The Hellhound King

by Lori Devoti

  The dragon, who had already retreated, was next to the window, holding the needle up to the sunlight.

  “Hard to say.” The dragon pulled the needle close to his face. “Are you in there darling, Amma? Did you miss me? Maybe I’ll use you to stitch up a hole in my sock.” With a laugh, he slid open the top of the lantern and dropped the needle inside. It landed on the bottom with a ping. “If she’s in there she’ll come out eventually. The lantern will give her the ability to see her surroundings. She won’t be able to resist that.”

  Raf growled under his breath. “What about Marina?”

  “What about her? Amma’s out of her. She should be easy enough to handle now. You shackled her this time, and you have your box.” The dragon nodded at the covered glass box Raf had brought with him from Gunngar. It was exactly like the box he had been trapped inside, deep in Gunngar’s dungeon—under Marina’s orders.

  As Raf was staring at the cloth-covered rectangle, the dragon slipped the lantern strap over his head and across his chest. “Time to fly.” He strode to the window and threw up the sash. “I have a witch to torment.” With no further goodbye, Joarr shot out the window, shifting into a dragon as soon as his human form started to drop.

  Raf crossed to the window and slammed it shut. The dragon was a good ally, but an annoying companion.

  “Is she gone?”

  Raf turned. Marina sat on the floor, flexing and unflexing her hands. She looked well, fine, beautiful…Angry at his own reaction, he walked over and jerked the net off of her. He didn’t need it to control her, not with Amma out of her body.

  “She’s gone.” He paused, waited for Marina’s outrage, waited for the sense of joy it would give him. Taking Amma’s power from Marina was just the first part of his plan of revenge, but an important part. He waited, but the joy didn’t come.

  Marina stared around looking lost and unbelieving. “Really?” She smiled.

  She smiled. Raf’s eyes narrowed. She shouldn’t be smiling. She’d lost what she’d fought so hard to get. What game was she playing now?

  “Raf.” Marina struggled to her feet, baby-stepping away from the net. Raf waited, watched, refused to be taken in by her act, refused to feel guilty for the heavy shackles confining her. She would reveal her game soon enough.

  She glanced down at her bound ankles. “Is Amma all they wanted? Will you let me go now?”

  Her eyes were clear. Green as new grass. Not an ounce of guile in them—innocent as if she expected him to walk over and set her free. And damn everything, he wanted to, but he wouldn’t be taken in, not by her.

  He raised a brow. “Are you serious?”

  She licked her lips and glanced around the room. “You’re working for the elf lords, aren’t you? The dragon took Amma. That’s what they asked you for, right? What they are paying you for?”

  “What makes you think I’m working for anyone?” he asked. “You stole years of my life. What makes you think I’m not just here for revenge?” He walked to the box and yanked the cover off of it.

  She laughed.

  Laughed. He couldn’t believe it. He growled.

  She shuffled forward again, her body straight and anger snapping from her eyes. “You want revenge on me? I trusted you, and you were working for the elf lords.” She glanced at his face and shook her head. “What would you have done? Would you have left the spy roaming free? Especially after his lies had been so complete? I trusted you. I haven’t trusted anyone, not since my parents were killed. But I trusted you. Do you know how much that hurt? Spies get death in Alfheim—did the elf lords warn you of that? My uncle would have had you killed without pause, but weak sap that I am…I just had you locked up. And now you want revenge.” She closed her eyes and turned her back on him.

  Raf folded his arms over his chest. Didn’t let the shock that she’d known about his deal with the elf lords show.

  Marina pressed two fingers to her brow. She moved as if to walk then realized her ankles were still chained, stopped and swayed for a second before regaining her balance.

  His hand lifted to help her. Remembering himself, he lowered it. He didn’t want to understand the reasons behind what she had done to him. He needed her to be the evil female he’d created in his mind; it was the only way he could justify selling her to the elf lords.

  And he needed to sell her to the elf lords; he needed the seer stone. He’d tried everything else; the stone was his last hope.

