by Лори Девоти
While Risk held his breath, disguising his distaste, Lusse ran her bare palm up his stomach, over his ribs and onto his chest. “No chance at all.”
As soon as Risk felt confident he’d reestablished at least a modicum of trust with Lusse, he prepared to leave. The boy, Venge, had sat up, his gaze distant, but Risk could feel the emotion pulsing beneath his son’s carefully crafted facade. Venge was angry, seething. Given the chance, he would most likely rip out the throats of both Lusse and Risk. Risk accepted that. His son had been dealt an ugly hand. Rage was to be expected. But Venge would do what all hellhounds did, embrace his anger and use it to grow stronger.
Risk turned his thoughts to Kara, what he had promised Lusse and how he could possibly twist the situation to get everything he needed while accomplishing his goal. Lusse now knew about the sister, but thanks to her ego, also believed Risk was in the process of hunting the twin to deliver to Lusse. Of course, somehow, Risk had to avoid that — string Lusse along enough to keep his freedom to move about the human world, without actually delivering his part of the bargain.
And Kara, she expected him to help her find her sister. Which he would. He’d just need a little repayment from the pair before he released them. But, one step at a time. First he had to return to Kara.
Now that Risk knew the distinct scent of not only Kara’s human musk, but also her emotions, it would take him only moments to locate her. Inhaling deeply, he trusted his senses to lead him to his target and shimmered away from Lusse’s mansion.
Even before he solidified completely, he began scanning the room. It was dim, cool, and smelled of damp. A disquieting energy thickened the air. The hairs on his forearms unfurled and his muscles tensed. Eyes scanning the space, Risk waited for his body to catch up with his senses. Solid, he stepped forward, toward a line of light leaking from under a nearby door.
Odd, if Kara was there — which his senses said she was — then why hadn’t he shimmered closer, at least into the same room?
His instincts screamed at him. Something wasn’t right. Immediately switching into hunting mode, he concentrated and pulled on his ability to blend, confuse the eye. He wasn’t invisible, but unless a person expected to see him and had some magical ability of their own, Risk would blend into the background, going unnoticed until it was too late.
Unsure what awaited him, Risk padded closer, his muscles tensed and ready to spring. Keeping his body to the right of the closed door, he pushed the thin barrier open with one palm.
The space was illuminated from above by a bare bulb dangling from a single wire. Beneath it — her hand flung to the side, her body twisted like an abused doll — lay Kara.
An unfamiliar emotion snaked through Risk’s gut. Pale, broken, the image of Kara lying on the cold cement floor seared into him, freezing him in place. Dead.
She couldn’t be.
The thought snapped him into action. He jumped forward. A prayer that Kara was alive forming in his brain, he collided with a wall of pure power. He had no time to think or react — just flew backward, knocking into a plastic tub and sending its contents skittering across the floor.
Stunned, he sat for a moment, the aftershock of his collision reverberating like the roar of a souped-up engine in his ears. Kara lay as she had when he’d first seen her, not even a hair moved though the floor was now littered with small stones, statues and shards of broken pottery. Balling his fists, Risk reached out with his senses again — this time checking for anything or anyone that might have laid this trap. Nothing. Not even the faint remnants of an old emotion. No one besides Kara had been in the space for at least a week, maybe longer.
Satisfied there was no hidden danger, he concentrated again on Kara and what repelled him so thoroughly. He pushed himself to a stand and took a guarded step forward, ready to lash out if attacked. His bare foot landed on something small and hard, but before he could pull back, it flattened to white dust.
Chalk. Witches used chalk. For circles. Traps.
He glanced back at Kara, and for the first time noticed a thin white line traced in a perfect circle around her.
Yggdrasil. The witch was laying a trap and got caught somehow herself. What was she hunting? Him?
Heat simmered in his chest. Did she think him such easy prey she could act the innocent, blind him to her ways, and then catch him in a trap capable of deceiving only the simplest of beings?
