Wrong Side of Hell

by Juliana Stone

  Logan swallowed thickly. His body felt tight, as if his flesh was strung way too tight over bone and muscle. He itched and burned. His nostrils flared. He lusted . . . for her.

  “Until what?”

  His grip tightened. “Until they kill you . . . again,” he said softly. She wrenched her hand away, eyes wide with horror, and he knew that she was finally getting it.

  “Oh God.”

  “God has nothing to do with it.” Logan motioned for her to follow once more. There was no time to sugarcoat. “They’ve already killed you in the human realm but if they kill you here, in this place,” he turned and gazed across the field, “your soul will be lost forever. And that is a punishment I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”

  Chapter Six

  IMAGES PUMMELED HER brain. Fists. Knife. Leering faces and spittle. They echoed and hurt and split her mind into a thousand fragments of memory. Kira sagged against the man—she still didn’t know his name—and moaned.

  It was overwhelming. The thoughts. The pain. The fear.

  Her stomach roiled and for a moment she thought she was going to be sick all over his heavy boots.

  “Goddamn but I don’t have time for this.” His voice was sharp and she glanced up at him. His dark eyes burned red and his teeth were bared like an animal’s.

  “I don’t,” she couldn’t articulate what was in her brain. How could she? Remembering the last moments of her life seemed an impossible thing, but it was there. The pictures, the sounds, the smells.

  Mergerone’s maniacal grin. His cold hands. The two orderlies who’d accompanied them. She groaned once more and would have staggered away, but two strong arms held her fast. “What they did . . .” She shook her head and closed her eyes. “What they did to me.”

  Oh my God, I’m dead. But how can that be? I’m alive . . . I think.

  None of this made sense. Where the hell was she? And who was this man that held her?

  “How is this possible? I mean, if I’m not really here, how can we be having a conversation?”

  His hand was on her chin again—this time his touch was gentle, though the sound of his voice was anything but. He glared down at her. “There’ll be time to process that shit later.” He glanced up and swore. “Right now we have to disappear, and fast, understand?”

  He hopped down from the pavilion, pulling Kira along with him. His muscles bunched beneath her fingers. There was strength there—real strength and not just the physical. She sensed he was made up of many layers—a lot were hidden, though she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to see them.

  “What’s your name?” Suddenly she dug her feet in, not even sure why it was so important. “In all this craziness I need to at least know that.”

  Kira waited, heart nearly beating out of her chest, fully aware of the shadows moving toward them, yet as she stared up into the dark eyes above her she felt . . . safe. She felt hope.

  And for the first time in ages, here in this place of chaos, she felt a kind of . . . peace.

  “Logan.”

  His one word answer was terse but it was enough to settle the demons inside, at least for the moment. He pushed her ahead of him and nodded toward the forest. “We need to find a place to hide until I can figure out how to get us back.”

  “So I’m not dead.”

  “That’s a technicality that won’t matter if we don’t get the hell out of here.”

  He looked away, ignoring her, his lips tight, hands clenched.

  “Wait a minute,” she grabbed his arm again, though she let it go quickly as his face darkened into a scowl. “You don’t know how to get us back? Seriously? How the hell do we know that’s the right way to go?” She pointed toward the forest.

  Disbelief crossed his features and he stopped cold. “You want to argue that point with me now?”

  “No, I just thought you’d know—”

  “Do us both a favor, all right? Don’t think.” He leaned in close and she shivered as the stubble along his chin grazed the flesh beneath her ear. His breath was warm, though his voice was cold as ice. He growled. “Run.”

  She was frozen, her feet rooted to the ground.

  “Run, little Dove.” This time the order was barked and Kira reacted instantly. Grass-cutting man pointed toward a fountain that seemed to have appeared from nowhere and she dashed toward it, Logan on her heels.

  They were nearly to the fountain when Logan snarled, the sound so vicious the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Kira spun around, watching in horror as several of the trojans gathered in a semicircle, while the largest in the pack advanced toward Logan.

