A clump of unrestrained bushes against that back wall provided the likeliest cover for the dog...or anyone else who might be waiting. Still, none of the graffiti on the nearby walls was familiar, and most of the junk heaped up on the side appeared to be construction refuse and litter.
A sign at the edge of the fence claimed it was a property both private and for sale, but the owner clearly cared little about cleaning up the place.
"Where did they say the dog was?" I asked.
Krista appeared at my side. "I'm not sure. Jae said someone saw the dog limp through a hole in the fence. They were supposed to wait here and watch, but..." she looked around, raising her eyebrow as the streetlight behind us flickered. "Would you?"
"Not so much."
I walked along the fence, my boots kicking up little pebbles of snow as I scanned for a bend large enough to admit a dog. I found it near the left corner, where the bottom of the chain link fence had rolled up and away from the metal post. The edges had a clean, pinched break to them. Bright and shiny, like they’d been clipped rather than rusted apart.
It would have been useful to know how recent the cut was, but my forensic skills ended there. As the street light flickered behind me again, the shadows shifted across a series of impressions in the snow, half hidden by the shadow of the lefthand building. Something dark ran alongside, streaking the snow in drips, like oil from a leaking engine.
The hair on my neck stood on end, even before I recognized it as blood. I whipped myself around, scanning the street for movement or aberrations of light. Wind keened through the trees, picked up snow and tossed it around like beach sand. I tasted the sourness of my own fear.
Krista angled a flashlight beam into the bushes. "I think I see something in there,” she called.
"Yeah.” My voice was a croak, and I refused to take my eyes from the street. "There are paw prints over here, and a hole in the fence."
She approached and, upon seeing the opening, gave me a skeptical look. “My ass isn’t fitting through that.”
"We'll have to climb over," I said. I pulled off my gloves and gazed up at the six-foot fence. I’d need to take off my jacket to avoid getting stuck on the top. "At least there's no barbed wire."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, miss military school. We're not—we can’t—that’s trespassing. The rescue can’t do that.”
"How are we supposed to get dogs on private property?" I gestured to the sign at the other end of the lot. “You want me to wait while you call those guys?”
“No, we lure it out with these.” She held up a bag of dog treats. “Nitrate free and meaty.”
“What if it’s too hurt to move? That’s blood.”
She sucked in her bottom lip, gaze tracking along the spattered paw-prints. I unzipped my jacket. "If they cared, they'd fix the fence."
Shucking the coat, I tossed it into the bags on the floor of the passenger's seat. That afforded me the opportunity for a second look down the street. Nothing moved that should have been still, and nothing was still that should have been moving. All was as it should be.
So why was my neck still prickling?
I shivered, chafed my bare hands, and sprang up onto the frigid chain link fence.
I may not have been good at many helpful things for the Dog Rescue, but I’d smoke every one of them at trespassing. In a matter of seconds, I was on the other side, breath clouding in my face, hands stinging where the thin metal wire dug into my palms. Krista passed the treats and flashlight through the opening.
"Just let me know if anyone's coming," I said.
I ghosted into the shadows of the building, following the paw-prints with my eyes until they disappeared into the bushes. Edging forward, I dropped into a crouch and peered in through the thick branches.
At first, I saw nothing. The shadows were deep, shifting in the light of the flickering street lamp. I opened the treat bag, letting the scent waft into the chilly air. A mound I'd taken for a twist of roots gave a shuddering sigh.
So there was a dog. I sighed in relief, but on my next inhale, I caught the scent of treats and the richer, teeth-clenching odor of blood.
I twisted the flashlight beam toward the dog, shoving the barrel in a little deeper. Every leaf on the bush tinkled with ice.
There, in a patch of stained, melted snow, lay a large dog. From where I crouched, it was hard to tell exactly what breed, but the barrel chest and long limbs pointed at some breed of sight hound. Steam curled up from one flank, which was a mess of charred skin.
Revulsion clogged in my throat, deepening as I edged in and got a better look at the scraps of fur left on the beast's flank. Long haired and gray, like my own hound form.