All witches were the same. He’d known that. Any wavering he’d felt in his goal to use her and her sister to secure his freedom evaporated.
Now to get her out of her damned circle so he could find her sister, secure his freedom, and remove himself from anything even hinting of witch.
A roar ripped through the air, jolting Kara to awareness. Her eyes darted around as she tried to assess her situation. The ground beneath her was hard and cold, and a dull ache drilled through her hip, telling her she’d been lying in one position far too long. Above her the stark gleam of the uncovered lightbulb reminded her she was in the basement sorting through Kelly’s things. No, she corrected herself, sketching a circle on the floor when suddenly electricity had seemed to shoot upward, startling her. She must have fallen and hit her head.
Still groggy, she lifted her body to lean on one elbow, and glanced around. Risk, dressed only in the worn jeans she’d last seen him in, stood inches away, his hands held close to his face, his fingers curled away from him, while he struggled with some invisible force as if fighting to separate two recalcitrant elevator doors.
Except there was nothing between his fingers but air. Her eyes rounding, she stared up at him. Was she hallucinating now?
“Erase the chalk,” he gritted out through clenched teeth.
Kara moistened her lips. He was real. Angry and real.
“Erase the chalk,” he repeated. A vein in his neck began to pulse, and a rivulet of sweat crept down his bare chest.
Kara inched backward, her heart jumping in her throat. What was he doing?
“Erase—” His tone shifted from labored to boiling.
Kara stared at him, knowing her eyes were wide and full of fear. She hated being afraid. Was so tired of it.
“Kara,” he began.
Her gaze dropped to the chalk. What did it matter? It was chalk, on concrete. She frowned. She could do what he asked — erase the chalk…see if that calmed him down, or she could run, but he stood between her and the door.
Sparing him one last cautious glance, Kara licked her finger and rubbed the white line beside her. Gray cement quickly showed through. With a muttered curse, Risk relaxed, his arms dropping to his sides.
“What were you doing?” His words were low, controlled, but Kara could almost feel his rage, as if the air around them had thickened to the consistency of pudding.
Unsure if she could trust him, she raised to her knees, and forced her voice into a calm somewhat flip tone. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”
Watching him from the corner of her eyes, she pressed her fingers into her hair and stood. No bump. Too bad. She could use an excuse right now for all the insanity she had been experiencing — and, her gaze shifted to the glaring Risk, was about to experience.
Every muscle in his body seemed to be on alert, and his eyes, she refused to look at them, sure she’d see that eerie glimmer she’d imagined before. Or hoped she’d imagined. If she didn’t see it again, she could convince herself it was just a figment of her overly stressed imagination.
Her own muscles ached, and a pounding had started in the back of her head. Whatever had happened to her here in the basement had drained her of every bit of energy she had — even the energy to be afraid.
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” she murmured.
“Really?” He motioned to the severed circle under his feet. “What game are you playing?”
“Game?” She frowned. “You really are…” She paused, her gaze drifting over him. His body tensed, and he returned her perusal with a look so intense, she felt the need to step bac
kward — away from him.
“You were busy while I was gone,” he murmured. He stepped forward, eating up the distance she had put between them. The heat of his body enveloped her. “Your trap was well drawn.”
Trap? Kara pressed her fingers against her forehead and closed her eyes. She couldn’t think right now. The pounding in her head was getting stronger, enough so, she could barely hear his words as he continued to speak. He was accusing her of something, but what?
She opened her mouth to tell him his threats were lost on her for the moment, and felt her body sway, her legs sagging beneath her.
Damnation, she was falling. All anger drained from Risk as he reached out to catch the tiny witch and pull her to his chest.
Her eyelids fluttered closed, leaving only a thin ribbon of blue visible. He pressed his cheek against the pale skin of her forehead. Cool. She was too cool.
