by Лори Девоти
“Yes.”
Lusse lifted the crop to her chin and stared out over the vista.
Risk watched her, looking for a sign of her mood. Interrupting her could have painful consequences, both for him and anyone else who crossed her path tonight.
She turned to him, a calculating look in her eyes. “This may be good news — very good news indeed.”
“You have heard of such a thing?” he asked.
She slipped her arm back through his. “Magic is very complicated. Not every practitioner is as gifted as I.”
She paused.
Knowing the expected response, Risk replied, “None, Lusse. You are the most powerful witch of all time.”
She patted his arm, letting him know his response was on mark. “But others beside witches practice magic.”
Risk raised an eyebrow. “You mean like…?”
“The forandre, like you and your kind, possess a primitive magic that allows you to shift between your forms.”
A bland smile curved Risk’s lips. Lusse would kill to be able to harness the power to shift forms like hellhounds, garm and the other forandre. Of course, Lusse would kill for her morning cup of cocoa.
“The gods, of course, reek of magic.” Lusse’s nails scraped against Risk’s sleeve. “But…” She took a breath, exhaling slowly through her delicate nose. “What you’ve described makes me think we are dealing with an amateur, someone incapable of focusing her power unaided. Someone I can beat.” She laughed and patted his arm again.
“But if this being is so weak, how can she have destroyed the witch I saw and hold the twin witch?”
Lusse turned her head, her hair snapping with the gesture. “Are you comparing me to a mortal witch?”
“No, of course not.” Risk bit the inside of his cheek. He needed real information not assumptions colored by her ego. “So, the burned witch…that was caused by…?”
Her lips thin, Lusse slapped the riding crop against her thigh. “I don’t know that you need to know that.”
Risk waited, to push her now would guarantee her silence.
She flicked her gaze to his face. “But since I am feeling so generous today, I’ll tell you. A familiar. She is using them to focus power she can’t control alone.”
“Focus power?” Risk prompted.
Sighing, she turned them both back onto the path, heading toward the kennels. “Those less adept at the handling of magic often have focus problems. They might be able to pull the energy they need for a spell, but either not enough at one time to get the results they want, or the power splinters, flying around, each piece no more than static.
“They use a familiar as either a battery of sorts, storing up power so they can gather it in bits, or like a convex lens that focuses their energy rather than light.”
The path they were on split, a gravel section breaking off and leading to the kennel door. She paused, her foot hovering above the walkway. “Would you like to visit your son? I’ve heard he’s doing quite well.”
Risk tensed. Venge. What had she done to him? Keeping his face neutral, he replied, “Whatever you wish.”
She tilted her head as if considering. “As long as we are so close, it would be rude to just walk by, don’t you think?”
Risk gave a slight nod of his head. “Of course.” And followed her onto the gravel path.
Determined to get all the information he could while her seemingly mellow mood held, Risk continued their earlier conversation. “And the witch being so completely burned. Does that indicate anything? Any added danger?”
She laughed. “Just more ineptitude, I’d guess. But don’t worry, alpha. Just lead me to the thief who has stolen my witch.”
Sensing this was as far as he could push her, Risk let the conversation drop and followed her into the kennels. Cells lined the walls of the first room. Blue energy crackling floor to ceiling guaranteed anyone trapped inside would stay inside — even a hellhound in hound form. Today the cages were all blessedly empty.
With a wave, Lusse gestured for him to follow as she walked down the aisle between the cells and pushed open the door that led to the next room.
The space was dark, the smell of anger and discontent thickening the air. The center aisle continued, flanked by a row of cots on each side. Lusse flitted through, pausing to pick up a discarded bloodied bandage, which she ran through her hand like a satin ribbon.
“Where can they be?” She spun to face Risk.
He knew very well where the hounds would be if not in the kennel — the pit. And…his stomach twisted…if Lusse was this carefree, Venge had to be the center attraction.
