Angel Betrayed (The Fallen #2)(63)

The other cages were falling from the ceilings now. Most of the folks had already fled El Diablo. Some stragglers were hiding behind the bar or crouching under tables.

Those claw marks were heading for Sam . . . for the cage that swayed drunkenly on a chain that looked ready to snap at any moment. Too much power in the air.

“The hound’s protecting you,” Sam muttered as he grabbed the nearest steel bar with his left hand and fought to steady them. “That’s why it went after the shifter and tore his throat out. That’s why it came after me in the truck . . . the hound f*cking thinks it’s protecting you.”

A whoosh of wind came at them. Something—the f*cking hound in question—slammed into the cage. The cage rocked hard to the right, to the left, and then that chain snapped. They fell to the floor with a bone-jarring crash. Sam twisted and tried to cushion Seline’s body with his own.

His hands held her tightly to him. He was sure that if he’d been human, his back would have broken when the cage pounded into the floor. As it was, the fall hurt like a bitch.

Then the cage bars started to snap—no, the hound snapped them.

Seline stared around with wide, stunned eyes.

Sam hurried to his feet. He still had his hold on her. No way was he letting her go. “You don’t know how to send the hound back, do you?”

She shook her head. “I don’t even know how the hell it got here!”

She didn’t know and only she could send the beast back. Talk about being screwed. Sam took a deep breath and tried to think of a way to survive.

“Are you going to kill me?” she whispered, and that fear flickered in her eyes again.

Sonofabitch. Growling, he pulled her even closer. His lips crushed down on hers. He tasted her, kept his mouth on hers, and drank her in, even as claws raked down his legs. “No,” Sam promised, his voice gritty as he lifted his head. “But when we get out of this, I am going to f*ck you again.”

She blinked. He would have said more, but the hound’s teeth sank into his ankle and the beast dragged him away.

The hound’s image was slowly coming into focus. It looked like a beast made of smoke right then. Pale, hazy, but with really big teeth. Sam kicked, but the beast didn’t let go.

Fire won’t work. Rogziel had been right. Fire only made hellhounds stronger. Bullets wouldn’t keep the beast down.

Sam reached out and grabbed one of the cage bars. Metal snapped and popped. He shoved the bar right into the hound’s side.

The beast cried out and backed off.

Sam rose to his feet. Seline was behind him. “I’m not hurting her,” he said to the beast. Right, like reasoning with a hellhound was the way to go. “She’s mine, got it? So you’d better get used to seeing me—”

The hound—still with that pole sticking out of its side—lunged for Sam. The breath of hell came at him.

“Stop!” Seline screamed, and she pushed Sam to the side. Pushed him with that power she’d absorbed from the bar, then put her body in front of his. “Stop!”

It figured the woman didn’t know you were never supposed to come between a hellhound and its food. Especially not once that hound had gotten a taste of its prey’s blood.

The hound snarled and tried to lunge around her. It didn’t look so ghostly anymore. The beast’s thick, matted fur was a mix of black and blood.

Seline’s fingers sank into that fur. “I said, stop!” Her voice had risen to a scream. “Don’t hurt him!”

The hellhound stopped. Its great body shook, as if holding back were an enormous effort.

Sam stood as frozen as the hound. Even masters couldn’t usually call back their hounds once the beasts had a taste of blood. Nothing stopped them but the prey’s death.

Seline caught the hound’s great head in her hands. The beast’s teeth were longer than her fingers, and the hound was way too close to her throat.

“Seline . . .” He inched closer to her.

The hound growled. Screw that. Sam kept closing in on her.

“You’re so sure I’m its master.” Her voice was quiet now, void of any emotion. “Let’s find out if you’re right.”

The woman obviously didn’t understand the rules about hellhounds. They had been known to bite off the hands that summoned them. They could never be fully controlled.

Which was why they were always sent right back to hell when their job was done. That was the prime rule with the hounds—always send them back fast.

The hound’s teeth snapped together.

“Easy.” Seline didn’t look worried then. She was frowning as she stared at the hound. “You’re a big, ugly bastard, aren’t you?”

The hound blinked.

Her left hand smoothed over its side. “This is gonna hurt,” Seline warned. She grabbed the bar and yanked it out. Blood gushed and sprayed into the air.

But almost instantly, the wound began to heal. Seline dropped the bar.

The hound’s thick, raspy tongue came out and licked her shoulder.

“Uh . . . let’s not do that, again, okay?” Seline said softly. This time, Sam caught the faint tremble in her voice and saw her wince. “But you’re welcome.”

The hound’s head began to lower. Subservience. Acknowledgment that she was its master.

Well, damn.