  They were ten feet in height—at least—and their bodies were made of leather-like skin in varying shades of silver. Overly large heads with luminescent eyes of teal, and teeth as sharp as a blade and as brown as the earth beneath her feet. The creatures stood upright, though it looked like they balanced themselves with long tails that swept out behind them and were covered in spikes the color of a blood-red harvest moon.

  “You will die first, dog.” The closest one to Logan spoke, the words slithered from between its green lips like syrup dripping from a bottle.

  “Kira, run!” Logan barely got his words out before the creature rushed him. A blanket of energy surrounded Logan—Kira couldn’t explain it any other way—and enveloped him whole. Small bursts of electricity sparked up into the air and a god-awful roar erupted from inside as the energy vortex swirled around him.

  She took a step back and if she wasn’t sure about anything before, she sure as hell had no clue what the hell was happening now. The energy dissipated like steam escaping a kettle; small puffs were there and then they were gone. She froze. Her mouth went dry and she struggled to breathe.

  Logan was gone.

  A massive hulking animal stared back at her with fiery red eyes and a thick, shaggy coat of fur—like burnt tobacco shot through with bolts of gold—and it was as large as the creatures before them.

  It growled and swept its tail back and forth menacingly. Remnants of energy shimmered against its hide, slipping away and disappearing as it howled into the sky and turned toward the advancing trojans.

  It was Logan.

  It was the beast.

  She shook her head and stifled a hysterical laugh. Isn’t that what he’d told her?

  What are you?

  He turned to her once more and barked a low-timbered growl that sent shivers racing across her flesh. Kira took a step toward him even as everything inside screamed at her to flee. Her chest tightened, filled with the childhood fears she’d dreamt about for years. Was he her enemy? Or her savior?

  The red eyes burned bright and the animal nodded its head. He wanted her to run, and yet . . . Kira still hesitated.

  The trojans closest to Logan lunged, filling the evening air with a screech that was like chalk scraping along a blackboard, and Logan—or rather, the beast—met it halfway. The two bodies crashed together with a sickening thud and it was enough to shake her from the invisible hands that held her.

  Kira took a step back, flexing her muscles and gathering the courage to run. The other creatures spread out along the side, effectively cutting off any escape for her. They hissed, the vibrations heavy in the air and licking across her body with a vibrato that made her skin crawl.

  In the distance, grass-cutting man continued his solitary job, retracing the same rows she’d watched him trim not more than half an hour ago. A soft red glow from the moon bathed everything in red. It was surreal. It was unbelievable.

  As O’Bannon, another patient at the Institute used to say . . . this place was a total mind fuck.

  Kira didn’t hesitate any longer. She whirled around, her feet flying over the grass as she dove for the fountain. The trojans were on either side, but if she was able to make it across the damn thing, she might have a chance at reaching the forest ahead of them.

  Her long yellow skirt trailed out behind her and she felt a tug as she hopped over. Kira nearly fell to her
knees as the fresh, cool water splashed up to her waist. It was much deeper than she’d anticipated and she righted herself, cursing as she struggled to gain her footing. The bottom of the fountain was made of hundreds, if not thousands, of shiny pennies, much like the ones her nana used to collect.

  They shimmered beneath the surface, a burnt copper mirage, lit up by an incandescent light that came from nowhere. For a second she was mesmerized by them, but then the trojan closest to her reached for the edge of the fountain. Its long claw grasped the stone lip and made an eerie sound as its nails scraped along the top.

  A song drifted to her then, a melodic kaleidoscope of notes, and the creature paused, momentarily entranced with the strange new sound. It came from a small truck that slowly made its way across the pristine park, and on its side bright pink letters that looked like candy cane clouds read, Ice Cream Man.

  Another memory tugged at her. Hot summer afternoons, Ice Cream Man in his special truck with the song that drove her mother nuts.

  She shook the memory from her mind and plunged forward, frowning as the water got deeper the farther along she got. Panic nipped at her heels. It was hard to make her way through.

