Read Online Wrong Side of Hell by Juliana Stone - Free Book Online Page B

Logan’s anger reached near boiling. He’d do whatever it took to get her out of the gray realm, and then he was going to find Bill and kick his sorry little ass all over the fucking place.
    “There!” She ran behind the counter that held the cash register and disappeared from his sight. “You were right. I was here when I was, like, eight or something, with my mother. It’s a shop in Paris.”
    Logan reached her just as she drew back the carpeting behind the counter and grinned up at him to reveal a trap door. “When I was here with mother there was an attempted robbery, I think, or something.” Her brows furled and fear replaced the excitement. “Someone was after me . . . a man.” She glanced up at him. “His face wasn’t real. It kept changing.”
    Sounded otherworld to him.
    She shook her head. “I don’t understand, but I remember the clerk sending us down here.”
    Logan grabbed the edge of the trap door and ripped it back. Dank, stale air rose up and he didn’t bother to look down. What was the point? He nodded into the darkness.
    “You ready for this?”
    “Hell, no.” She tossed a quick smile his way and he watched, surprised, as Kira jumped down. Logan followed suit and tugged the heavy door behind him.
    He landed in ice-cold water and it took a bit for his eyes to adjust. His nostrils were full of Kira, of old, dead air, and wet cement. A heavy rumbling was heard and the foundation began to vibrate. It was subtle at first but within seconds they were both struggling to keep their balance.
    Logan’s eyes, now well adjusted, bored into Kira’s. “We’ve no time.” He pointed to his right. “That way. I’ll follow.”
    Her eyes were wide and though he smelled fear, he saw determination. She nodded—a quick, curt move—and took off at a good run.
    They were in an underground sewer system and their breath misted into clouds that disappeared almost immediately. The walls were rounded—dark gray wet cement—and the pipes that ran overhead glowed an eerie green color. None of this made sense, but Logan had learned long ago that not much in either the lower or upper realms ever did.
    The gray realm was a total mind fuck. All of this was part of Kira’s past, and even though he knew she wasn’t technically crazy, she wasn’t untouched either. She was part of the otherworld, whether she liked it or not.
    An unearthly screech sounded somewhere behind them and Kira stumbled, this time the fear evident as she glanced behind them.
    “They’re here, in the tunnel.”
    “Down there.” Logan pushed her to the left, down a narrow shaft. He knew they couldn’t outrun the bastards. Not like this.
    “I don’t . . . Logan, where can we go?”
    Her hand was on his chest, the only warmth to be found. He stared down at her for several seconds, watched as her eyes widened, filled with something else. Awareness?
    “The only way we can outrun them is if I shift.” He waited for a heartbeat. “I know you’re scared of what I am, but you’ll have to trust that I won’t hurt you.”
    Her hand slowly slipped away and he was surprised at the strong urge he felt to grab it, to hold it against him and drink in her warmth and softness.
    Logan backed away, his gaze not leaving hers, and when he thought she was ready . . . when the noise from down the sewer grew louder . . . he called on the ancient magick of his people.
    His human clothes slipped away, disappearing into the nothing as mist rolled over his body. Limbs elongated and cracked—painfully—but it was something he relished—the pain. It spoke of his power and of his heritage and of the beast that lived inside him. As his body size tripled and quadrupled, never once did his gaze falter.
    Kira’s face was pale, her mouth pinched, but she didn’t move an inch as he stood before her, a hellhound. Her fear had tripled and how could it not? He was the size of large horse.
    The rumble of hundreds of trojans shook the foundation of the sewer.