by Лори Девоти
“We are at the Guardian’s Keep. Did you know that, doggy?” Kara spoke as loud as she could, her voice rough with fear. “It’s a bar, near the lake. Not a good neighborhood at all.”
Sweat trickled down Kara’s back, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure the beast in front of her could hear it, too.
The dog’s pants slowed until they were barely a whisper in the still night. Nothing else broke the quiet — no bar patrons stumbling out to their cars, no sirens answering her call, no Kelly rushing in from nowhere to rescue her. It was just Kara all alone with no one to save her but herself.
Kara stared at the massive animal in front of her. Damn it. She wouldn’t die now. She’d survived too much, and she still had to find Kelly. If she could survive this, anything was possible. Maybe there was still hope. There had to be.
The dog tilted his head as if thinking.
“Not a place a woman should come by herself — the Guardian’s Keep,” she repeated, her voice stronger. “But who knew rabid dogs were running loose? Is that your problem, doggy? Don’t feel well?”
The dog wrinkled his nose. She could have sworn it was in a snort. Crazy. She was going crazy.
She shook off the instant of weakness. No time for doubts. She had to do something, so she edged an inch closer to the phone. At the movement, the dog moved closer, too.
Kara froze. She still had the Mace. Would it stop over two hundred pounds of rabid dog? She doubted it, but she would try.
The dog took another step. Kara positioned her finger over the spray can, her hand trembling so badly she almost dropped it. She wrapped her other hand around the metal cylinder, then concentrated on the dog and her last chance at life. Not close enough yet. One shot. She would get one shot. Spray and run. That was it.
Something moved behind the silver animal — the ginger dog teetering to his feet.
Kara bit her lip. If they got into another fight, farther away, she could use that time to escape. “Looks like your friend’s awake, buddy.” She nodded toward the ginger dog. It shook its head as if trying to reorient itself.
To her surprise the silver dog seemed to understand her, he glanced over his shoulder at the other animal. Kara rose onto the balls of her feet in a crouch — ready to run.
The ginger dog glared at them both. Kara held her breath, hope flickering in her chest. Then in a shimmer — like heat rising off hot asphalt on a summer day — the animal disappeared.
Kara gave a quick intake of breath. She was crazy. Lock-her-up, throw-away-the-key crazy.
Would anyone be surprised?
The silver dog turned back to Kara, and she could have sworn he was smiling. Glimmering eyes focused on her, he padded closer.
Hatred poured into Kara. A dog had killed her friend, would she let one kill her, too? Crazy or not, Kara wouldn’t make it easy. Not this time.
She waited until he was a couple arms’ lengths away then pressed the spray nozzle. The dog barely blinked.
Tossing the empty can away, Kara lunged to the side. The dog cut her off, knocking her to the ground and standing over her just as he had the ginger dog.
If Kara believed in God, this would have been a good time to pray. Instead she stared up at the animal, trying to ignore the unsettling eyes that seemed to burn into her. Where were the police?
In her delirium, she heard a reply in her head. “No one’s coming. Not in time. Relax. Fighting will only make it worse.”
How funny, the giant dog was telling her to relax. A hysterical giggle formed in her throat. A throat about to be crushed and torn until no sound could escape. The giggle bubbled upward, sounding foreign and unreal to her ears.
God, how embarrassing. Faced with death, and she giggled. Kelly never giggled.
The dog leaned down, pressed his nose to her mouth and exhaled. She twisted her head to the side, but there was nowhere to go. Hot breath filled her lungs.
Oh, Kelly, I’m sorry.
Everything faded to black.
2
Lusse stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of her mountain home. But even the cold starkness of the scenery couldn’t soothe her today.
Risk should have returned by now.
His mission had been simple — the girl didn’t even realize her own power. It would be like crushing a still-blind puppy — easy, but also rewarding.
Except Lusse didn’t need the girl crushed, not yet. Not until Lusse’d drained her of any power she held. But Lusse did need Risk to obey her.
He had potential to be great. The most powerful alpha her pack of hellhounds had ever answered to, but an annoying thread of humanity weakened him. Lusse had been patient, waiting almost five hundred years for him to lose the tendency on his own, but with the exception of one slight slip over a score of years ago, he’d stubbornly refused to embrace his demon nature. If anything, that slip had actually strengthened his resolve. Finally, she’d faced reality. He needed a few pointed prods to help find his way.
She sighed. Hellhounds. Her domination of them was one of her greatest strengths and also one of her greatest trials. Praise Yggdrasil, there were some paybacks. A shiver of pleasure danced up her spine as her finger reached out to flick the silver manacles that hung from her gilded ceiling.
After six months of confinement in the kennels with the others, daily training…her lips curved in a wistful smile…and the threat of taking the inconsequential piece of territory he thought of as his in the human world, she’d believed she had him under control.
But now she was beginning to wonder.
“Bader.” She spoke in a normal tone. Even though her servant was elsewhere in the mansion, he would hear her.
Within minutes the old servant shuffled into the room.
“Have you heard from Risk?” she asked in the most casual tone she could muster.
Before he could reply, she stopped him. “Don’t answer. Of course, you haven’t. If you had, you would have told me. Correct?” She raised one elegant brow.