  Forcing himself to focus on all the tales he’d heard of her since his release, all the crimes she had committed, he squared his shoulders, kept his gaze cold and distant. “What about the witches? The ones you hunted and burned? Were their deaths justified? Why weren’t you generous with them? Why didn’t you lock them in a box? Or refuse to hunt them at all?” He put metal into the questions.

  She turned back around. Her anger had intensified, morphed, was almost tangible now. “You mean refuse to do what your bosses demanded of me? You work for the elf lords. Doesn’t that make you as bad as me?”

  He shook his head. “No. It doesn’t.” He hadn’t terrorized an entire land. He hadn’t caught and burned a witch for the entire city to see.

  Her nostrils flared. “You seem to know everything. Do you really want to hear my side of it? Will it make any difference? Will anything I say make a difference?”

  He only blinked. It was the most he could risk without opening himself up to softening, believing her justifications and lies.

  “I didn’t kill anyone, not anyone who didn’t deserve it, didn’t threaten me or someone else.”

  He was sure the witches’ families wouldn’t agree.

  “I am a princess, but you know that. What you don’t know is what that meant. I was never a person in my own right. I was always a symbol of something else—something the royals lost and hoped to get back. I was dressed up and put on display. I was trained to look pretty and keep my mouth shut, at least as far as my uncle knew. I was rich and pampered and trapped—like a bird with no wings kept in a crystal cage. And I was brought up to hate the elf lords. They had what my uncle and the other royals wanted, the prestige and power that comes with ruling Alfheim.

  “When it was announced the elf lords were putting together a group to take Amma into Gunngar, it seemed like the perfect escape. My uncle couldn’t reach me there—not if he didn’t want to be trapped there himself. And I’d built up the elf lords to be everything the royals weren’t—noble, open, my chance to be me.

  “But I was wrong. They didn’t want me to be me, they wanted me to be one of them. They were thrilled to have a ‘princess’ in their midst and under their control. They wanted word of my secession to spread through Alfheim. They thought it would help them gain the faith of the citizens who still followed the royals. I was a pawn, again. But this time I had a whole new act to follow if I didn’t want to wind up with a dagger in my back. Because while a princess working with them was great, one working against them…well, there’d be no reason to keep her around.

  “I was trapped and if I wanted to survive I had to play along. I had to play at being their most fervent believer.”

  And she’d embraced the act, Raf reminded himself. The witch she’d burned was proof of that. A snarl threatened to curl his lip. He firmed his jaw, kept his emotions hidden. She could play the victim all she wanted, but he wasn’t buying it. She didn’t have to do any of the things she’d done. She had made a choice, and now he would, too.

  Chapter 4

  M arina held her breath, waiting for Raf’s response. She’d told him everything, a lot of it at least. She’d certainly been more upfront with him, shared more of her history with him than she’d ever shared with anyone.

  He walked to a pile of bags that lay in the corner. Started shuffling through them.

  Marina frowned.

  After only a few seconds, he stood. His hand was curled around something, an object she couldn’t see. He walked within six feet of her, held out his open palm. A silver case, the siz
e and shape of a lipstick lay on top of it. Then he closed his hand around it again and slowly, his gaze on her the entire time, pressed the top with his thumb.

  She didn’t respond, wouldn’t. She knew what he’d done, what he was saying. He didn’t believe her or cared so little for her it didn’t matter. The object was elfin. A caller, a locator. He’d just signaled Alfheim.

  After Raf had called the elf lords to let them know Marina was caught and ready for their representative to retrieve, he had turned his back on her. There was nothing left to say. She’d tried to trick him…again. She had been convincing and he’d been tempted to believe her. But he wouldn’t. Lies from beautiful lips were still lies.

  He walked to the window and stared out, not really focusing on anything.

  It would be a while until the elf lords arrived. He had time to follow through on the rest of his plan. The box he’d brought was still sitting against the wall, waiting for its occupant.