“Could they be?” She flitted to the end of the room where doors led out to the viewing area over the pit. “Why yes. There they are.” She glanced at Risk over her shoulder. “It appears we are in luck. Your son is exercising.”
His face grim, Risk followed her out onto the dais carved from one mammoth stone.
9
Kara sat in front of the dying embers, her arms wrapped around her knees. She wasn’t sure which of today’s events to analyze first. So much had happened in so little time. Some amazing. Some horrifying.
Risk fitting in the amazing, if somewhat unsettling, part.
It was great to have someone in her corner, especially today. Kara couldn’t believe she would have survived the visit to the morgue if he hadn’t been there to lend her strength. Then after, back here…A shiver of pleasure danced up her spine.
She wasn’t exactly the most sexually active woman in the world, but she’d had her turn at hurried sessions in the back of a car, and less hurried but just as unsatisfying sessions in a few short-term boyfriends’ apartments. But she had never experienced anything to prepare her for Risk.
For the first time sex made her feel strong instead of vulnerable and exposed.
And it wasn’t just in her head — she had physical evidence that she actually was stronger. She held out her hand. Power. She had powers. What could she do with them?
She twisted around until her knees were under her and placed her empty whiskey glass on the warm brick beside her. Holding out her arm, she concentrated on zapping the glass to dust.
Nothing, not even a tingle.
Frowning, she picked up the glass and moved a few inches closer. After lowering her shoulders and rolling her head from side to side, she tried again.
Nothing.
Damn. Kara stared at the glass. If she couldn’t even crack cheap barware, she’d never be able to use her powers to save Kelly — once she found her.
Think. Think. Think. What had she been doing when her powers had first appeared?
Stroking Risk. Her lips curved at the memory. God she hoped he hurried back. How could she so thoroughly miss someone she’d just met?
Concentrate. Risk wasn’t here, and she needed to do this alone, anyway.
So, maybe not what she was doing, but how she was feeling. Could that be the key?
Sitting back on her heels, she let her mind drift back to the moment. Risk on top of her, his warmth seeping into her. Feeling appreciated — worshipped almost — safe, and most importantly strong.
Her eyes closed, she dropped her head. Let the feeling wash over her. She was strong. Confident. Nothing could stop her. Breathed in. Her lungs expanded. She could feel the energy flowing into her body.
Smiling, she opened her eyes, held out her hands and blasted the whiskey glass into tiny shards.
With a laugh, she jumped to her feet. She did it. She had powers and she could use them.
Twenty feet below where Risk and Lusse stood lay the pit — a steep-walled hole with no place to hide and no way to escape, until the fight was deemed over by Lusse or whomever she gifted with that power in her absence.
Today the pit was slick with mud, oil and blood. Five hounds in human form circled another armed with nothing except his balled fists.
Venge. Risk’s son.
One of the attackers, Sigurd, a burly man Risk recognized
from his own time in the kennels, picked up a staff and gestured to the other four. Venge spun, attempting to keep all five within his view. Two dove for his feet, knocking him to the ground, while the other two grabbed him around the wrists, pinning them into the mud.
Lusse laid her hand on the icy metal railing in front of them. “Oh, that doesn’t look good. Does it?” She tilted her head toward Risk.
He gripped the railing. Heat raged through him, melting the ice under his hands.
Below them, Venge twisted away from one of the males holding him, then swung his now free fist into the nose of the second. Blood splurting from his face, the second attacker loosened his grip on Venge’s wrist. Free, Venge sprang to his feet.
Risk’s grip loosened a bit in response.
“Hmm,” Lusse murmured.
The leader, Sigurd, signaled for the others to step back, then feinted to the left. As Venge turned to protect his right side, Sigurd arced the staff down, striking him across the neck.
Chuckling, the leader hopped back and yelled something to his companions.
They were goading Venge, trying to make him lose control. Risk moved closer to the railing, his gaze frozen on his son.
