Chapter 29

CHAPTER 29

Zinnia

The massive hound was watching me closely.

I had no idea how long he'd been in Limbo, but I'd never heard anyone talk about him. The hounds spoke of the brothers they'd lost, but no one had ever mentioned a male named Axton. Because they were created by Lucifer; once their bodies were burned, their souls should automatically go back to Hell. At least, that was the way it was supposed to work.

"Why are you here?" I asked him.

Nox had sent me here, to this hound, for a reason. Most likely to disarm me, maybe get me to drop my guard. Hellhounds were protective of females; they always said themselves that they worshipped them, which was why I'd been so surprised by the way Relic had treated that demon. It was so far out of character for him, for any hellhound.

His jaw worked. "I lost my head, sweetheart," he said, voice deep. "But none of my brothers were around to burn my body, so my soul was trapped here instead of going home." His shoulders kind of slumped. "Now I'm stuck here, walking around this fucking replica of our den alone."

Not only was that awful, it made logical sense as to why he was here. "I'm sorry," I said and meant it. Maybe Nox thought I'd feel so sorry for the hellhound, it would stop me in my tracks, or the comfort of the familiar would slow me down. She was wrong. Nothing would stop me. "I'm so sorry that happened to you, and if you tell me where your body is, maybe I'll be able to get a message back to War when I get out of here. They can find it, burn it. Free you from this place."

A smile transformed his handsome face. "You'd do that for me?" Like all the hounds, there was something compelling about him. They were all handsome in their own way.

"Of course. War's family, and that makes you family."

A roar came from behind him, followed by cheers and howls.

I lifted my knife. "What the hell is that? I thought you were here alone?"

His fingers curled into fists. "I am. But I can still hear them. Death taunts me. He lets me hear my brothers, but I can never find them."

That was torture. "I'll talk to Death. I'll ask him to make this more bearable for you until I can get my message to War."

"You have Death's ear?"

"I did… hopefully, I still do." Hopefully, he hadn't given up on me completely. I just needed to get to him. "I'm sorry you're stuck here like this, but I have to leave."

He shoved his fingers through his hair. "I get it… can you just… will you stay for a little while? I'm… I'm so lonely, Zinnia. So fucking lonely."

This male was War and Relic's brother; they loved him, no doubt missed him terribly. Maybe they didn't know he was dead? Maybe they just thought he'd left or was in Hell, serving Lucifer. The hounds all took turns controlling the demons there, spending time between Hell and Roxburgh. Whatever had happened, my heart ached for him. "Maybe… just for a little while."

His expression lightened, his smile returning.

"I can't stay long, though."

He nodded. "Of course." His gaze slid to the couch. "Can we just sit on the couch? I'm not trying to be a creep. I just want to feel someone close. I haven't been touched by another being in… in so long. Not trying to cop a feel, Zinnia. I just want a hug, yeah?"

Everything he'd told me was plausible, and with what I knew of the hounds, their feelings about females and their unwavering loyalty, I truly didn't think he wanted to hurt me. Hounds were devoid of certain emotions, but they were extremely tactile; they liked touch, needed it. It would've been torture for Axton without it and without his brothers. Yes, Nox was trying to slow me down, and staying here with Axton was playing right into her hands, but I could spare him ten minutes before I left. "Okay then."

He took a shuddery breath. "Thank you," he said, the sincerity in his voice clear. He walked to the couch, looking awkward, and it pulled at my heart strings.

So I sat and waved him forward. He closed the space between us and sat beside me; then he slid down, resting his head on my lap, and wrapped his arms around my middle with a sigh.

"Better?" I rubbed his back, and light glinted off the gold wrapped around my finger. It'd stopped bleeding, but it hurt like hell. It wasn't hard to work out that whatever it was had me trapped in this limbo loop. I just needed some time—time not being chased by insane lumberjacks or emotionally propping up lonely hellhounds—to figure out how to get it off.

"Fuck, this is… I needed this, thank you," he rasped.

"No problem." I gasped a little when he tightened his arms around me.

"Sorry," he muttered. "So have you spent much time at the clubhouse?"

