by Jory Strong
The dwarf stopped and faced her, opened a hand, closed it, then opened it again and there was a black mouse sitting on her palm and washing its face.
Magic!
Mallory rushed forward, nearly tripping in her excitement.
The dwarf went through the door and she followed, slowing when she heard voices. Wrinkling her nose at the smell of fish and vegetables and rotten fruit on the way to the dumpster.
The room was a maze of boxes. The back door was open for deliveries.
The woman's head popped out from behind the last box in one of the rows. She placed her finger against her lips and Mallory grinned.
This was a great adventure!
She hurried toward the woman, crouching to make sure she wouldn't be seen.
The two of them ducked into a little cave of empty boxes.
"Can I hold the mouse?"
It was everything she could do not to jump up and down.
"Yes," the dwarf said, and it sounded slithery.
Mallory took a step backward but then the woman opened and closed her hand again, and there was the mouse, except instead of black it was white with glowing red eyes.
"Magic," Mallory said, awed. "I want to learn magic."
"You will."
The woman's smile set her heart racing in a way that made her want to run.
Mallory backed away.
The mouse leapt and she reached out to catch it.
Its little feet felt funny against her palms. She giggled, danced in place when it ran up her bare arm.
In her imagination, she saw funny shapes on her skin, like it left a trail of magical words.
It climbed onto and over her head.
It slid down her hair then skied along her leg.
It scurried around her ankles, mountain climbed up the other leg and reached her hand, then jumped back to the woman, only as soon as it landed on the dwarf's palm, Mallory couldn't move, couldn't scream, couldn't shout for help.
She struggled and fought. But it was like a rope had been wrapped around her, like she was a mummy, except the cloth was invisible.
Suddenly everything around her disappeared and she was in the dark, like she'd been put in a sack. Her body moved without her telling it to, sitting, her knees bending and pressing to her chest. Then she was tilted sideways, the sound of cardboard telling her she was being stuffed into a box.
Inside her head, she screamed and screamed and screamed. And the echo of her scream became her mother shouting, "Mallory!" over and over and over, her mother's voice disappearing into traffic noise followed by the sound of television and laughter and pool balls smacking and clacking and dropping.
Darkness became cardboard brown. The box opened and she was tumbled onto the floor and into the middle of a circle.
Then she was suddenly somewhere else, the ground beneath her shiny black rock, hot against her skin. The stink of rotten eggs so bad that she puked.
She screamed and this time sound escaped her mouth. But her screams weren't the only ones. The air was filled with the sound of men and women shrieking, and in the distance hounds bayed.
Tears streamed down her face. Mommy! Mommy!
Except part of her was terrified her mother would come to this place and neither one of them would be able to leave.
The dwarf picked her up, carrying her beneath an arm.
Inwardly Mallory struggled, but all she could move was her head, and only enough to keep her face from dragging on the ground.
Snot filled her nose, blocking out the rotten egg smell, except she could taste it on her tongue when she opened her mouth to breathe.
The dwarf climbed black stairs. They went on and on and on.
At the top of them was a long hallway and at the end of it, a crowded room.
The dwarf dropped her onto the floor in front of a black throne, the steps leading up to it sparkling with jewels and golden symbols.
On the bottom step sat a man who looked like the Joker, his mouth big and red against a white, white face.
She cringed away from him, able to move a little bit more. Her vision was suddenly filled by two black hound puppies.
One of them lunged forward, snarling and biting her bare arms and making her bleed.
She cried out, her sobs returning.
The other puppy knocked the first away and licked the places where teeth had torn and punctured her skin.
Their leashes were pulled tight and both puppies were dragged backward. Mallory's eyes followed them to a woman so thin it was almost like she wasn't even there.
And then she looked up and up and up, to the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. To a man who looked like she did. And the sight of him filled her with terror.
"Welcome home, Mallory."
With the wave of his hand, he freed her from the invisible bonds and she tried to make herself smaller.
He laughed and said, "Take her to the kennels."
She fought, thrashed against the hands that grabbed her.
Your lifespans are so short, a warm-honey voice whispered in her head. You know so little about your sire's realm, about his motivations.
Mallory woke with Dane's wet nose rooting roughly against her neck, his hot breath doing nothing to chase away the chill.
Her skin was pebbled, the black tank and boxers she'd starting wearing when he moved in clung to her, stuck to her body with sweat.
"Thanks," she said, sitting, arms going around his neck, memories of Hell overlapping the present as she remembered the times they'd clung to each other, both of them human or one of them Hound.
They'd run together in the forests of their sire's world, two frightened, homesick children forced into four-legged form. They'd fought to survive and struggled to somehow stay human, something reviled in that place of dark shadows and harrowing existence.
They'd learned to hunt and kill. They'd had to in order to avoid starvation. They'd learned to chase and savage, though her mind shied away from that.
They'd learned to hover at the edges of the pack without drawing the attention of the pure Hounds. Beasts who'd cull the weak and fight to the death for control of the pack.