He shifted her in his embrace, letting her head tilt backward over the arm that held her while he tucked his free arm under her legs. Cradling her, he looked for a place to lay her down.
She moved, a sigh escaping her lips. The knot he hadn’t even realized was twisting in his stomach loosened. She was all right, just exhausted. The spell, the energy to complete the circle that had repelled him, it must have drained her. Lusse had said she would be weak without her sister, and she was. Weak. Fragile. And alone.
Risk pulled her closer to his chest. Her long hair pillowed around her face. Without thinking, he nuzzled in its depths. Female. Flowers. And Kara. The scents tugged at him. He trailed the tip of his nose down her face, briefly touching her nose with his own. Then after hovering briefly over her parted lips, he closed his eyes and dropped his lips to hers.
6
Warmth filled Kara, rolling through her like whiskey on a December night. Strong, masculine fingers wove through her hair, pressing her face toward lips firm and soft at the same time. Kissing. She was kissing someone. Risk, her befuddled mind realized.
She should be concerned, a tiny muted voice in the back of her head warned. Afraid even. He was big, dangerous and basically unknown to her. She couldn’t trust him.
His lips trailed from her mouth down her neck, leaving a line of heat that surged right to her core. His tongue circled her ear, moist, hot and compelling.
She straightened her legs, twisting her body in his embrace until she was pressed against him. One arm around his neck, her breasts flattened against his deliciously naked chest, she ran her palm down over sculpted muscles. His skin was hot, almost fevered. She pushed herself closer, letting his warmth seep into her. Her thin T-shirt suddenly felt confining, the material separating the heat of his skin from her own, sadistic.
He exhaled, murmured something in a language she didn’t understand, then pulled her closer till her face was pressed into his neck, and her pelvis rubbed against his erection — long, hard and enticing.
Pull back, the voice said. This could be your last chance.
Risk shifted again, pressing her more firmly against the steely hardness. Muscles deep inside Kara tightened, moisture forming in invitation. Her mind was afraid, but her body elated.
Kara lifted her right leg, wrapped it around Risk’s waist and kicked the little voice deep into a crevice she hoped it never escaped.
As Kara’s right leg wrapped around his waist, Risk paused. She was irresistible. He couldn’t get close enough to her, the musk of her sex, the silky feel of her skin, and the sirenlike moan falling from her lips, filled his senses.
He raised and lowered her, letting her mound skim over the length of him. The need to push her against a wall and plunge the full length of his throbbing shaft into her moist heat almost overwhelmed him.
Need. His mind shot back to the son he’d left beaten on Lusse’s floor. He’d lost control before, given into his need of the moment.
His instincts were screaming, heat rolled inside him, demanding he forget everything except his craving — to meld with Kara, to plunge over and over into the soft pleasure of her body.
She was tiny, delicate, not as strong as Venge’s mother, and she tempted him more than any female he had ever encountered. Could she even survive the full force of his passion? Lost in his lust, could he control the beast that lived within him?
Kara’s free leg inched up his thigh, over his hip until she clung to him, her body pressing tightly against his chest, stomach and groin. She moaned again, then lowered her mouth to nibble the rough line of his jaw.
A tremor rocked through Risk. He closed his eyes, fighting the building lust. She seized his earlobe between her teeth and suckled the trapped flesh.
He turned his head, capturing her eager lips with his own. As he did, her eyes rounded, then flashed an intense, almost fluorescent violet. She was losing control, too.
Risk groaned, his tongue delving into her mouth, even as his brain told him he had to stop. He knew the cost of losing control. She didn’t. Didn’t know the power she held.
She didn’t know. He repeated the thought in his head. He believed that. She might have drawn the circle, but it wasn’t with intent. Somehow she’d stumbled across the magic and got caught by it herself. She was innocent — unlike him.
Unable to resist, he stroked the inside of her mouth with his tongue. She responded by running her fingers down his sides, her fingernails blazing a trail to the tops of his low-riding jeans.