He nodded.
No Risk and no innocent. Luckily she’d planned for such a problem.
“Did you do as I asked?”
Bader’s round eyes blinked back at her.
“Venge, did you send him?”
Another nod.
Lusse relaxed into the velvet comfort of her favorite chair, her ankles crossed delicately on the matching ottoman. Another plan perfectly executed.
Kara stretched out one leg, pointing her toe, then flexing her foot. Fur tickled her inner thigh. Rolling onto her stomach, she buried her face into the soft pelt beneath her.
Fur? Pelt?
She flipped back over and jerked to a sitting position. The white fur covering her dropped to her waist, revealing naked breasts — her naked breasts. She stared stupidly at the white flesh before coming to her senses and yanking the pelt back up to her chin.
Where was she? The room was dark, the only light coming from an oversize rock fireplace. The crackle of the blaze and the smell of wood smoke was ominous rather than reassuring. She spun on her knees, the fur still gathered around her. Peeled-log chairs and a couch sat beside her; behind them she could make out a rock breakfast bar and what appeared to be a kitchen.
No dogs, and no people.
For now.
Dogs…The memory of red eyes, and dripping canines, sent a tremor of unease through her. Real or a slip from sanity, she didn’t know, and at the moment she didn’t care.
Her breath ragged, she stared down at the fur she held pressed to her breast. She was naked in a strange house.
Who had brought her here? What had happened last night? The thoughts pinged around in her brain. Her fingers curled into the fur.
She pulled the cover more tightly around her and closed her eyes. Slow breaths. In. Out. Listen to the fire. In. Out. Finally, her exhalation barely audible over the crackle coming from the hearth, she opened her eyes.
Calmer, she was able to think. She had to get out of here. Get home where she could g
o quietly insane in her own space.
A quick glance around the room didn’t reveal her clothing. There was a closed door behind the couch, but Kara wouldn’t risk opening it and alerting whoever or whatever had brought her here.
At the thought of what might lie behind the door, her heart sped up. She pressed her palms onto the cold wood floor beside her and ordered her mind to focus.
Calm. She had to stay calm. Eyes closed, she practiced her breathing again, visualizing her heart rate slowing, her body relaxing just the way that last counselor had taught her. Steady, she opened her eyes and glanced down at her hands. No shaking. She inhaled. No problem breathing.
She was improving. Maybe next time the panic wouldn’t even appear. The thought pushed her spine a little straighter. She could do this. Filled with a strange confidence, she glanced around the room again.
Her situation wasn’t any better; still no sign of her clothes, and the door was still closed hiding God knew what, but…she’d be damned if she’d sit here waiting.
Naked or not, she was leaving.
Jamming the pelt under her arms for a better grip, she sprinted to the front door. Made of rough-hewn lumber, it had only an old-fashioned wrought-iron latch as a lock. She flipped up the metal strip and yanked on the handle.
Her barrier to freedom didn’t budge. A hot flush crept up her body. No. She wouldn’t panic. Try again.
She jerked harder. Nothing.
Cursing, she dropped the fur, grabbed the handle with both hands, and used every ounce of her 110-pound frame to dislodge the recalcitrant door.
“Aren’t you cold?” a composed male voice asked from behind her.
Kara froze, the sharp edge of the door’s handle cutting into her fingers. Biting her lip, she waited. Who was he? Would he rape her? Kill her? Let her leave?
“Here, this might help.” Her shirt and jeans landed in a heap beside her.
She glanced at her clothing. That was good, wasn’t it? Would a rapist toss her her jeans? Unless he wanted her off guard, wanted to trick her into trusting him. She gave the door one more subtle tug.
“That’s not the way out.” The voice sounded amused.
Kara paused. Of course not, why would she think that? Obviously, she should be scrambling up the chimney or searching for a mouse hole. The hysteria from the night before returned.
Her bare foot brushed against the rough material of her shirt. Glancing down, she saw the folded edge of Kelly’s “missing” flyer poking out of the pocket.
Kelly. Kara had let her down for a week. Doing nothing to find her — trusting in the police. Now, one day after she’d found a clue, as worthless as it had proven to be, this.
Her fear began to bubble and change inside her until it had evaporated, leaving pure cleansing anger in its place. Reaching down, she jerked up her clothes and began tugging them on. Fully dressed, she spun to face her captor.
He was huge, at least six-six, silvery blond hair and dark eyes — she couldn’t make out the color. A heavy silver chain hung from his neck, bisecting a huge gash at the base of his throat. She skipped over the wound. His size alone made him intimidating; thinking about what he’d battled to get such an injury would send her back into a panic.
Swallowing hard, she forced her gaze to move on. His chest was bare. She paused again, this time fixated on the smooth muscle, mesmerized by the up-and-down movement of his breath.
He crossed his arms over his chest, a sound close to a growl rumbling from his lips.
Her mouth suddenly dry, Kara remembered the danger she was most likely in. Snapping her gaze back to his face, she said, “I’d like to leave.”
“Would you?” He sauntered forward, his eyes burning into hers.