A final hug and she got up, trying to banish memories of those missing years, but they clung, lingering along with the nightmare and following her into the shower like a dark omen.
Hot water eradicated the scent of terror and hate but the sense of urgency remained. She needed to find Zinaida and Kseniya, and with them, Viktoriya. She needed to find Amanda Edson.
Too late.
Too late.
Too late.
Her heart sped with the refrain, as if she were chasing after first one girl and then the next, always too late.
The soap slipped from her hand, then the shampoo. "Calm down."
Muttered.
Followed by a deep breath.
"Calm down."
Hayden was the best when it came to gathering information. They had starting points. The porn. The probable connection to Brides From Russia.
They just needed someone who could handle alarm systems.
Bargain to get Dane back. Play the female card. You have to know Daddy dearest has plans for you, Hayden's voice urged.
She shivered. She could imagine what their sire wanted from her. For all his magic, he couldn't force her to take a mate or become alpha.
You can't outrun what you are, what he means for you to be.
"I can, Bastian. I will."
She left the bathroom without looking into the mirror.
Her stomach knotted. Someone as good as Dane when it came to security would be expensive, and given Hayden's opposition, he wouldn't front the cash any more than he'd offer the name of a contact.
If she'd just managed to snag Jeffery Carlisle last night. If she'd just spent her time looking for him instead of talking to Rahmiel.
Your sire's interests and goals happen to align with mine at the moment.
She shuddered, pushed thoughts of deep green eyes and oasi
s smells away.
Dane waited at the front door. Old lady Harrington's astringent scent drifted in through the living room window.
Mallory snagged a blue plastic bag from the dispenser on the counter then picked up the length of rope draped over a chair. "Guess she's staking us out again."
Dane's mouth opened, teeth flashing before he snapped them together with a loud clack clack clack.
"Yeah, I hear your tough talk. Let's just get this over with, okay?"
She made a loop in the rope, slipping it over his head and around his neck. The old lady was waiting for them, sitting in her car and hoping to catch a picture of Dane off-leash or crap left unbagged.
"Don't," Mallory said, warning Dane against flashing his teeth.
He sent a baleful glare over his shoulder, then headed straight for the car, two hundred pounds of muscle and traction working against her. Four feet and a lower center of mass prevailing even with the noose tightening into a choke-hold.
A leg went up. A yellow stream hit the front tire.
Heat crept into Mallory's face. She tugged, trying to pull Dane away from the car.
He yielded when he was ready, forcing a halt so he could hit the back tire.
"You know this isn't helping."
His expression conveyed total satisfaction.
The rope loosened as they headed toward a wide-bodied palm tree.
The click click click of a camera's shutter followed them.
Mallory turned her back to the tree. Unnecessary, since Dane went around to the opposite side.
She spotted the Harley parked in front of Matthew's apartment. The ride fit him.
Want gripped her at thinking about him. It was too easy to imagine herself moving close, inhaling his scent, trailing a fingertip over his lips and up to the earring, then following that path with her mouth.
He's not for me, she told herself, a twinge going through her chest when she wondered if he was alone, or if one of Hayden's waitresses had followed him home.
Dane emerged from behind the palm.
He sat with his back to it, both of them preferring to pretend the bagging and disposal process wasn't actually a part of their daily lives though the click click click of old lady Harrington's camera recorded it all.
Inside his apartment, Caleb was torn between laughing and rubbing the back of his neck to eradicate the tingle of nerves. He'd had dogs growing up. He'd been around highly trained military dogs, but he'd never seen one act as human as Mallory's.
She came out from behind the palm and disappeared around the side of the building, probably heading to the dumpster. He snatched up the bike helmet, tucked it under his left arm and stepped outside.
She came back into sight, head down, talking to the hound. Jesus, she was beautiful. The jeans made her legs go on forever. The light blue shirt with its sleeves capped at her elbows accented fitness and strength without taking away any of the soft, feminine appeal that'd have guys lining up, wanting to be her hero.
He had to be careful or he'd be one of them. Or he'd end up dead because of her.
You be one of those adrenaline junkies, the bartender had said after she'd left. You get a rush messin' with dangerous things. She's not so much one. But her brother's not the same. Hayden be mad at her most days but he'd kill to keep her safe.
Mallory looked up. Her smile hit Caleb like a gut-punch. What the hell was she doing caught up in this thing?
But he already knew the answer. Emotional trauma. Brainwashing. He'd seen its effectiveness in terrorists and jihadists.
Her nose flared when she reached him, as if she were scenting him. And his breathing changed to match hers, deepening.
"Heading to work?" she asked.
"No. Should have checked the cabinets when I got in yesterday. There's no coffee anywhere in the apartment."
"I can offer you a cup to tide you over."
"Sure. I'd love one."
He followed her into her apartment. The jackrabbit leaps in his chest were only partially about being on the job and how easy she was making it to get close.
She slipped the homemade leash off the dog and tossed it toward the sofa. It hit low and dropped to the floor.