  But after hearing her story, he’d lost interest in personal revenge. He was having a hard enough time clinging to the truths he knew of what she’d done in Gunngar, the truths that helped justify selling her to the elf lords. Past feelings and other truths kept intruding.

  He had betrayed her; he had been working for the elf lords, spying on her. He hadn’t seen it as bad at the time. What were a few reports back on what she was doing?

  But hearing her side of things, he realized he would have reacted exactly as she had. No…he would have reacted worse.

  Guilt clawed at him. He had to get rid of her as quickly as he could—turn her over to the elf lords before he completely backed out.

  This wasn’t just about Marina. This was about avenging his family. Raf had devoted his life to the task, had only slipped in his dedication once—when he met Marina.

  Her betrayal had been a good thing, put him back on task.

  He couldn’t let guilt or some twisted idea that he might care for the elf princess cause him to be sidetracked again.

  Marina waited what felt like hours. Raf had turned his back on her, cut her off and she’d let him. She’d known arguing, begging would do no good. He’d already sent the call.

  And she had more pride than that. Perhaps that was her problem, perhaps if she had less pride she would have confessed all this to someone long ago, found an ally, the strength that came with knowing you weren’t alone.

  But she hadn’t. And apparently it was too late now.

  So, she waited and wondered who Raf had called, her uncle or the elf lords? Which would be worse?

  She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. She was almost past caring, maybe she was meant for life as a pawn.

  There was a knock on the door.

  Marina stiffened. Not the dragon. He wouldn’t knock and not another hellhound—they would shimmer inside unannounced.

  Funny how all of a sudden the idea of facing another bounty hunter didn’t seem like a bad thing.

  Raf opened the door.

  On the other side stood her uncle, Geir Sturlbok.

  No, facing another bounty hunter didn’t seem like a bad thing at all. Marina closed her eyes and let out a tired sigh.

  He slid past Raf without even glancing at the hellhound. In Geir’s world there were elves and nothing else. He had even fired his last wife’s long-time housekeeper because she was a dwarf. Dwarves were highly valued as hired help in most worlds, but not in Alfheim.

  His clear gaze locked on to Marina. She wrapped her hands around her upper arms and squeezed. He strode toward her.

  “We’ve been worried about you.” His eyes roamed her body, settled on the shackles connecting her ankles. “What are those?”

  “Irons,” Raf replied. He’d stayed by the door, was watching them with a hooded gaze.

  Geir ignored the hellhound’s comment, held up a hand to motion to four elves who were waiting just outside the door. They hurried inside. “Unlock her,” he ordered.

  The four elves stared at the dwarf-forged iron, then back at Geir. “How?” one of them finally asked.

  “Perhaps with this?” Raf stepped closer; a black key was pinched between his fingers. The gesture was calm, indifferent, but there was a tautness to his muscles, a contained anger Marina recognized, but doubted her uncle saw.

  Geir nodded and one of the elves, the one who had spoken, reached out to take the key. Raf snapped it back out of reach. “Who are you?” he asked, an edge of danger to his voice. “I need I.D. before I hand her over.”

  Geir moved next to Marina, ran his hand down her face, whispered in her ear. “What have you been up to, my niece?”

  Marina stiffened.

  “The royals aren’t very happy with you, and thus me. Sneaking off like that to Gunngar. What were you thinking?” He pulled back, patted Marina lightly on the cheek. “We were almost ready to move on our plan, and you threw it all away. Risked everything.” He placed his hand on his chin and studied her through narrowed eyes. “We have your sister, but she isn’t the princess, not as long as you’re alive. There were those…still are who think you are too…undependable. But with things in Alfheim beginning to—” He closed his lips over whatever he’d been about to say, reached for her again instead. His hand stroked her cheek, then stilled. “You’re my sister’s daughter. I would hate to have to make that choice.”

  She tried not to flinch. “Ky? How is she?” she asked. Her sister was younger, and thus not a princess by elf tradition—not as long as Marina, the eldest, was alive. Because of that, she’d never been at risk of being used as Marina had. Marina had envied that freedom.