She folded her fingers into her palms, forcing herself to stay focused and calm. “Who are you?”
He stopped just short of touching her. His gaze flitted from her face to her neck, and then continued the descent to her still bare feet.
The wood floor seemed to warm beneath her.
Flight of imagination. Ignore it.
“How did I get here?” she asked, her voice coming out stronger than she felt.
He paused, then glanced back at her face.
Kara’s blood pulsed through her veins. She felt bare, as if he could see inside her, but she resisted the urge to shrink back against the door.
“Who are you?” she repeated, forcing an edge to her voice.
He took another step forward, and with a slow deliberate motion, twisted a lock of her auburn hair around one finger. “You first. Who are you, and why does Lusse want you?”
Risk stared down at the tiny woman in front of him. The air was thick with her emotions, which were just as mercurial this morning as they had been last night. Fear to anger, with no stop in between.
He fought the urge to step even closer, to gorge himself on the heady scents.
“Why does Lusse want you?” he repeated, asking himself as much as her.
She blinked up at him, confusion clouding her eyes.
Risk twisted his finger farther into her hair. Using the physical contact to strengthen his senses, he focused on her, searching for something that would draw Lusse.
A fist to his gut broke his concentration. Huge eyes dark with anger glared up at him. The self-imposed leash he kept on his instincts slipped in response. Anger. So hard to resist. The blood surged a little quicker in his veins, but he kept his face blank, undisturbed.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
She was verging on full rage. His pulse quickening, Risk leaned lower and burrowed his nose into the waves of her hair. Annoyance, rage, fear; they all were there, and…he placed his palms flat against the door behind her, trapping her into place…something else, something barely tapped. Ignoring the blood pooling in his groin, he pulled his head back and stared into her eyes. They flickered with one of the few colors he could truly identify — the violet of unsullied power.
The intensity of her emotions engulfed him, making him reluctant to leave her side. “What are you?” he whispered.
Her lower lip disappeared between her teeth as she stared up at him. Another gleam of violet.
Whatever she was hiding, it was growing stronger. Like most power, it must be tied to her emotions — and with the strength of hers, whatever she was, unfettered she would be formidable.
He should stop now, take the female to Lusse. Let the witch wring whatever she desired out of her. But…the female’s eyes flashed again…she wasn’t like his normal Lusse-directed prey. This female’s power was…he hesitated…pure. An inaudible laugh escaped him. Pure power. It was impossible, a myth. Power corrupted. It was true, cliché though it was.
No being could grow to adulthood with power over others and not use it to help themselves, harming those around them in the process. Then, once the power was realized, they turned to it again and again, until all that mattered was power. He jerked his hand from behind her head and grabbed on to the chain around his neck. This was proof of that. Lusse’s quest for power had held him for five hundred years. Five hundred hell-filled years.
Spinning away from the female, he fisted his hands at his side. Power, another witch perhaps. Lusse had a particular love of destroying her own kind. He had taken no small amount of joy in it, too. Each one represented Lusse in his mind.
He should kill her himself. Why wait? Why give Lusse the chance to bleed her of her strength?
Kill her before she turned. It would be easy.
A low growl forming in his throat, he spun slowly back toward the door, and his prey.
Lusse whirled from the window, her blond hair snapping as she turned. “Where is he?”
Bader shuffled forward, his gaze glued to the white pile rug beneath their feet. “Venge is in the foyer. He was bloody. I didn’t think you would want him dripping on the carpet,” he mumbled.
“Not the whelp. I have no need for him. Risk. Where is Risk?”
Bader’s eyes darted toward the whi
te double doors that opened to the hall.
“Where is he?” she repeated.
“Missing.” Bader hunched his shoulders, waiting for a deserved blow.
Like she had time to mess with him.
“I thought you said he fought the boy. Didn’t he return with him?”
Bader gave a slight shake of his squat head.
Pausing in front of a gilt mirror, Lusse ran her forefinger over her brows. “And the girl?”
Another shake.
“Words, use words.” She glared at Bader’s reflection. “Did she survive their fight?”
“I’m not sure, but there were no signs of her blood on Venge, or much of…Risk’s…” he finished.
Not a surprise. Lusse didn’t expect Venge to get the best of Risk. In fact, she’d hoped Risk would be angered enough by the whelp’s appearance, in what she knew Risk thought of as his territory, that he would allow his hellhound nature to take over completely. She’d hoped to have little more than a ginger-colored hide left of the whelp as a result of his dedicated service.
She turned her back on the mirror, pressing her spine against the marble top of the server that set beneath it. Risk had potential to be unstoppable, but his annoying edge of humanity kept getting in his way — her way.
She pressed her palms and fingers together in front of her face.
“Should I call him?” A carved horn hung from a leather strap in Bader’s hand.
Lusse glanced from the horn to Bader’s flat face. “Not yet. Let’s talk to Venge first. I need to know what’s keeping Risk before I summon him.”
With a short nod, Bader shuffled from the room.
Lusse spun back around to study her reflection. This had not gone at all as she had planned. She plucked a tube of lipstick from the tray in front of her and smeared a line of red across her lips. Risk should be here now, fresh from the capture of the girl — a total innocent.