Something was wrong, though I wasn't sure quite what it was. I tossed a treat toward the wretched thing. The dog didn't move. It was too pained, too exhausted. Probably too scared.
If I crawled in there and grabbed it, it might attack, forcing me to hurt it more to subdue it. I had to keep it calm.
"Kris!" I whisper-hissed to her. "Throw me a blanket or a towel or something."
As she ducked back to the van, I closed my eyes, blocking out the image of the creature. Dogs saw on a spectrum only humans gifted with magic could. Every glimmer of power was visible to them, including the spirit-forms we spellhounds cast forward.
The outer ring of my spellhound tattoo prickled with magic, and a moment later, I found the second heartbeat that seemed to exist alongside my own. The wolfhound who'd given me her shape and now gave me the form of her spirit. I filled it with my thoughts, with the turquoise fire that seemed to have become brighter and brighter over the past weeks, and stepped out of my own body.
When I opened my eyes again, it was to a different world—one that shone back in strange, colorblind shades. I glanced back, through my own shaggy, translucent form, and saw my own body crouching there at the edge of the bushes, flashlight in hand.
My paws made no sound on the snow, no movement among the leaves as I paced forward on four paws. The injured dog cracked open amber eyes, nostrils flaring as it strained to smell me. I bent my head, though I couldn't catch scents in this incorporeal form. What I could do was see, and far more than my human eyes allowed.
Dogs see magic better than humans, which I suspected was a good part of the reason they'd been chosen as the animal form for the spell. What I'd failed to detect as a human now lay before me, plain and sickening.
Magical residue clung to the burns on the hound's side—a deep, curdled yellow I associated with the way these eyes saw blood. Which meant this was not the ordinary magical residue I was used to—the gummy remains of spells that stuck like bandage adhesive, but did no further damage. This was the residue of blood magic.
That was when it clicked—the reason this dog looked so familiar. It looked like me. Like my hound form.
The Rogue Sorcerers must have seen it and thought it was me, showered it with spells before realizing it was nothing but a normal dog.
If my spirit form had had a voice, I would have growled. Instead, I ducked forward, teeth snapping at those charged remains. They crackled in my jaws, snapping and sizzling, struggling against the pure magical energy of this form. The destruction was faster than usual, my form brighter with all the extra magic pouring from me now that Gwydian no longer drained my energy.
The Guild recruiter hadn't been lying. There were bounty hunters after me, and judging by the poor animal beneath me, they didn't seem to care much whether they brought me back half dead.
The last blood magic residue fizzled away in my jaws. Saving the dog now would be in Sanadzi and Krista’s hands. I glanced back, past my own inert, crouching form. Where was Krista with the towel?
But it wasn't Krista who stood on the other side of the chain-link fence, hunting knives in hand, jacket zipped against the frigid breeze.
It was Morgan.
Chapter Twenty
The sight of him struck me so off guard that for a moment I couldn’t do anything but look at him. He
was the same as ever—long blond hair and rigid features, holsters and sheaths strapped tight beneath his jacket—a modern day viking. I looked for signs of the torture Gwydian had made me listen to, but if there had been any, it was where I couldn’t see.
Shock overcame my better senses. I stepped forward on silent paws, drawing up next to my unmoving human body before remembering my cousin couldn't see this form. Morgan had no magic beyond what the tattoos gave him.
…which was why the sight of a spell crackling around his knife halted me in my tracks. It was just a glimmer, just a slight, unusual sheen along the blade, and I almost missed it. He shifted his grip, gaze riveted on the human body I’d left behind.
I watched him watch me, gray eyes taking in the stillness of my human form, so vulnerable and still in that abandoned lot.
This wasn't Morgan. The understanding slipped in without mercy. He stood there on the other side of that chain-link fence, a realized example of what I'd been hoping for the last seven weeks. Except everything was wrong. Morgan hadn't come of his own volition, but because Gwydian had commanded it. Which meant he had a new tattoo on him somewhere, a newly minted leash back to our old master.
