Free Unholy Blue by Darby Kaye Page B

chest, her legs straddling his hips. He reached up and tucked her hair behind one ear, then slid his hand along her bare back. Sweat coated them both—nature’s lubricant. She murmured something, her face buried in his shoulder.
    â€œIf that was a request for a third round, Shay darlin’, then I’ll have to beg off this time.”
    â€œSlacker.” With a groan, she slid off and flopped down on the mattress. “I think I pulled a groin muscle.” She plucked her cell from the bedside table and squinted at the screen. “We better get cleaned up. Want to shower first?”
    â€œWe could share.”
    â€œYeah, like that would speed things up.” Rolling off the bed, she walked toward the bathroom, staggering a little.
    Linking his hands behind his head, Bann watched her, enjoying the show, until she closed the door. The toilet flushed a few minutes later, followed by the
whoosh
of the shower running. For a few minutes, he drifted, staring unseeing at the ceiling, body relaxed to the pointof uselessness, much like his manhood, now down for the count, between his legs.
    He forced himself out of bed with the thought of his son and the Doyles returning earlier than expected. After taking care of the used condoms, he walked around, gathering his scattered clothes. Stepping around to the far side of the bed in search of his jeans, he idly glanced out the window, still unused to the view of the wooden fence instead of the scattered boulders marking the edge of their property. He started to turn away. Movement on the other side of the wall. A shape flitted from the nearest boulder toward their home; reaching the wall, it disappeared from sight.
    A
dog
-shaped shape.
    â€œShite.” Scrambling for his knife and his jeans, in that order, he hurried out of the bedroom and across the house to the back door. He paused, peering through the glass as he yanked on his pants, then eased the door open. Stepping out, the cool November air was balanced by the warmth of the midday sun; even so, goose bumps broke out on his bare torso. He crept toward the wall, knife at the ready and bare feet protesting.
    On the far side of the barrier, something paced back and forth, its passage marked by the whisper of dried grasses being trampled underfoot.
Under paw
. A snuffle, then more pacing.
    â€œMax?” he whispered.
    The movement stopped. Ignoring the bite of gravel, Bann inched closer and peered over.
    Max stood on the other side, tail beating a frenzy of greeting. Unlike the last time he had seen the creature, Max’s eyes were a warm brown instead of demonic red.A smile seemed to split his muzzle, but his coat was still matted with grave dirt and other things Bann chose not to look at too closely.
    â€œMax?” Bann said again. He wondered if, by some miracle, the hound really was back from the dead. He wondered what it would do to Cor.
    The dog danced in place, whining at the sound of his name. Unable to contain his elation, he reared up and planted his forepaws against the fence.
    â€œMax! No!”
    A blast of white light, followed a split second later by a low boom that made Bann stagger a step, lifted the animal off his feet and blew him backwards several yards. Yelping, Max hit the ground in a poof of dust and dried grass. He writhed on the ground, legs kicking, as if not sure how to work his limbs, then lurched to his feet. For a moment, he stood panting, then limped away toward the boulders in a jerky motion that reminded Bann of a marionette attached to the strings of an inexperienced puppeteer.
    Bann gave a sharp whistle. “Max, come!” The dog ignored him—
or couldn’t hear after that blast
—and staggered behind the nearest rock. Staring at the spot where the hound had disappeared, he curled and uncurled his fingers around the haft of his blade, his mind denying what his eyes had just seen.
Dead is dead. At least, with the creatures of this world
.
    â€œWhat