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“Bill?” Logan’s eyebrow arched in disbelief.
Bill grinned, shrugged, and proceeded to pour himself a glass of whiskey. “It’s plain, I know, but suited me at the time.” He poured one for Logan and handed it to him, raising his own in a toast.
What the hell do you want with me?
“I’ll explain in a minute but first, let’s drink, shall we? That is why you came here tonight, isn’t it? To drink? Perhaps forget?”
So he was a mind reader now.
The tension that had fled moments earlier was back, pinching his shoulders as Logan reached for the glass and tossed back the tumbler full of booze.
The little round shit was responsible for his banishment as surely as if he’d . . .
“You know that’s not true, Logan.”
Logan’s chest heaved. He gritted his teeth and slammed the glass back onto the counter.
“Stay the fuck out of my head, Seraphim.” Logan moved forward until he was close enough to see the veins in the little shit’s eyes. His nostrils flared and his chest grumbled. Beneath his skin, the beast stirred.
“Your banishment was unfortunate.” Bill sipped the whiskey, his eyes shimmering as they regarded Logan closely. “But you knew there would be consequences when you joined the League.”
Logan snorted. “Yeah, well. Your so-called League can go screw itself.”
Bill set his half-empty glass onto the counter and twirled the liquid slowly with his finger as silence fell between them.
He turned to Logan and though his voice was soft, there was no mistaking the hard glint in his eyes. “That’s not how it works, my friend.”
Logan snarled and whirled away. He was a hellhound. His job was to retrieve souls that were beyond redemption and escort them to District Three—one of several levels in hell—for processing.
He neither liked nor hated his job, but he sure as hell was the best kind of animal for it. He was an elite hellhound shifter, born from the depths of hell and destined to straddle the realms. His hunting capabilities were legendary, his sensory skills unparalleled.
Logan’s lips curled as the faint smell of pine tugged at him once more. He stared at the mirror that hung on the wall in front of him. At a reflection so bizarre it was laughable. Askelon had outdone himself. His human façade was nothing short of brilliant. No one would ever suspect the short, round, balding man was in fact one of the most powerful beings in existence. If not the most.
Anger spiraled through him and Logan took a step toward Bill, not caring that the ancient could dish out a hell of a lot of damage with nothing more than the flick of his wrist.
He growled and passed his hands through the thick hair at his nape.
“Why are you here?” The last time he’d seen the little fuck, Logan’s life had taken a header right into the fires of hell. Literally. He’d defied direct orders from his Overlord because Bill had asked him to. Logan had led a child back into the human realm—one he’d been ordered to retrieve for processing—and he’d been brutally punished.
He’d been sentenced to the Pit—the shit hole many leagues beneath District Three. It was the one place in hell that everyone avoided, if they were smart or had occasion to. It was saying something that he, a creature born of fire and brimstone, had nearly been broken by it.
“I need your help, Logan.”
Logan paused, his face incredulous. “What part of ‘shove your fucking League of Guardians up your ass’ didn’t you understand the last time?” He arched a brow and smiled, his lips tight in a sarcastic grin. “Or is this something else entirely? You pulling a Vader and crossing over to the dark side, Bill?” He flexed his arms—let his beast shift beneath the surface. “You want a ride down? Is that it?”
“The girl has been killed.”
“What girl?” A frown crossed Logan’s face. He didn’t like where the conversation was headed, and he really didn’t like the direction his mind was going.
“The same girl you were ordered to drag below fifteen years ago.” Bill sighed, rubbed his temples. “The one we saved.” If Logan didn’t know better, he’d think the little shit was tired.
“We? Seems to me, I did all the work and had my ass kicked for hundreds of years because of it.” Logan shook his head. No way was he getting involved again. “I’m done. I don’t give a flying fuck about that girl.” Did the Seraphim think he cared if she was dead? As far as Logan was concerned, she’d been on borrowed time anyway. If anything, she’d been granted a reprieve while he’d rotted beneath District Three.
Time moved differently there. In the Pit. What had been fifteen years to the human girl had been nearly fifteen hundred for Logan.
“Tsk, tsk . . . language, my friend.” Bill turned fully and nailed Logan with a direct stare. “You should care. We all need to care.”
“You’re talking in circles, old man. Elaborate or leave.”
