The Hellhound King

by Lori Devoti

  Geir, who had stayed in the room the entire time, glowering when the reporter’s back was turned, glowing when the reporter looked at the royal, covered the space between them in quick angry steps. He stopped in front of Raf.

  “What game are you playing, hellhound?”

  Marina stiffened, tried not to show how intensely she wanted to hear his answer.

  Raf tensed. “I don’t play. That would be a good thing for you to remember.”

  Geir lifted his lip in a snarl, but at the sound of Cas’s return he smoothed his expression and smiled. “I really do think Marina has had enough excitement. She only returned today.”

  If the reporter left, Raf would go with him. The thought of she and Ky being alone with her uncle…panic pierced Marina. She didn’t give herself a chance to question her actions; she stepped forward. “I’m fine really, but if uncle is uncomfortable, perhaps we could continue this tomorrow.” Geir’s face relaxed.

  She glanced at Raf. “You could interview us together. Raf will be staying here, of course.”

  Her uncle paled. “I’m sure Raf—”

  Marina grabbed Raf’s hand, put as much bubbly princess energy into her words as she could stomach. “We would be so honored if you would. It’s the very least we can do to repay you for all of your help. I know I will never forget the accommodations you had prepared for me while we awaited my uncle.” She dug a nail into the hellhound’s palm, let him know she wasn’t the fool she appeared.

  His eyes flickered. He grabbed her hands back, squeezed until she thought the bones would pop.

  She covered the pain with a smile.

  “How could I turn down such an offer?” Raf murmured. His gaze was steady, but there was something in his eyes, something that made Marina feel like a hare about to be snared. She carefully pulled her hands free.

  His face turning red, Geir swayed. For a second Marina thought he might lunge at them, but he got his reaction under control. He called for a servant and asked her to prepare a room for Raf.

  “Near me, please,” Marina called as the female started to leave. Marina smiled at Cas. “Just knowing Raf is close…I know I won’t have the nightmares anymore.” She covered her eyes with her hand and let out a tiny hiccup of a sob, then choked down the urge to retch at her own act.

  Cas seemed to buy it. As did Ky; she floated from the couch to Marina’s side and slipped her arm around Marina’s waist. At her sister’s touch, guilt rose up in Marina, causing her to tremble slightly. Ky stroked her back and murmured in her ear. “I had no idea…” The words were right, but something about the tone made Marina glance at her sister.

  Ky stood quietly, her face composed and concerned.

  Things were getting to her. Marina forced herself to keep quiet, to keep up her act.

  After one last glance at Marina, the reporter nodded and let Geir lead him to the door. At the threshold he stopped and turned. “I’ll have the pictures on the Web site tonight, and in print in the morning. This is just too huge to wait on. I’ll be back tomorrow for the full story.”

  With the door firmly closed behind the reporter, Geir spun. He gestured to Ky. “You need to lie down.”

  Ky opened her mouth to object, but Marina whispered in her ear. “I’m fine. You rest. I’ll find you later. I’ll tell you everything.”

  “Everything?” Ky glanced at Raf, her eyes glistening—no sign of the hardness Marina had thought she’d heard in her sister’s voice moments earlier.

  “Everything,” Marina said, not sure how true the promise was—or how much she should or could tell her sister of what was going on around her.

  With a sidelong glance at Marina and Raf, Ky walked from the room. After a nod from Geir, Tahl followed her.

  The door closed behind them, Geir spoke. “Whatever you are thinking, it will not work.”

  Marina dropped her distraught act. “Whatever who is thinking, uncle? Who exactly are you accusing?”

  Geir strode forward. “Both of you.” He looked at Raf first. “Tell me what you want. As long as I have a guarantee you disappear after, it’s yours.”