Gwydian must have known I wouldn’t fight hard enough to hurt Morgan.
He would bring me in, and then Gwydian would have me. Would find out I didn't have the book. Then my old master would have nothing to lose. I backed up toward my body, ready to dive back into it.
Morgan hauled himself onto the chain-link fence, quiet for a man of over six feet. A muffled thump sounded from the other side of the SUV, and I remembered Krista.
Panic felt different in spirit form. I had no aorta to throb behind the dip in my throat, no ability to sweat, no breaths to come up short. Instead, it came in a frazzled rush of energy, my spirit form crackling like a thunderhead. I dashed forward, bypassing Morgan and bounding straight through the fence. I skirted the SUV's front and pulled up short.
A man had Krista pinned against the back door, one arm across her throat, the other pointing a knife at her eye. Her hands shook on her keys, but her face was all fury.
The man was saying something to her, but I couldn't hear. My body was too far from my spirit form, and only sight carried in spirit form. Everything else came distorted and strange, mixed with what I was smelling and hearing and feeling in my physical body. I recognized the man, though, and the acid green magic that coiled around his fingers and down the length of that blade: it was the man from the ice. The rogue Sorcerer. Which meant that, unlike Morgan, he could see me.
I lunged at the knife, and though my teeth passed through the metal, they latched onto the sparkling glyphs. The rogue jerked back with a curse. Definitely not Guild—none of them would have flinched at the sight of a spirit hound. I felt magic sizzle and fight against my own and clamped harder.
The rogue swung the knife away from Krista's face, trying to hold it from the reach of spell-rending jaws. Krista shoved off the van, sending him staggering back from her. In one swift move, she brought up her keys and loosed a cloud of reddish spray into the rogue’s face.
He screamed and dropped the knife, hands going to his eyes. Krista’s boot connected between his legs, and the second scream reached even my inert physical body.
I wanted to cheer. Instead, I dashed straight through the SUV and across the chain-link divide. Morgan had whipped around at the sound of the screams, but that wouldn't last long. I bounded past him, unseen, and slammed into my human body. Senses exploded into cold and color. I didn't think; I pivoted and sprang, slamming the weighted flashlight head across the side of Morgan's temple.
I didn't expect one hit to drop Morgan. He crashed to his knees, the knife flipping into the snow, and groped at the injury. Dropping the knife surprised me—how many times had Morgan drilled me on holding my weapon? Then again, there had to be a part of him fighting the compulsion to take me.
My heart thundered. Common sense was taking over. I had to incapacitate him. I wouldn't kill him, even if he had a knife to my throat, and that made him dangerous. Gwydian had known that. As Morgan lowered his hand from his temple, gray eyes unfocused, I brought the flashlight down on the back of his head with an audible thunk. He grunted, slumped, and toppled into the snow.
I snatched the knife, ripping down the collar of his shirt to find the tattoo. Maybe—just maybe—I could overtake it the way the Sorcerer had overtaken mine. Then I could cut it and Morgan would be-
"HELENA!" Krista's scream shattered the frigid air.
I jerked upright just in time to see the black form barreling toward me. I staggered back. A dog the size of a small bull slammed into the chain-link fence and sent it crashing from its metal supports. It missed me, but fell over Morgan like a metallic net.
It shook its bulging head, scraps of pelt flicking the blackened and exposed muscles on its jaw. It didn't matter that the beast was a twisted, bulging version of what it had once been. The snarling jaw had a familiar square shape.
My pulse throbbed behind my ears. I gripped the knife in one hand, the flashlight in the other, and stared down the Hellhound that had once been my godfather.
It growled, circling, waiting for me to make a move. I bent my knees, muscles coiled and ready to run. This thing wouldn't be on its own—Gwydian would have given it a handler. Probably another sanguimancer, like him.
"Krista, go!" I called, praying she would listen. I wasn't so lucky.
A loud honk sent me leaping back, and the Hellhound took that as an opportunity to leap.