"Yeah, when I'm in Roxburgh. Willow and War have a daughter now, and Wills has these movie nights for the hounds and anyone who wants to come along."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, and Relic is a really good friend."

He snorted.

"What?"

"Relic's a piece of shit."

I blinked down at him, confused. The hounds didn't do that; they didn't talk shit about one another. They had disagreements, sure, but I'd never heard them say shit about each other, not like that. "You didn't get along?"

"Relic, like the others, thinks the sun shines out of the alpha's ass."

"You and War didn't get on? I thought you were his right hand?"

He shrugged. "Maybe I exaggerated. I should've been alpha."

Unease slid through me.

Axton's eyes drifted shut, and he breathed deep. He made a low groan, then breathed in again.

He was scenting me.

I glanced down, and my unease increased. His dick was straining against the zipper of his jeans. Fuck . Something was seriously wrong here. He was lying to me. If the hounds lost one of their own, if he was damaged beyond the possibility of healing, they'd find him and burn him and send him home. They were the best trackers around. I was an idiot. Why didn't I think of that? I'd looked at him, and I'd seen Relic and War and the other males I cared about; I imagined what it would have been like for one of them. If the hounds wanted to send him back to Hell, they wouldn't have stopped looking for him until they found him.

"Haven't been with a female in a long time, Zinnia. You know we need it. Making a hound go without fucking for as long as I have is the worst kind of torture. You'll let me fuck you, won't you? You'll be my bitch and get on all fours, won't you, witch?"

Fear sliced through me, but I made myself breathe easy. I had to play this carefully. "I'm Death's consort. He wouldn't like it if I was with anyone else."

He chuckled. "If you're his, then why are you here? Why hasn't he come for you? Nah, that's not it. You afraid of how big I am? A lot of females are. You'll only cry for a little while, but then I'll stretch you out, and you'll be fine."

I wanted to vomit. Now I knew why he was here. War had sent him here. "I have to admit, I've always wanted to sleep with a hound. Do you promise to be careful? At least to start with?"

He reached down and squeezed his hard-on. "Sure. I'll go easy if you let me call you Willow. You look like her with all that red hair. Been wanting to fist that hair for a long fucking time."

Fuck . Warrick most definitely sent him here on purpose.

"A bit weird for me, but sure, whatever floats your boat," I said. "Do you mind if I take a shower first? I've been traveling, so I feel pretty gross."

"I like you all dirty," he said roughly.

"I'll be quick."

He sat up, his fingers wrapping around my throat. "You try anything, and you'll pay, understand, Willow?"

"I understand, Ax—"

"War. You call me War or Warrick from now on."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. "Okay, War."

He smiled. "You know where my quarters are?"

I nodded.

"Shower, then get in bed on all fours and wait for me."

I nodded again.

He released me, and I got off the couch and forced myself not to run for the door.

"In case you were wondering, the stairs that lead out of the den aren't there," he said and grinned before I could walk through it. "Just in case you were wondering."

I shrugged. "Nope." What the fuck was I going to do? As I rushed down the hall, howls and cheers echoed around me, as if more hounds were here. It sounded so real. I broke into a run. Hemy poked his head out of the bag, a little hiss leaving him, sensing the danger.

"I'll get us out of here. I will," I said to him.

There had to be another way out. I didn't know why, but I ran toward those howls, the familiar sounds of the hounds I knew and loved. They led me to a pit. Willow had told me about it—a place where they trained, blew off steam, or settled any disagreements.

My feet paused at the door as a scene played out before me. Warrick and Axton were in the pit, and it was surrounded by hounds. Ren was there, and Willow as well. They looked so real, but when I tried to touch one of them, my hand went right through.

Warrick advanced, fisted Axton's hair, and dragged him to the edge of the pit, smashing his face into the charred packed-earth wall. Axton dropped to his hands, and War yanked his head back again.

The bravado had dropped from Axton's face, and he shook his head. "No… please, Alpha…"

"Fucking coward," Lothar said to Willow.

"I'll leave… I'll never come back," Axton said.