  Marina’s breath caught. She was as curious as her uncle why Raf was there. Somewhere inside a tiny part of her wondered, hoped it was as he’d said…Could he possibly just be worried about her? Had what she said before her uncle arrived back in the human world made a difference? Or perhaps the witch…seeing that Marina hadn’t burned her…could Raf now regret what he’d done? Could he…care?

  Raf’s gaze flickered. Marina could feel the tension flowing through him. It was almost tangible, like electricity shooting off a live wire. “I didn’t come here for payment from you. You have nothing I want.”

  A band tightened around Marina’s heart. Killed the spark of hope that she had almost allowed to flicker to life. Her uncle had her…

  Geir’s hand moved toward his pocket. Raf grabbed him by the wrist. “Don’t. It wouldn’t look good if your houseguest died his first night under your roof—do you think?”

  “First and last.” Geir shook the hellhound’s hand off and turned to Marina. “He’s using you—you know that? I don’t know what for, but he isn’t here to check on you. He doesn’t care for you. He had you in shackles, was waiting for payment from—” His gaze darted back to Raf. “The elf lords. They did this. Well it won’t work. Whatever they have planned, it won’t work. You might as well go back to them now and tell them that.”

  Raf crossed his arms over his chest.

  With a hiss, Geir looked back at Marina. “Don’t let down your guard. Remember what I said—he’s using you for his own gain.”

  Despite the hurt that Raf’s declaration had caused, a disgusted snort escaped Marina. “If there is one thing I’m good at, it’s being used. Isn’t that right, uncle?”

  She didn’t wait for a reply—didn’t glance at either male, just strode from the room. She had nothing to say to either of them—not right now. When her anger subsided, though, she would have to find Raf, have to discover exactly why he was here.

  If he was here to help her…she licked her lips and blew out a breath. She wouldn’t allow herself to hope again. No, she’d lived long enough to know the odds of that were slim. No one had wanted to help Marina in a very long time. No, he was here for some other reason, for some personal gain.

  Marina had to make sure she remembered that.

  Raf watched as Marina left the room. She didn’t look like the Marina he knew. Her hair was wound in some elaborate mess on top of her head and her body was covered in layers of impractical silk and gauze. She looked like a doll someone had dressed up.

  And he thought he knew who—Geir. For some reason the idea that Marina’s uncle was dressing her up and putting her on display—using her like some kind of puppet—rankled Raf. But even as the emotion hit, he realized he was here with the same purpose. Geir just got to her first. The realization made him sick. The act he’d seen her put on for the reporter made him sick. This wasn’t Marina. Yes, the Marina he’d known had appeared for a few moments when arguing with her uncle—but five minutes out of how many? What had happened to her? How could she act like someone she wasn’t?

  An image of her as he’d known her in Gunngar, her hair pulled back tight and utilitarian, popped into his mind. Then another image of him with her, unwinding her hair, letting it flow free over her shoulders…. Her hair had smelled of flowers, had wound around him, seemed to capture him, hold him…. He closed his eyes and forced these new images from his mind.

  He was here to get Marina on the elf lords’ side; he had to concentrate on that.

  Still in the room, Geir glowered at him. “The elf lords are paying you something. Why not tell me what and see if I can beat it? You might be surprised what the royals have at their disposal.”

  As little as he liked or trusted the royal, Raf hesitated. Geir was right. Raf thought he needed the stone, but he knew little of the magical riches the elves possessed. There could easily be some other artifact that would help h
im find his family’s killer. Perhaps even more easily.

  But for that to happen, he would have to trust Geir. And he didn’t. And he wouldn’t leave Marina with him to be dressed up and displayed.

  No, he’d take her to the elf lords for that, a voice whispered in his mind. He gritted his teeth, pushed the thought away.

  “I’m happy with my deal,” he replied. He turned to leave.

  “She won’t betray us,” Geir announced. “The elf lords may think they have something to offer her, to lure her, but they don’t have the hold on her I do.”

  Raf turned back. “There has to be a trust for it to be betrayed. Do you honestly think your niece has any for you? Or your royals? She isn’t even herself here.”

