Wrong Side of Hell (9 page)

“Be warned,” Logan continued. “One of my brothers will be back for you, and where you’re going,” he smiled savagely, “there will be no escape.”

Logan turned and held his hand out toward Kira. She stared at it for several seconds. She knew she was on the precipice of another life-changing moment. Did she run from all of it or trust in Logan?

“Kira, we have to go.”

His voice was rough, the timbre intimate, and yet she sensed his confusion as well. It was then that she realized every single moment of her life had led to this point. If she never saw Logan again, he would still walk beside her every second of every day.

How could he not? She’d lived and breathed his memory.

Kira took a step forward. She didn’t want the memory. She wanted the real deal.

Logan moved suddenly, his arms grabbing her close, pulling her up against his chest. He ran from the morgue, his long legs carrying them past the front desk and out into the humid Florida evening. Kira melted into his warmth and her last coherent thought was of the cicadas.

About how their song had never sounded so sweet.

And of the man who held her.

Of how it felt as if he was the home she’d never had.

Chapter Thirteen

 
“S
HE’S RESTING COMFORTABLY.”

Logan glanced up and nodded at Bill. He settled his large frame into the too-small wooden chair as best he could and took a long draw from the cold beer in his hand. Shadows clung to the corner he’d chosen, and though he appeared relaxed, he was, in fact, wound tighter than a tornado about to touch ground.

He’d met Bill at a large hotel somewhere along the border between Texas and Mexico. The Texan—not the most original of names. Bill had assured Logan the rambling bordello-style place was a safe haven, but still, he was wary.

Logan’s dark eyes scanned the entire room and he shifted, trying to alleviate the tight muscles that stretched across his shoulders. God, he was tired. He’d driven like a bat out of hell to get to Texas after deciding he couldn’t chance a normal shift. Logan wasn’t sure that Kira’s already weakened body could take another trip through space and time. He’d stolen an SUV—pointed it northeast—and had laughed like hell when he’d realized it belonged to Mergerone.

A satisfied grin stole over Logan’s face. Mergerone, the slimy fucker, would meet an end worthy of the filthiest of scumbags.

His thoughts drifted to the woman upstairs. She’d not woken the entire time it had taken them to get to the border and he was more than a little worried. Was there permanent damage?

“Is Kira going to be all right?” he asked, surprised to realize just how anxious he was to know her status.

Bill grabbed the seat across from him and grinned, the round jowls of his cheeks jiggling slightly as he settled himself in the wooden chair. “Oh yes. In a few days she’ll be good as new. I’ve seen to it.”

Logan’s fingers tightened around the beer bottle as he stared at the Seraphim. Bill had at least dialed down the glam factor since his last visit, and was wearing plain denim jeans and a jacket that, while not unfashionable, did not sport pink, shiny lapels.

A shout drew Logan’s attention and he glanced over at a group of men hanging near the bar. The room was full, though as far as he could tell the only otherworld creatures in the entire place sat at his table.

Logan took another swig of his beer and then set the empty bottle on the table. He got to his feet. “I’m glad she’s going to be all right.”

“Better than new, as I’m sure you’ll be glad to know.” Bill grinned up at him, his smile lopsided, his full cheeks flushed red. His eyes shimmered and Logan bristled at the display of power that resided in their depths.

He took a step back and nodded. “That’s great, but you’ve got me confused with someone who gives a shit.” He sounded like a cold bastard, and the table jiggled slightly as Bill’s eyes narrowed. Good. The little turd was finally getting it. Logan Winters didn’t give a flying fuck about Bill’s agenda. About the fucking League of Guardians. He’d done his part. As for Kira, well, he could admit that he was relieved she’d made it through the shift back and that it appeared she’d be okay. He might even have entertained the idea of Kira and . . . himself? Was he nuts?

He scowled and cursed. Best to let it rest.

“I think it’s time for me to leave. I don’t belong topside.” Logan said flatly.

“You will stay.” Bill rose and even though the top of his head barely reached Logan’s chest, there was no mistaking the power that existed inside his small form. Logan’s empty beer bottle rattled and jerked its way toward the edge until it teetered precariously, less than an inch from falling. “I fear the tide is changing. The peace we’ve enjoyed for so long is about to end.”

“Seriously, Bill, you sound like a goddamn politician.”

Bill ignored his sarcastic comment. “An ill wind rides the horizon and the League needs to stand firm.”

Here it was. Crunch time. Logan decided he’d play along—at least until he was able to dig out the truth.