Warrick stared down at him. "You attacked my female, you made her bleed, and then you dared to challenge me. The former alone is enough for me to put you to death, and the latter you walked into willingly, knowing exactly what the consequences of defeat were."

"No… please…"

War snapped the other male's neck, then pulled a knife from his boot and hacked off his head.

"Jesus," Willow said.

"If he doesn't take his head, he could survive. We heal from most injuries," Jagger said to her.

The hounds gathered around the pit and lifted their hands palms up. Flames danced across their skin, licking over their thick fingers.

Warrick shook his head, and silence filled the room.

The hounds lowered their gazes as they curled their fingers into fists, extinguishing their fires. "What's going on?" Willow asked Jagger.

"Burning him would send his soul back to Hell. Leaving his body to rot means his soul will be in eternal limbo."

War met his brothers' eyes, one by one, rage rolling off him. "You lay your hands on my female, you dare touch what's mine, and I will fucking end you. You challenge me for head of this pack, you enter the pit prepared to fight to the death. You'll get no mercy here."

Growls and grunts of approval echoed around them.

Axton had attacked Willow and challenged War. If it were the challenge alone, he wouldn't be here, but attacking Willow had been his fatal mistake.

The scene flickered, and it started all over again, the cheers and howls filling the room.

I ran back the way I came, searching my mind, trying to remember everything Willow had said about the den. There would be another way out of here; there had to be.

Then I remembered something. When Wills was telling me about how she and War first got together, she told me about a door in Warrick's room that led up to the clubhouse that females would knock on, trying to get him to let them in. It had to be the way out.

Axton would be coming for me soon, so I had to be quick. I sprinted to War's quarters and shut myself in, throwing the bolt after me. It was heavy, strong, made to give a hellhound pause, but it wouldn't hold for long. Spinning back, I took in the room. This was how it was before War renovated, before he opened it up, combining several rooms for him, Wills, and Violet. Which meant less for me to search, thank fuck. I scanned every inch of exposed wall, but there was no door. Had all the doors been taken? Was that the real reason Nox had sent me here, because there was no way out?

There was a tall dresser against the wall; it looked built-in, but it was definitely big enough to cover a door. I rushed over, running my hands around the edge. Not built-in. I tried to shift it.

The door handle rattled. "Let me in, Willow," Axton said.

"Just a minute… War. I want everything perfect for you," I called back and threw my back into it. The dresser scraped against the floor. Hemlock hissed again, scurrying out of my bag and onto my shoulder.

"What are you doing in there?" he called.

Yes! A door. Thank fuck. "I'm making it nice. Now be patient," I called back, doing my best impersonation of Willow.

I shoved again, and it scraped forward some more.

"Open the fucking door. Now, Willow!" he roared and smashed against the heavy wood.

I dragged the dresser forward a bit more, enough for me to squeeze in behind. He crashed against the charred wood again, trying to break in. I tried the handle, but the door was locked. Cursing, I pulled out my knife and worked on the hinges while Axton roared and continued to slam against the door. Thank fuck it was made by hounds; any other door would have buckled instantly.

I got the first hinge out, and then the second came easily, but the last was wedged tight. I dug my blade in and smacked my palm against the handle of my knife over and over.

The door crashed open behind me as the last hinge gave. Hemy shrieked and hissed, and I slammed my shoulder into the door, and it dropped as the dresser went flying.

Axton roared and reached for me as I fell through—

My hands landed on damp grass. It was night, a false moon lighting the area enough that I could still see everything clearly. I was in a small clearing, surrounded by trees. Hemlock was on the grass beside me, and I scooped him up. "It's okay," I said and stood—bumping against something behind me. An iron gate. One that I'd seen before.

A shriek echoed through the trees, and then another one. The same sounds I'd heard when I'd seen Death with the undead.

Only this time, I was on the wrong side of the gate.

I slid my knife free, gripping it tight as more shrieks filled the night. There was movement in the shadows, slow, awkward movement. They were coming. Then, one by one, they shuffled forward. There were three of them, and as they got closer and I got a better look at them, flashes of memory assaulted me.