  “You know my niece so well? You’ve only spent months with her. I am her family. Whoever this Marina is you think you know—I assure you she is the act. The real one, the princess, you don’t know at all.”

  Raf’s blood pounded at the base of his throat. He took a step toward the royal, then hissed through closed teeth. He wanted to shake the elf like a dog would a rat, but that would accomplish nothing. Would actually complicate the job he’d been hired to do. For Sim’s plan to work, everything had to appear smooth and happy. A dead royal would not go unnoticed.

  A disappointing, but undeniable truth. Raf turned on his heel and stalked from the room.

  Chapter 9

  M arina sat on the edge of her bed, stared at the door, and tried to get her emotions under control. Seeing Raf had given her hope for a few minutes. Now she was struggling to keep her noncaring facade in place.

  She heard footsteps outside her door, knew it had to be Raf. Hellhounds might be light on their feet, but they couldn’t compare to an elf for silence.

  All her good intentions, her plans to stay cold and distant fled. She flung open her door. Raf stood outside, staring at her. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into her room.

  “What are you doing here?” she almost hissed at him.

  Raf walked to her bed and pulled back the lace that hung from the canopy. After looking inside, he turned back. “Do you want me to leave?”

  She tightened her jaw. “Perhaps I do.”

  His body started to shimmer. With a curse she jumped forward and grabbed him by the arm again. “Fine. I want you to stay, but I want to know why you are here. As my uncle asked, what game are you playing?”

  Raf arched a brow. “You heard my answer. I’m not playing a game.”

  Marina huffed out a disbelieving breath. “Everyone in Alfheim is playing a game whether you realize it or not. Tell me yours.”

  His free arm, the one she wasn’t holding moved, slipped behind her back. Before she realized what he was doing, she was pressed against his chest. Her heart beat faster. She could feel his, too, thumping slow but hard in his chest.

  “What game are you playing then?” he asked. His gaze was dark and intense. The room seemed to draw in around them, until all she was aware of was Raf. She pressed her hand against his chest, felt his heart beating beneath her palm.

  She licked her lips. She wanted to be angry, to force the truth out of him, but she was so tired, and damn it all, so happy to see him. Her body molded against his, before she remembered her promise to herself. He wasn’t here to help her. He wanted to use her, like everyone else.

  She pulled back as far as his grip would let her, shifted her hands to his arms. “I bared everything to you. Told you everything, and you were going to sell me to the highest bidder anyway.”

  Raf frowned. “I didn’t.”

  “Not because you didn’t want to.” She shook her head. “My uncle is right. You’re working with the elf lords. What is it they’ve promised you? What do they even want?” Her fingers tightened on his biceps.

  Anger and adrenaline poured through her. She balled her fist to strike him, then realized she couldn’t…didn’t want to hit Raf. Didn’t know who she did want to hit, who she could blame for the reality of her life. All passion drained out of her, and she sagged against the hellhound.

  He lowered her to the edge of the bed and kneeled down in front of her. There was concern in his eyes—real or false? It hurt Marina to look at him. Hurt to have to guess if the concern she saw on his face was true.

  She pushed him away, or tried to. He caught her hand.

  “What’s happening?” he asked.

  The struggle became too much, feeling alone became too much. She placed her hand along the side of his face and kissed him.

  It was perhaps the stupidest thing she’d ever done. More stupid than sneaking into Gunngar, than thinking she could handle pretending to be a coldhearted witch burner, than forcing Amma into her body. Stupid. She had done so many stupid things…what was one more?

  His lips were soft; reluctant, she realized. Hurt shot through her. She started to pull back, but he leaned forward and pulled her toward him until he was kneeling between her legs. Her thighs pressed against his sides. She straightened her legs, slipped them around him completely, until he was trapped, couldn’t get away—not until she wanted him to.

  Another realization: She wouldn’t want to release him. Not ever.