Traitorous warmth coiled in the vicinity of his heart. "I take it you're about as good at basketball as you are at pool."
She laughed, eyes meeting his, turning warmth into a swell of heat that headed downward in a rush.
"There's a school with a couple of courts within walking distance. Maybe I'll challenge you to a game sometime. Loser buys the winner dinner."
"I'm up for it when you are."
He'd be up for a lot more if she kept looking at him that way.
Don't go there. That's getting too close. Way too close.
He caught himself rubbing the place over his heart and pulled his hand away.
Focus! Last undercover assignment. The sooner he wrapped this up with an arrest the better.
* * * * *
Chapter 12
Caleb took in what he could see of her apartment. Action figures and board games and puzzle boxes, along with DVDs and a PlayStation.
The faint presence of dust on some of them squeezed his heart. It was easy to imagine her wanting to spend more time with her half-brother and half-sister and not being allowed to because of her association with Bastian Kerr and the others.
Anger released the pressure—that she didn't have the strength to walk away from her involvement with them. Regardless of the missing years and what had happened to her, she could make different choices.
He stopped next to a table. A half-worked puzzle of a farm scene with animals, a red barn and a green John Deere tractor lay on top of it. Catching a fit, he snapped a piece of cow into place.
Last job. He imagined his mother working puzzles with Grace, the way she used to do with him. They were a passion of hers, along with her cactus garden. He imagined his father joining them at the table, fought a smile over how his father would be trying to interest Grace in building model airplanes, his passion along with taking the boat out.
Longing slammed into Caleb, to be there with them, to show up at his parents' house with a family of his own.
So do what you need to do. Get closer.
"You've got kids?" he asked.
"I've got a brother who just turned eight, a sister who's eleven. Sometimes Mom brings them by. What about you? Kids? Siblings?"
"No kids. No cause to think there are any. I was an only child."
Was. The past, Mallory thought, coming around the counter that separated kitchen from living room and feeling relieved by the lack of grief scent. He'd dealt with his loss and moved on.
"There's half-and-half in the fridge. Sugar next to the coffeemaker."
"Black is good."
He took the mug. His hand brushed hers, heightening her awareness of him.
Their eyes met and held. If anything, she wanted him more today than she had last night.
He broke the contact by looking at the portrait photograph her mother had claimed earlier in the year was the only thing she wanted for a birthday gift.
Hard to miss that one of the people in it didn't seem to belong.
And I don't.
But it was as painful to tuck the picture into a closet as it was to see it and be reminded that she was a Reaper Lord's get, a killer in training.
Mallory touched the frame, straightening a picture that didn't need to be straightened.
"Where do Hayden and the guy you came in with last night fit?"
Impossible to miss the resemblance. "Half-brothers. Different mothers. Phillip is Sorcha and Austin's father."
Her cell chimed.
She checked, recognized Speedy's number and answered. "You have eyes on him?"
"Gano just showed up. She took the kids to a neighbor's before he got there."
The skip wasn't worth much but she couldn't blow off a sure thing. "I'm on my way. I see him, you get your cash."
Dane was already w
aiting at the door.
Her chest tightened.
Could she risk it?
If Hunter stopped giving them his skips…
But Jimmy Ray Gano wasn't a guy to go after alone. Maybe she should stop by the Brass Ring and get Mikhail—
No. Finding Viktoriya and her daughters was more important and finding something useful would happen faster if she left Mikhail with Hayden.
"Sounded like an interesting conversation," Matthew said, creating a possibility.
"That was a paid informant. He swears a bond skip I'm looking for just showed up at his girlfriend's sister's place."
Matthew's smile melted the bands around her chest.
"A bounty hunter? Somehow I can see it, though I shouldn't be able to, not with your looks. Need some help?"
The compliment created low, heated ripples. While his confidence and the buzz of his anticipation deepened her fascination with him. Despite wanting what her mother had, a completely safe man would never suit her.
"How are you in a fight?" she asked.
"I can hold my own."
"You have a weapon?"
"A 9 mil."
"What about a permit to carry?"
He hesitated. "Yes."
She inhaled, scenting the truth of his answer.
"I need to get the Taser."
He followed her into the bedroom but turned slightly, affording her privacy until she'd unlocked the weapons safe.
He whistled softly at seeing its contents. "You going to war against someone?"
"Most of it belongs to Dane."
"Dane?" He cast a look over his shoulder.
"A two-legged version of Dane. My partner in the business and another half-brother."
"I'd hate to see what he's got on him if this is what he's got stashed at your place."
"Dane's a lethal weapon as is. This stuff is basically an acknowledgment that the other guy can kill you without getting close, so you'd better be able to do the same."
Matthew's curiosity prickled against her skin. It filled her nostrils with the scent of grasshopper and swirling leaves.
She tugged a gun belt from the safe, putting it on and slipping the 9 mm into the holster. The Taser was already in its place, as were flex-cuffs.