He leveled a steady gaze on Bill. “The bastard after Kira is one of your own. He stank to high heaven of the upper realm.” Logan snorted. “No offense.”

Bill’s eyebrows rose, their thick wiry strands almost comical as the little man stared up at Logan. “You’re sure of this.” It wasn’t a question so much as a statement, and judging by the expression on Bill’s face, it was obvious the little shit wasn’t surprised.

Logan nodded. “He’s definitely shooting golden glow out of his ass; I just don’t know
how much
.”

Bill’s face tightened. “I need you to stay with the girl. I can’t chance her safety with anyone else—”

“No fucking way.” Logan exploded, his voice carrying loudly and drawing the attention of most of the room. He bent closer. “I told you I was out. The only reason I did this was because of my mother. I held up my end of the bargain and I expect you to do the same.”

The Seraphim stared up at him for several long moments. Bill finally answered. “I will not reveal your mother’s identity but you cannot leave.”

Logan turned around. “Watch me.”

“Kira will perish without you.”

The words whispered inside his head and Logan froze, his large frame thrumming with anger. What game was this?

“What the hell does that mean?” Images of Kira sank into his brain. Full of sun and golden skin, intermingled with the battered, dead body he’d first encountered.

The taste of her was still in his mouth and the feel of her was on his skin. There was a connection there—something he really didn’t want to think about. What was the point? She was human. He was a hellhound. Besides, she’d been marked by both the underworld and the upper realm. Complication was her new middle name.

Complicated was something Logan Winters wanted to avoid.

“If she dies all will be lost. You’ve tasted her soul, Logan. You followed her into the gray realm and you brought her back when there was no one else. Can you really leave Kira to the mercy of those who would end her?”

Logan stepped back, not liking where the conversation was going. The corners of the room were closing in and he tugged at the collar of his jacket. Christ but it was hot.

“Why the hell can’t you look after her?” he snarled.

Bill’s mouth thinned. “You know I cannot directly involve myself in the affairs of humans. That is not negotiable. Especially ones that hold the interest of the otherworld. It would risk exposing the very group of people who can help her. I can’t be with Kira all the time and she needs to be guarded 24/7.”

“I’m a hellhound . . . I don’t do topside and I sure as fuck don’t think that little slip of a human can survive below.”

“There are ways.”

“No.”

“You’re being stubborn.”

“You’re being a dick. I told you I was out.”

“You care for her. I see it in your eyes.”

“I hardly know her.”

“Her future is linked to yours.”

“Listen, Askelon,” Bill’s words sunk in and Logan faltered. A few seconds of silence passed and then he said softly, dangerously, “What did you say?”

Bill ran pudgy fingers across his shiny bald head. He sat down once more and motioned for Logan to do the same.

Logan exhaled harshly, aware that they were garnering just a little bit more attention than he liked. He slid into the chair and glared at Bill. “Tell me.” He said tersely.

“I don’t know the exact details—”

“Your kind never does,” he interrupted. “You pull your puppet strings and move your chess pieces with one hand while doling out the barest of information with the other.” Logan bent forward, his eyes glowing red as his animal shifted beneath his skin. “I’m not playing anymore. You either tell me the whole truth or I walk.”

Bill held his gaze for a long time and then nodded toward the chair, his face grave. “Sit.” At Logan’s growl he lowered his voice. “Please. I’ve a story to tell.”

A
N HOUR LATER Logan let himself into the room Bill had readied for Kira. The blinds were drawn and the light was dimmed. It was a simple room, with pale cream walls free of decoration, and sparse furnishings of sturdy oak. The red and black threadbare carpet had seen better days, and Logan chose to ignore the stains, some of which appeared to be blood.

The bed was a four-poster, a wrought iron contraption that was dated, most likely an antique from two hundred years ago. And that pretty much summed up his impression of this backwoods town.

Modern conveniences seemed to have passed the place by.

His gaze settled onto the bed and he froze, surprised that Kira was awake and sitting up. Her back was to him and he was struck at how frail she looked with her shoulders hunched over and pale arms held tight to her body. The seam of her spine was visible through the cotton shirt she wore.

He clenched his hands at the sight. How he wished he could finish Mergerone. Drag his sorry ass to hell and dole out the heaviest of sentences upon him. Logan smiled at the thought and made a mental note to talk to his brother, Lucian, personally.