  Geir ignored her, asked a question of his own instead. “So, what happened in Gunngar? Were you working with the elf lords as they claimed?”

  Raf stepped closer, so close Geir had no choice but to acknowledge him. The elf dropped his hand from Marina’s face.

  “The key,” her uncle ordered.

  Raf arched a brow. “I.D.?”

  Geir paused. “You aren’t the one I hired.”

  Raf’s eyes flickered. “Which means you aren’t the one who hired me.”

  Geir’s gaze slid to Marina, then to the elves who had entered with him. “So, the elf lords want her, too. Not surprising, but also not a problem. Trust me when I say the royal coffers are every bit as full as the elf lords’. More so, in fact.” He snapped his fingers. One of the elves jogged forward and pulled a card from his jacket. Geir gestured for him to hand it to Raf.

  Raf glanced at it then back at Marina’s uncle. Before he could reply, or take the money card, something knocked against the door.

  Geir turned to Marina. “Yes. I almost forgot. In case you had been working with the elf lords, I found something I thought might interest them.” He gestured, and an elf opened the door. A woman, dressed in a shredded dress that would in better days have reached her feet, fell to the floor. A fifth and sixth elf walked into the room behind her. Like Marina, she was shackled, but her ties were thin, made of the same elfin magic as the net Raf had used on Marina had been constructed of. There was only one reason Marina’s uncle would use such binds. The woman had magic, was either a shape-shifter or a witch.

  And as she looked up, Marina knew.

  She sucked in a breath. She’d never thought to see the woman again. Marina had assumed the woman had escaped Gunngar with everyone else, had gone on to find her family. But obviously, she hadn’t.

  The woman lying on the floor before her was, as far as anyone in Alfheim knew, dead. She was supposed to have been burned alive back in Gunngar by the elf lords’ orders and Marina’s hand.

  Geir walked over and pulled the woman to a stand by her hair. “Niece, do you know this female? Do you know this witch?” He jerked the witch’s face toward Marina’s. “We found her in Gunngar.”

  Marina bit her lip. There was nothing she could say to get the woman out of this. She was now a tool, just like Marina.

  Geir took a step, pulling the woman behind him. She grimaced and clawed at hi
s hand. He pulled back his other hand, spun as if to slap her, but Raf stepped forward and grabbed him by the wrist.

  The two males stared at each other, but only for a second—a shocked second. Marina didn’t think anyone had ever dared to challenge her uncle. Even in Alfheim where his royal blood no longer gained him political power, he was held in revered regard. He was one of the last few elves of royal blood. Even the elf lords danced around directly challenging him—afraid to do so might spark a civil war.

  Raf’s glower made it clear he wasn’t concerned with Geir’s elevated status. He pulled Geir’s wrist higher.

  All six of the other elves pounced on him. Raf shook them off like a dog shaking off rain. They flew to the floor; one slid past Marina on his back. Red-faced he flipped over and sprang back toward the hellhound, but Raf had moved too. He had Geir by the throat, shoved against a wall.

  His eyes glimmered red.

  Geir’s guards paused to look at their leader.

  “I don’t think you were listening to me. You are not who hired me, and I’m not interested in making a new deal.” Raf tightened his hold. Geir’s skin bulged over the top line of his fingers. “If you want to live, you need to leave—without your niece.” He glanced at the witch whose wrist Geir still held. “And without her.” The hellhound jerked his head toward the witch.

  Geir curled his lip. “She is none of your concern.”

  Raf stepped closer, so his nose was only inches from the elf’s. “Maybe before you brought her into my domain.” He gestured around the dingy room. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but it’s mine, and so is she—” he jerked his head toward Marina “—until I hand her over to those who hired me.”

  “I am willing to pay double what they can,” Geir growled.

  “I think I said I wasn’t interested.” Raf turned so his side was to Geir. One hand was still wrapped around the royal’s neck. With the other Raf stroked his own chin. “But tell you what, you let that one—” he slid his gaze to the witch “—go, and I won’t crush your windpipe.”