  “Why are you here?” she murmured, then kissed him again. “You shouldn’t be here. You don’t belong,” she whispered the last against his lips, afraid if she said it too loud, he’d agree and shimmer away.

  “Do you?” he asked. His gaze was steady, but there was something hidden behind his eyes—his real reason for being here. He hadn’t told her what it was, not yet. Would he? Would it matter?

  She ignored the voice in her head asking the questions, chose to answer his instead. “I’m the princess of Alfheim—the only princess of Alfheim. Where else would I belong?”

  She knew what she wanted him to say…with me. It was all she wanted—to be with someone who wanted her for her, not what she could do for him. No, that wasn’t true. She wanted something else, too. She wanted to relax, be herself—good and bad. Be accepted for both.

  Afraid she wouldn’t like his answer, she captured his lips again. Denial, pure and simple. But she needed the fantasy, needed to believe for just a while that he was there for her…just her.

  She ran her hands down his arms, along his muscles. He was so different than elf males—she should probably have been repulsed by the thick muscles that seemed to cover almost every inch of him. But she wasn’t. Touching him sent a thrill through her. She felt small, in the physical sense, when she was with him—which strangely enough made her feel safe. Safer than she had ever felt in her life.

  She had liked playing the strong leader in Gunngar, and she was strong. She wouldn’t have survived if she wasn’t, but with Raf she didn’t have to worry about any of that. She could let down her guard, relax in the knowledge that no one could harm her—not while Raf was by her side.

  He was wearing human clothes—a cotton tee that clung to his chest and denim pants that molded to his thighs. Simple items only a peasant would wear in Alfheim, but they fit Raf, made him appear all the more masculine.

  He ran his fingers up through her hair, and yanked at the pins that held the braids in place. In seconds the intricate design a maid had worked hours to create was gone. The perpetual tightness of Marina’s scalp was gone with it. She sighed against Raf’s lips. His fingers dug into her hair, massaging her scalp. She sighed again and moved her hands from his arms to his chest.

  He pulled her closer, off of the bed so she straddled him on the floor. Her breasts were pressed against his chest and her sex against his. She could feel his hard length through the thin silk she wore. She moved to the side, rubbing against him. He growled and his hands moved from her scalp to her back. His fingers slipped up under her shirt, onto her bare skin.

  She pulled his shirt off, too, greedy to have his skin against hers. His fingers moved to her spine, massaged the muscles that ran from its length. She arched her back and slid against him. The tips of her breasts brushed his chest and a tingle shot thr
ough her.

  He lowered his head and caught a nub between his lips, suckling over and around the sensitive tip. Another tingle shot through her, causing her to rise. He pulled her back down so she was pressed against him again.

  He was hot and hard. She slipped her hands to her pants, wanted to be free of them. He pulled her body up, so both he and she were on their knees, still touching from shoulder to waist, and slipped his hand down under the silk—found the part of her that was hot and wet. She shivered. His finger slid over the nub hidden between her folds and she shivered again, grabbed onto his shoulders. He stroked and swirled and she gasped.

  She leaned down and nibbled her way along his throat. He tasted salty and smelled of smoke. Memories of their time together in Gunngar, the good time, flooded her mind.

  His finger slipped inside her, and her body tightened. She pulled in a breath. She had missed him. She trailed her tongue up his neck and pulled his ear lobe between her teeth.

  He tensed and she reached down for the zipper of his pants. His sex sprang free. She shoved his jeans down and grabbed his buttocks—strong and hard like all of him.

  He murmured something against her lips, then pulled her up. Her pants fell.

  Naked, she straddled him again, this time his sex was free and she guided it, positioned it beneath her. They both paused for a second and did nothing, just listened to the other breathe and prepared for what they knew was to come. Then inch by inch she lowered herself, let her body stretch as he filled her, until he was entirely inside and she was ready to scream with the need to move—to feel him move.