“Forandre rules. He changes, he’s dead,” Lusse commented with the casual delivery of a weather report.
Forandre rules meant a shape-shifter had to stick to his weakest form — in other words human. It also meant to win, all the other hounds had to do was taunt Venge to the point the beast in him took over. For many hounds this took little more than seconds.
“How long have they been fighting?” Risk asked, trying to match Lusse’s tone.
“Hmm? You know I have no use for time — unless I’m waiting for someone.” She gave him a calculating look, then pulled a slim watch out of her pocket. “But since I was curious when you might pop in, I happened to take note of when the festivities began. Let’s see…” She made a show of mumbling under her breath and counting off on her fingers. “It must be close to eighteen human hours now.”
“You put him in there as soon as I left?” Surprise caused Risk to ask the question, though his logical mind knew it was a mistake.
Fortunately Lusse seemed unfazed. “Why yes, I guess I did. He’s held up quite well, all things considered. How long did you make it?”
Weeks. Risk had endured weeks of the torment. But he had been older, more in control of his urges, and he hadn’t already been weakened by a fight with his father and who knew what other torture from Lusse. She’d done Risk the favor of putting him in fresh. Just to prolong the pain, Risk suspected.
“I really wasn’t sure how Venge would do, but with his bloodline, I hoped he’d make it at least a few days. It would look bad if my alpha’s son fell in the first day, don’t you think?”
Below them, the burly leader took another swipe at Venge with his stick. Venge leaped, somersaulting over it and landing on his feet.
“See, he has days left in him. Perhaps he’ll be finished up when you return with my witches.” Lusse turned her eyes, focused with deadly intensity on Risk.
So this was her game. Force Risk to hurry his hunt with the threat of his son being destroyed at any second.
Some games Risk wasn’t willing to play.
Slipping off the worthless shoes she’d forced him to wear, he catapulted over the railing and landed in crouch on the rutted ground below.
Cold mud squished between his toes, his fingers also sinking in the muck. He ignored it, concentrating instead on the six males in front of him. The leader, Sigurd…Risk’s mind spat out the name…stepped back, widening the circle and pulling Risk into their midst.
Risk smiled.
Sigurd palmed his staff, his brows lowering. “I thought you were off playing lapdog, alpha.” He made the title sound like an insult. An assessment Risk shared.
“And you got bored waiting for my return?” Risk nodded toward Venge. The boy’s only acknowledgment of Risk’s notice was a tightening of his jaw.
“What’s your interest?” Sigurd spun the staff like a deadly windmill in front of himself.
Risk shrugged. “My interest. My business.” He glanced around. “But don’t you think you should even things up a bit?”
Sigurd laughed. “You have been gone too long.”
Risk cocked his head. “No? Fine. If you don’t want to call more hounds to assist you, why should it bother me? A quick slaughter is always better. I have places to be.”
Sigurd’s eyebrows shot up, but as Risk circled toward him he lowered his staff and matched Risk’s approach.
“What about her?” Sigurd motioned to where Lusse stood watching.
Risk kept his eyes trained on his opponent. “As long as there’s blood — she won’t care from what source.”
“Good with me.” Sigurd raised the staff and swung out with the first blow.
“Not with me.” With a roar, Venge threw himself across the circle and plunged into Risk’s side, knocking him into the mud.
Late the next morning Kara took a taxi to the Guardian’s Keep. Risk had very considerately left his Jeep for her, apparently taking a cab wherever he had gone, but Kara needed to retrieve her own car. Driving Risk’s Jeep would have just meant leaving his vehicle in this less than savory section of town. After paying the cabdriver, she slammed the door and hurried toward the bar.
After her last visit here, she didn’t want to spend any more time loitering around outside than absolutely necessary. She was focused on learning something about Kelly’s disappearance. She wrapped her hand around the worn metal door pull, and stepped inside.