He was hard under the denim, ready. Beyond ready. Almost spilling just at the thought of melding with his little witch.
His little witch. What kind of spell had she cast on him?
With a muttered curse, he grasped her arms and pulled his mouth free. Her chest heaving with short, hard breaths, her eyes radiating violet, Kara looked up at him, confusion and hurt coloring her face.
Kara stared at Risk, her mind clouded with passion. Excitement she’d never known before. Rubbing against Risk, daring herself to lose control and have sex with him here on the cold concrete floor, had filled her with a sense of power she hadn’t known she possessed.
Why had he stopped?
He pulled her close, resting his cheek on the top of her head. His chest moved up and down with his breath, and his heart pounded loudly in her ear. Then, abruptly, he pushed her aside and strode to the other side of the room. He stood for a moment, his back to her, his palm pressed against the wall.
“What is all this?” His voice rough, almost harsh, he gestured to the plastic tub that had held Kelly’s things. Now it lay on one side, its contents scattered across the floor.
Kara blinked. Her heart was still racing, and her lips still swollen from his kisses. What had just happened?
“Uh, those are Kelly’s…” The words came out weak, unsure, and she hated it, wanted to feel strong, as she had when lost in Risk’s arms. She took a slight step toward him.
His face angled away from her, he knelt, picking up the statue Kara had noticed earlier and holding it in his hands.
“Freya,” he said, his thumbs rubbing the stone in smooth hard circles.
“What?” Kara stared at the statue, her brows lowering.
“Nothing.” He shoved the statue into the box. “Did you learn anything here?”
That was it? She’d appeared mysteriously in his home, then he’d disappeared in front of her eyes, and finally, they’d almost devoured each other in a passion she hadn’t known she possessed, and he could only ask what she had learned?
“Why don’t you tell me something?” she replied.
At the edge in her voice, he looked up, surprise in his eyes. To be honest, Kara was surprised, too. Best not to analyze her sudden courage.
“Who are you?” she asked.
He straightened, the silver chain he wore at his neck shifting to fall over his collarbone, right where the wound he’d had yesterday should have been. But it wasn’t. The skin was as tan and unmarred as the rest of his bare chest.
“What happened to your wound?” The words spilled out.
Risk paused, a dagger in
his hand. One brow curved, he replied, “Risk Leidolf and wounds heal.” He turned the knife, watching the light glint off its length. “Some wounds.”
“But…” It had been less than twenty-four hours ago when his injury had looked red and ragged. No one healed that quickly.
A wave of exhaustion swept over Kara. She pressed two fingers against the bridge of her nose. There was too much happening that she didn’t understand. She wasn’t sure how to deal with it — analyze it and maybe lose whatever was left of her mind in the process, or just go with whatever happened and hope in the end everything turned out all right?
“Risk Leidolf?” she asked. “That’s what? Swedish?”
“Norwegian,” he replied, not looking up as he dropped the knife into the box with the statue.
“Oh.” She licked her lips, then paused, not sure what to say or do next. “And, the other night, you…saved me?”
He glanced up for a second, then back down, reaching for a handful of spilled stones. “I guess you could say that.”
“The dog.” Kara rubbed her damp palms on the legs of her jeans. “Did you see it, them? Were they real?”
“I saw him.”
Kara sighed. At least part of this nightmare/dream, she hadn’t decided which yet, was real. “And you took me back to your cabin…because…?”
He looked back up, his eyes unwavering. “I did.”
Well, that answered that — kind of. Kara shifted her weight from one hip to the other. “And last night…?”
“Last night?” He arched a brow.
“You, uh, disappeared…”
He picked up a wooden bowl, flipped it over, then tossed it into the bin. “Yes, sorry. Not my choice.”
A flare of anger lit inside Kara. “Not your choice? You disappeared.”
He ran his hand along the floor, scooping up a handful of polished stones, then let them fall from his fingers one by one into the rubber bin.