  Behind her the sounds that ripped into the night were loud enough to tear a hole the size of Texas into the atmosphere—they were brutal, primal.

  She’d just cleared the large center sculpture—a massive replica of a cherub with water spouting out of its mouth—when she paused and turned around.

  The remaining trojans had formed a circle around their leader and Logan . . . or the beast . . . or whatever the hell he was. She winced as a howl erupted from their midst.

  Was it him? Logan?

  Her foot slipped and Kira disappeared beneath the surface, unable to stop the pull that grabbed her legs and dragged her under. She looked up, hands flailing clumsily, but it was no use and she panicked as she began a downward descent.

  Bubbles rose in front of her, small balls of air that came up to the surface like balloons in the sky. She watched them, a silent scream trapped in her throat. All kinds of thoughts rushed through her mind but one was foremost: if she was already dead . . . how could she die again?

  That thought scared her more than anything and she began to thrash, though it did her no good. She kicked and clawed, and still she headed down into the darkness.

  How deep was this fountain? Did it matter? She stopped moving and still she sank. Bubbles popped in front of her and she watched them rise as she headed in the other direction, pulled by some invisible force.

  Kira’s mind was chaotic, her head dizzy.

  She saw Mergerone’s cruel smile.

  She saw her grandmother, Catherine, arms open . . . beckoning to her. I’m going the wrong way.

  She saw a crimson glow surrounding Logan’s face.

  And then there was nothing.

  Chapter Seven

  KIRA AWOKE SHIVERING, her back pressed against a hard, unyielding wall, her butt planted on cold, damp concrete. She coughed and rolled her neck, so stiff that pain shot up into her skull with hard, icy fingers.

  She glanced around at a world of gray. Everything was neutral and dull . . . the concrete that she sat upon, the brick wall at her back . . . the mist that rolled along the ground.

  A groan escaped as she rested her head and ran her tongue along her lips. They felt swollen and burned something fierce.

  Shivers racked her body—she was drenched from head to toe. Slowly she unwrapped her arms from around her knees and stood, though she teetered a bit until she gained her balance. Kira’s legs felt like spaghetti and her arms had no strength.

  Her hair hung in long cords of tangled ebony, well past her shoulders, and water dripped from the ends to form little pools at her feet. The dress she wore was a tattered ruin. The skirt was ripped from hem to hip and the beautiful shade of yellow had seeped from the fabric.

  Like everything else in this place she’d found herself, it was devoid of color. She glanced around and exhaled.

  It was devoid of life.

  Overhead the crimson moon still shone, but here, tucked in an alley between two buildings, it was muted. Large bins lined the wall to her left—a few of them were overflowing with garbage—and she grimaced at the sight of rats scurrying among them.

  Her breath hung in the air as she inched forward until she reached the edge of the alley. Carefully, Kira poked her head out, curious and afraid of what she’d find.

  The street in front of her, while deserted, was not painted with the same dull brush as the alley. It was alive with color and scent . . . baked goods and . . . her brow furled . . . caramel candy apples.

  Several small cafés lined the street with round tables set up on the sidewalk in front. Red and white checkered cloths covered them, and each boasted a beautiful flower arrangement. A bucket of ice sat there as well, chilling a bottle of wine. Kira had no clue what kind of flowers they were, but the large orange petals were beautiful. A bakery, pub, and a store that sold cheese were also across the way.

  Lighting from lampposts along the sidewalk was muted, casting a warm golden glow over the cobblestone road. It took some of the edge off the darker, reddish light from above.

  The small street looked like something you’d find in a quaint, European city . . . Paris or Italy. She’d visited Paris once with her parents when she was eight . . . At least she thought she had.

  Kira spied a clothing store two doors down from the bakery. The window displayed colorful pieces: a hot pink jacket, a white halter dress, and fuchsia stilettos. When she was sure there was no one around, Kira darted across the street and wove around the many tables set for dinner. She paused in front of Le Grand Design.