The Guardian’s Keep was less intimidating in the daylight, and dirtier. Kara scuffed a discarded cigarette butt off her shoe — much dirtier. The overhead lights were dingy with dust and dead insects. The floor so sticky with spilled beer, a little sucking noise announced each of Kara’s steps.
But she was here, and with the sun filtering through two grimy windows, she could see it was just an old rundown bar with nothing overly nefarious in sight.
Her newly found powers giving her confidence, she squared her shoulders and walked toward the dark wooden bar that ran along the left side of the room. The same bartender who’d refused to answer her questions a few nights earlier was clicking away on a computer tucked out of sight under the counter.
She strolled toward him and knocked her fist on the wood. Strong. Confident. That was her.
Eerie, almost clear, blue eyes glared up at her. She took a step back.
He gave her a quick startled look, then as if sorting something out, shook his head and continued clicking.
Kara used the time to study him more closely. The other night she’d been too busy scurrying away in fear to really size him up.
He was tall, not as tall or broad in the shoulders as Risk, but definitely in shape. His pectorals had seen more than one set of chest presses. Even the back of his neck as he bent down to flip off the computer screen showed cording. And, with the exception of his eyes, dark. Dark skin, dark hair — he looked back up at her — dark mood.
“You need something?” He raised one brow, his gaze skimming her body.
Inhaling through her nose, Kara mentally recited her mantra — confident, strong. “I was here the other night. I’m looking for my sister. She looks just like me, except…” She paused. She had been about to say stronger, but that wasn’t true anymore, right? She squared her shoulders. “She looks just like me.”
“Can’t help you.” He picked a glass out of the sink and placed it on the drain board.
“But…” Kara bit her lower lip. He had to know something. He had to. “I know she’s been in here. I found this with her things.” She opened her palm to reveal the matchbook.
“You found a matchbook and you think that means she’s here? Look around. You see anyone?”
Kara glanced over her shoulder at the almost empty bar. One man sat in the booth she’d occupied on her last visit. His hooded sweatshirt pulled up over his forehea
d and an ashtray full of butts in front of him.
“I didn’t mean now.” She replied, her exasperation showing. Good. Maybe she needed to get mad. She let the emotion grow. “I’m not asking you to do something crazy like…” She wiped her hand over the bar, her palm coming back stained with brown goo. “Clean. Just tell me if she was here — two weeks ago.”
He folded his arms over his chest and cast her an assessing gaze. For a moment she thought her act had worked, then he said, “Go home.” He strode to the other end of the bar and started sifting through what looked like receipts of some sort.
Damn it. Concentrating on the small pile of paper beside him, she held out her hand and prayed. Get his attention.
A small wind stirred around her, shifting her hair. Then a skittering feeling ran down her arm — like a cockroach scurrying for safety. Kara fought off a shudder.
Why didn’t tapping into her power feel as good today as it had earlier? Ignoring the nagging thought, she focused on her task.
A muttered curse rewarded her efforts. She snapped open her eyes to see the bartender turn a slightly singed paper in his hand. A deadly expression on his face, he strode toward her.
As threatening as he looked, Kara’s gaze was frozen to the paper in his hand. A wispy trail of smoke snaked from a hole the size of a quarter. That was it? That was all the power she could muster? What happened to exploding bar glasses?
“How’d you do that?” Leaning across the wood, the bartender shoved the paper under her nose. “This place is off-limits. Only protective—” He glanced over her shoulder to the man in the booth, then turned back and fixed a glare at her. “None of this.” The paper in his hand twitched. “How the hell did you…?” He muttered then, seeming to collect himself, he lowered the paper, and placing both hands flat on the bar, got right in her space.
“Go home. I don’t know what your hellhound’s thinking letting you wander around like this — but tell him the guardian said to keep you away. Bull-headed little witches have a habit of disappearing around here.”
Then without another word, he flipped up a hinged section of the counter, strode through the doorway next to the bar and disappeared in the dark hall.