Kira turned her head to the side and for a moment an uncomfortable silence fell between them. He thought of everything that Bill had told him and acknowledged the truth. She was his. From the moment he’d tasted her soul, she’d belonged to him. He’d marked her as surely as she’d claimed him.

There was no going back. There was only the consummation.

She cleared her throat and whispered hoarsely, “You’re still here.”

“Yes.”

“I thought you’d be gone by now.”

“You sick of me already, Dove?”

She was shivering, and he moved closer but stopped at her panicked plea. “No, I don’t . . . please don’t look at me.”

Logan swore under his breath as he took the remaining steps until he was in front of her, staring down at her bleached head, with inch long black roots. She still wore her faded green clothes from the Institute and he scowled when he caught sight of the blood splatter that decorated her shirt.

“You need to get out of those clothes.”

Congealed blood marred her skin, but thanks to Bill’s ministrations the bruising along her arms and neck was fading. But she was filthy. Who wouldn’t be? The girl had been beaten to death.

Her entire body trembled and she locked her feet together in an effort to control it, while sliding her hands beneath her thin legs.

“I need a lot of things, but mostly I just need you to leave.”

“Less than twenty-four hours ago you were singing a different tune.”

“Twenty-four hours ago doesn’t matter anymore.” She turned her hand over and he caught sight of the scars on her skin. “Nothing matters. Nothing’s changed.”

“Everything has changed.” He bent down in front of her. She had no clue. “And I already told you. I’m not going anywhere.”

She exhaled slowly, but kept her head lowered. “Why?”

Because you’ll be hunted and without me you will die. Because apparently your future is tied to mine. Because the only way to make sure you survive is for me to. . .

“Bill asked me to.” He answered instead.

“Bill?”

“The short, round shit who saved you.”

A violent shudder racked her frame and this time she did look up. Her dark eyes were shadowed with pain, fear, and confusion. Her gaunt cheeks were sunken, her lips colorless, and the cut above her mouth—though on the mend—looked raw against her pale flesh.

“I thought
you
saved me.”

“No.” He knelt down so that their eyes were level with each other. She would have looked away but he grabbed her chin and held her still. He needed to do this right. Needed to make her understand. “To be honest, you saved yourself, because you were brave enough to listen and react in a situation where most humans would freak the fuck out.” He couldn’t help himself and slid his hand along her delicate jaw. Damn but she was cold. Her eyes hung like luminescent jewels and in that moment Logan thought that he could stare into them for hours.

Kira tried to move her head but his grip was too strong, so she closed her eyes instead and whispered, “Don’t look at me.” A single solitary tear wove its way down from the corner of her eye and Logan dried it with a gentle swipe of his mouth. Christ, a week ago, “gentle” and Logan Winters were not something most people would put together.

He didn’t do “gentle.” He was as hard-assed as they came, but for her he’d damn well try.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded. She kept them squeezed tight. “Kira, open your eyes.” Logan threw in a dose of compulsion, and wariness looked back at him as she did his bidding. The harsh color of her bleached hair only served to emphasize how pale she was. “Why don’t you want me to look at you?”

“I don’t look anything like . . . like what I did back there.” She paused. “Back in the gray realm. There I was perfect, but here,” she shook her head, “here, I’m broken. A ghost of what I was . . . of what I want to be.” She laughed bitterly. “How ironic is that? The only way I can be the person I want to be is if I’m dead.”

She fingered the damaged skin at her wrist and he drew her hand into his. “We all have scars, Kira. Some are visible, but the most painful ones are hidden. Don’t be embarrassed to show your weakness. You’re alive and that kind of strength trumps the shit out of whatever this represents.” His fingers traced the scars at her wrist and she shuddered violently beneath his touch.

She opened her mouth to say something but then closed it.

“I’m not crazy about the blond hair, but hey,” he grinned at her, “we can fix that, right?”

Her bottom lip trembled—he felt her weakening—and without pause, Logan scooped Kira into his arms, holding her close to his chest as he kicked open the door to the bathroom.

“Logan, please put me down.” Her words ended on a sob and something broke inside of him at the sound.

His arms tightened and he dropped his head, inhaling the scent of her—the one that was still full of sunlight and honey and something else. Something he’d not experienced in centuries.
Promise
. He used his booted toe to start the water running in the bath.

“What are you doing?” She whispered.

Logan stared down into her eyes. Bill had told him a lot of shit he’d not wanted to hear. Stuff about duty and the League. About fate and consequence. He’d made it clear that Kira needed to survive, and that Logan was the key.