  The light from the closest lamppost illuminated both the street and the sidewalk. She stared in surprise at her reflection. Slowly her hand reached out and she traced the outline of her face in wonder.

  I look like my mother. Hysterical laughter bubbled inside. Who knew?

  She flinched as the memory of another reflection and another time rifled through her mind like a shot from a cannon. Pinched features—short, dull, bleached hair and haunted eyes—stared back at her.

  Kira blinked and it was gone as fast as it had come, leaving her more than a little rattled. Exhaling, she tried the door and surprisingly—or not—it was unlocked.

  Once inside, she closed it behind her, wincing as the latch clicked and echoed into the darkened store. She held her breath but no one came, then slowly released the door as she made her way into the shop.

  Racks of clothing surrounded her. Silks, satins, linens in a rainbow of exotic colors. She’d never seen such luxury, and a tentative smile crossed her face as she fingered a dress that fell to the floor in deep plum swaths of silk. She let the cascade slide through her hands and moved on.

  Pretty, yes, but not very practical.

  She searched through the racks, a shivering mess of wet hair and damp skin, and after a few moments found a t-shirt, stretchy black jeans, and a pair of boots that she could run in.

  She grabbed clean underclothes and walked to the back of the store, secure in the shadows that blanketed the corners.

  Teeth chattering, Kira set the clothes aside and peeled the wet dress from her body. She dropped it to the floor and stood naked, shivering in the dark. Her thick hair still dripped so she grabbed a scarf from a bin close by and used it to towel-dry the ends, fingers deftly removing what tangles that she could. When she was done she rubbed the rough material down her body—arms, stomach, and legs—until her skin was dry.

  A mirror hung on the wall to her right—had it been there before? Slowly she stepped forward and studied herself in its reflection, her hands caressing flesh that was flush with health.

  Her breasts were full, no bruises were visible, and—she held her hands in front of her—the scars were still gone. This was the perfect reflection of what she’d always wanted to be.

  Of what she could have been.

  A wave of sadness rolled
over Kira. She didn’t understand any of this. Was she really dead? How could she be when, truthfully, she’d never felt so alive?

  She wiped away a tear that stung the corner of her eye and froze as goose bumps spread along her flesh like fire across the plains. Glancing up, she peered into the mirror and the world faded away. For what seemed like minutes but had to have only been a few seconds, her gaze was caught by the man behind her.

  Logan’s eyes, dark as oil, liquefied and slowly changed color until they burned through the gloom like twin points of crimson fire.

  “Where did you . . . how did you . . .” she began breathlessly, but the look in his eyes silenced her. His dark hair was slicked back and his clothes clung to him, like a wet second skin. The man sported more than a six-pack and she could see every single one of his abs.

  He was hard. Unyielding.

  He moved closer and the heat from his body caressed her flesh with an intimate brush that left her trembling. Kira couldn’t look away if she wanted to.

  When he was near everything was off kilter. Down was up. Back was front. Dark was light. There was something primal about Logan that scared the crap out of her, and yet, for whatever reason, she was drawn to him.

  He was the beast—the harbinger of her nightmares—but he was also the man who’d brought her back from that dark place. The man who’d saved her less than an hour ago.

  He was the only thing that seemed real in this place.

  His eyes burned through the mirror and he did a slow perusal, traveling the length of her—lingering on her breasts even as her hands drew up to cover them—and sweeping down to the juncture between her legs.

  Kira’s cheeks burned red, hot with humiliation. Her body trembled and for a moment she didn’t know what to do. She’d never been naked with a man before . . . not like this. Mergerone, his hands and crazed eyes, didn’t count. Confusion didn’t come close to describing the thoughts that flew around inside her head.

  His eyes narrowed and she didn’t like the sly grin that spread across his face as he leaned in even closer—so close that his scent wafted in the air, filling her nostrils. He was all male, full of spice, musk . . . sweat and danger.