I knew them from my visions. They'd each housed my soul at some point—the females who had cringed away from Death when he'd brought them to the castle. He'd sensed my soul, but it hadn't been enough. For some reason, they hadn't been enough to draw him from the cloak.

They'd all suffered, never content, never complete, sad, alone, confused, always pining for something, for someone, and not knowing what it was. It was Death. He was the missing piece, but they never saw him, they never got to see beneath the cloak, and without him, they'd ended their own lives full of despair, and Death's hope had been shattered over and over again. He blamed himself, his guilt unbearable.

"Whether you return to me or not, the choice is yours, little witch. But I'm begging you… choose me over everything and everyone, over a life with them, over the possibility of death here with me."

"Choose me."

Death didn't see the shell, not really; he saw my soul, the only thing that could make him whole again, make us both whole again. I'd been with him since almost the dawn of time, taken from him over and over again. Then when he'd finally found me and I'd drawn him from the cloak, from the shadows, and he'd allowed himself to hope—I hadn't recognized him. I hadn't remembered the love we shared.

He'd been waiting, hoping I'd remember, but I hadn't.

Until now.

I looked up at the females around me. Empty shells somehow still here, trapped, probably until I broke Nox's curse.

This was torture.

I remembered every tragic life these females had led—that I had led.

There was only one way to end this, for them and me. I had to get to Death.

"It's time to set you free," I choked, pressing my hand into the grass and placing the tip of my blade to the base of my gold-wrapped finger. Gritting my teeth, I thrust the knife down on it with force—slicing my finger off with a cry.

Everything paused; the females blinked at me, not moving. Hemy squeaked, and then the world around me shifted—

I was back on the skull path, just inside the gateway.

Quickly grabbing a shirt from my pack, I tore it into strips and wrapped the bleeding stump where my finger had been; then I started down the path. This was the way home, finally. I recognized the forest, but it looked as dark and desolate as it had when I first arrived, and it felt the same as well. The horror and pain, the despair, it was all I could do to keep walking.

Hemy emerged from my pack, then scurried back in, feeling what I did.

We rounded the bend, and the castle came into view. It was like I was living out the dream I'd had. I walked quicker, breaking into a run, taking the steps to the main doors two at a time, shoving them open.

The air was punched from my lungs. It was dark and cold, a mess of broken furniture—and the floor was cracked from one side to the other.

Movement caught my eye. Egon. He lifted his head from where he sat in the shadows. He stared at me as if I were a hallucination.

"Egon?"

He jolted and shot to his feet. "My lady?"

"Where is he?"

"You've been gone… so very long." He shook his head. "It's too late. He's… my lord is not the male you left."

An awful feeling crawled through me. "How long? How long have I been gone?"

"In human time?"

I stilled. "Yes."

Sympathy filled his eyes. "Twelve months."

I rocked back, grabbing onto the broken table so I didn't fall down. "Twelve months? I've been gone a full year?" I choked, shaking my head. "I was here."

Egon twisted his fingers in front of himself. "He couldn't feel you… you were gone. He thought…" His gaze dropped to my forearm, where my scar was, where the tattoo the demon had given me to hide from Death had once been.

He thought I'd hidden from him? Oh goddess, no. "Is he in his room?" I choked.

The demon glanced up to the second floor. "It's too dangerous."

I took off, running up the stairs, ignoring Egon calling after me, and moved along the shadowed hall to his door. A year? How could that be? Flinging the door open, I rushed inside. It was dark, the air stale. It smelled like actual death. Like a corpse had been left to rot away to nothing, and now only bones and dust remained.

"Mors?" I rasped, walking deeper into the room, using his name that he'd forbidden me to use for so long because it hurt, it hurt to hear it from me when I didn't remember who he was.

Nothing.

I didn't need to search the room; I knew exactly where he was. He was on the bed, draped in his cloak, unmoving.

Biting my lip, I moved to his side. "I'm here. I've come back to you," I choked out.

Nothing.

"Mors."

His cloak swirled.

"Please, look at me."

Slowly, he lifted his head, then turned to me.

His hood slipped back, and I swallowed down a cry of agony. His face was skin stretched over bone. There was barely anything left of him.

Then he opened his mouth and roared.