as you can get.” She finished in a whisper.

  “We don’t have time for this, Kira.”

  The way he said her name made her feel hot inside and more than a little shaky. She couldn’t let him rattle her. Not now. She needed the truth.

  “You told me I was dead. I don’t get that.” Kira whirled around and ate the squeal that sat at the back of her throat. He was much too close. Much too large . . . and much too male.

  “In the human realm, your body lies in a morgue at the Regent Institute.”

  “The human realm,” she repeated. Right. Because this was so not the human realm.

  Light flashed inside her head as pain lanced across her skull. She groaned and doubled over, hating the pictures that ran through her mind. Mergerone. His hands. His face and smell. The new orderlies. Their glee at her pain and their relentless attack.

  “No,” she whispered in horror as she backed away. Fists pounding against flesh rang in her ears and a sob escaped from between her lips. “I tried,” she whispered. “I knew they wouldn’t let me leave that room alive. They were too big and too strong and they . . .” Her eyes sought out Logan’s. “They weren’t human and there was . . .”

  “Go on,” he prompted, his voice as gentle as it was going to get.

  “There was someone in the shadows. I couldn’t see his face but I felt him. Felt his sadistic joy.” She let out a shuddering breath. “Why? Why would they want to kill me . . . ?” Her voice trailed into nothing as she stared at him.

  Logan moved closer yet, and this time she welcomed the energy and strength that he gave off. Kira watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. She inhaled the earthy, exotic scent of him, and for one brief moment wanted nothing more than to move into his arms and forget everything.

  “I can’t answer your questions.”

  Of course.

  Kira had never felt so alone. “Can’t or won’t?” she said bitterly.

  “Both” was his curt reply. “I need to get you out of here alive and take you back.”

  “Take me back? Where? To your so-called human realm? But if I’m dead, then what?” She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You don’t need to understand.” He leaned forward. “You need to listen.”

  The dog began to bark once more.

  Kira exhaled stiffly and tore her eyes away from his. He made her nervous. The man was much too intense and held too many secrets.

  Could this be one of her nightmares? It seemed plausible. She rubbed her temple and winced as the beginnings of a headache erupted. There was no alternative but to go with it and see where she ended up. Was she alive? Dead? Or somewhere in between?

  “Okay.” She pulled away. “What’s the plan?”

  “We find the portal.”

  “Portal?” This was the stuff of science fiction novels.

  “Do you remember where you were when you first arrived here?”

  “No, not really.” Kira shook her head but then she paused. “I think I was here in the market.” Her brow furled. “No, no, that’s wrong . . . hold on.” The pressure inside her head was incredible, pressing behind her optic nerves with a ferocity that left her dizzy. Blotches of color, the sensation of soft cotton sheets and floating on air surrounded her. It was blurry at first, then like water receding in the tide, the mist cleared. “My first memory of this place was at my house. I was in my bedroom in Beverly Hills.”

  “Do you remember where the house was in relation to this market?”

  “No.” Panic set in and she began to pace.

  “Do you remember any sounds or maybe a smell? The gray realm is constantly shifting but smells linger and we might get lucky.”

  A thought crossed her mind. “How did you get here?”

  “That path is closed.”

  “Why?”

  “Let’s just say I don’t bring out the warm fuzzies in the gatekeeper.” His eyes narrowed, his voice was firm. “Tick tock, tick tock . . . I need you to remember.”

  Kira cracked her neck and tried to ease the tension that lay across her shoulders. It was no use. She was strung tighter than a bow around an arrow. Still, she closed her eyes and concentrated. Nothing but a blank canvas came to mind. “It hurts,” she whispered.

  “Try harder.” There was no compassion in his voice, but did she really expect it?

  The dog’s barking had reached a level that signaled the game had changed—at this very moment the trojans might have arrived with their master close at hand. Yet Kira shut it out, covering her ears with her hands as she searched her mind. Pain sliced through her skull and she cried out.

  Then, like a leak that had been sprung, a small crack appeared in her memories. It fingered out—thin spidery legs of images, smells, and sensations. She turned to Logan and whispered, “French toast.”

  “French toast,�
� he repeated, watching her closely.

  She nodded. “Someone brought me breakfast. It was there beside my bed. French toast, maple syrup, and scrambled eggs.” Her brow furled. “I reached for the plate.” Eyes wide, she stared up into his. “It had been so long since I’d had anything like it, but . . .” she exhaled. “It disappeared . . . right before my eyes. When I rolled out of bed everything went weird, like the floor was mushy and the walls changed color. I was off balance and the next thing I remember is standing at the edge of the market.”

  “French toast,” he murmured. Blue eyes stared into dark ones. “You did good, kid.” He nodded toward the back of the shop. “This way.”

  Kira’s gaze rested on his broad shoulders, her face flushed at the small crumb of praise. He opened the door and glanced back at her, hand beckoning toward the swirling mist beyond. His nostrils flared and his eyes sparked crimson.

  Most people would run the other way at the sight of such a man. He was too large, too intimidating . . . too much an alpha male. And then there was the whole turning-into-an-animal thing.

  This man or hellhound—or whatever he was—held her life in the palm of his hand. He was asking her to believe in things that were beyond believable for most people, and yet . . . she trusted him completely.

  Which made no sense.

  “Nothing about this makes sense,” she said under her breath.

  Kira started forward, a prayer on her lips as she slipped past Logan and disappeared into the heavy mist. It was the first prayer she’d uttered in over fifteen years.

  She just hoped someone was listening.

  Chapter Eleven

  THE SMELLS OUT here were sharp. They tingled along the inside of Logan’s nose and he filtered out the ones he wanted before moving forward. His long legs ate up the concrete while Kira’s smaller ones pumped fast in order to keep up with him. He supposed he could slow down—match his strides with hers—but the need to complete the mission tore at him.

  The gray realm made him edgy. Kira made him edgy. And that left the bad taste of losing control in his mouth. Something he didn’t much care for.