I ducked, rolled over Morgan's prone and fence-covered form, and came up running. I heard the Hellhound hit the snow and skid. It would be right behind me; there was no time to get in the SUV. I could sense magic overloading the street like static buildup. Whatever happened here, I couldn't let her get caught up in it. "GO!" I shouted again, waving her on.
This time, I didn't give her a choice. I slammed into the SUV and used my rebound to change directions, sprinting off down the street. Headlights came on, and the SUV zoomed up alongside me. Krista screamed something unintelligible from the seat.
I ducked down the first side-road I found and a guttural howl followed me. Fear rippled up my back, quickened my legs. I turned again, forcing myself to have more care on the ice. The cold stabbed into my lungs, and soon I was breathing in ragged gasps, dropping the flashlight as I launched myself onto the top of a dumpster and vaulted the dividing fence.
It didn't keep the Hellhound long. I made it to the end of the alley before Eamon slammed into the barrier. Wood splintered at the force of his impact, then buckled. I swung down the road and found myself at a dead-end between buildings.
I cursed, stopping for just an instant to get my bearings. There had to be something to climb on. Some way to get out of this.
The Hellhound bounded from the alleyway, skidded on the snow as it stopped. Pinkened drool slid from between finger-length teeth, sliding in steaming ropes as it puffed out breath.
I had three directions to choose from. Left, right, or straight back?
I feinted left, then whirled around and made a dash for the rear building, where a blackened alley might give me a way out. My boot slid on the snow as I pivoted, sending me to my hands and knees. It was only a second before I was up and moving again, but it was all the time Eamon needed.
Bear-like paws slammed into my back, sending me down onto snow-covered asphalt. I hit hard, felt the scrape of knee and elbow and cheekbone. I twisted violently, bringing the knife back, hoping to hit at anything. Then the jaws closed on my shoulder, and bit.
I screamed. Teeth impaled my muscles, scratched into bone. Then the Hellhound lifted me, and I knew what would come next. He would shake me. Set claws into my flesh and tear my shoulder from my socket, rip it off like a chicken leg.
Instead, the Hellhound froze. I felt its breath against my neck, huffing hot and thick. Even the misting clouds of breath were tinged bloody pink. It was all I could smell, all I could feel sluicing down my side.
Then I remembered that Gwydian wanted me alive. Whoever had this Hellhound's magical leash would not let it kill me. Which meant I could fight back.
I heard my cry as I moved a knee, more of my weight supported by the demon-hound's jaw until I got both knees under me. The movement took everything from me. I stilled in the darkened cul-de-sac, shivering and kneeling in my own blood. The liquid steamed and melted snow around my knees. My fingers tightened around the knife, which was slick with my own blood. With a wrenching cry, I twisted my arm back, passed the knife to my right hand.
I swung the knife over my head, stabbing down behind me, and felt it hit. I felt it split muscle, dig into bone. Spinal cord? Skull? I didn't know. I stabbed again. The beast howled around my shoulder, backing up, dragging me off my knees.
Finally, it dropped me.
I shouted as its teeth ripped from my shoulder. Blood spattered the ground, but I didn't care. I was single-minded.
Eamon was gone. This thing that Gwydian had made was no longer my godfather. He'd helped raise me, taken me under his protection after Gwydian killed my father. He'd never want to live this way. I owed it to him to see that he didn't.
I rushed the Hellhound that had once been Eamon, ducking to the side just as it lunged. I threw myself on its back and held on. Headlights spilled across the cul-de-sac just as I slammed the knife sideways into its throat. Eamon jerked, tried to shake me off, but I held on. I brought my arm out and back, again and again. Each stab flung fresh blood, the thick resistance of meat growing thicker as the blade went dull and greasy.
Eamon dropped to the ground, rolling over me, trying to crush me under him. Tears streamed hot from my eyes, but I ignored them, stabbing again. Again. Again.
The knife was glowing now, purple spell bright as the headlights now slashing through the snow. Even without looking, I knew they were too low to be from an SUV. Part of me registered relief that it wasn't Krista. The rest of me was too busy acknowledging how fucked I was.
Unleash (Spellhounds Book 1) Page 18
