Unbound

by Лори Девоти

  Forcing herself not to turn her head away from the sour smell of his breath, Kara shook her head. “No. No trick. I’ll go now.”

  “Yeah, now is good.” Narr grinned and jumped to his feet with surprising agility. His fingers still wrapped around her wrist, he tugged her toward the bar. “I got my toll, garm,” he announced.

  The bartender stared at them for a second, his expression unreadable.

  Narr stepped closer and slapped her arm against the wood. “I got my toll and I’m demanding passage.”

  The bartender narrowed his eyes. “Demanding, Narr?”

  Narr cringed slightly, but held his ground. “Don’t be getting all beastie on me. I know the rules. I got the toll. You have to let me pass.”

  The bartender growled, but flipped open the hinged portion of the bar and stepped beside them. “Unfortunately, you’re right. But don’t be expecting any favors from me when her hound comes hunting.”

  Narr shot Kara a nervous glance. Afraid the bartender might still talk him out of taking her through the doorway, she patted his arm with her free hand. “Don’t worry. He isn’t my hellhound.”

  The bartender laughed.

  Kara changed her pat to a stroke. “And if he does come looking for me, just tell him what I said.”

  Narr nodded and took a step forward. “We’re ready, garm.”

  Sigurd pulled his massive head left then right, trying to tear the flesh from Risk’s arm.

  Just a week earlier Risk would have taken Lusse at her word and let Sigurd rip out his throat, but now there was too much at stake. Too many other lives depending on him — lives he now had to admit, at least to himself, he cared about.

  Sigurd clenched his jaws tighter around Risk’s arm. His eyes were crazed and glowing red against black fur.

  He was slipping quickly into the bloodlust. If Risk hesitated, Sigurd would surrender completely and Risk would have little chance of escaping to find and save Kara’s sister.

  Murmuring a quiet apology for using what he knew was an unfair fight move, Risk pulled back his hand and shoved two fingers into Sigurd’s glowing eyes.

  With a howl, the hound released him. Blood streaming from his eyes, he pawed at his injuries. Knowing Lusse would be satisfied with nothing less than a full knockout — if not a kill — Risk stepped forward; his knee flying upward with the motion, he caught the dog under the chin and sent him flying backward.

  Not waiting to see if the other male would rise, Risk closed the space between them and pinned him to the ground. As the giant beast struggled to get his back feet into position to kick Risk off, Risk wrapped his good hand in the chain around Sigurd’s neck and twisted.

  Sigurd’s head swung, his jaws open and one tooth scraping Risk across the cheek. Sweat beaded on Risk’s forehead as he twisted the chain tighter.

  “Pass out, Sigurd, you slow-witted cur. I’m not your enemy. Lusse is and you’re giving her everything she wants,” he muttered against the dog’s ear.

  Whether the dog heard him or just couldn’t continue, Risk couldn’t tell, but all fight seemed to leave the beast. Spittle leaking from between his jaws, tension left Sigurd’s limbs and he collapsed on the floor beneath Risk.

  Lusse pushed herself out of her chair and strolled over. “Well, that was rather disappointing, wasn’t it?” She looked at Risk, her lips twisting.

  “You got your answer. I’m still the strongest you have.” Risk shoved Sigurd’s body away and stood.

  Her arms folded over her chest, Lusse tapped the toe of her riding boot. “Fine. You proved yourself for now. But when you find the second witch — I want to know immediately. Or the lock on Venge’s cage might just work itself loose.”

  She lifted one of Sigurd’s paws with the top of her foot then let it flop to the floor. “I’m sure if Sigurd isn’t recovered, one of the other hounds would be more than happy to challenge the whelp. Especially if word of his lineage just happened to leak out.”

  Without another word, Risk spun and strode from the room, shimmering midstep.

  Shaking his head, the bartender reached behind the bar and pulled out two luminous straps, like the plastic ties police used on drunken crowds except shiny and somehow much more dangerous looking.

  “What are those?” Kara asked, her gaze darting to the silvery strips in his hand.

  “Part of the process,” the bartender replied as he motioned for Narr to hold out her hands. With a deft movement, the bartender wrapped a strip around her left wrist, then slipped the second through the first and around her right. With a snap, the two tightened like industrial rubber bands, locking her wrists against each other.

  Kara pulled. Even though she couldn’t feel the bands against her skin, her wrists didn’t budge. “Why do I need these? I’m going freely,” she asked the bartender.

  “It’s part of the—”

  “Rules,” Kara finished for him.

  He frowned. “They insure you won’t attack anyone as soon as you arrive.”

  Kara spread her fingers and bent back her hands as if she were making a shadow puppet of a bird flying. She could still use her hands, or at least as much as she needed to for magic.

  She smiled.

  The garm pushed her hands down. “Don’t be getting hopeful. They don’t just hold your wrists. They bind your magic. With these on, you couldn’t light a candle soaked in whale oil.”

  Kara’s hands slapped together and her head dropped. She stared at the round toe of the bartender’s black military boot. How would she free Kelly when she found her, if she couldn’t use her magic?

  “We doing this?” Narr grumbled, grabbing her by the elbow.

  “I’m ready. How about you, witch? You still determined to get through this doorway?” the bartender asked.

  Kara looked up. The garm watched her, his blue eyes appraising. Meeting his blue gaze with her own, she replied, “I’m ready.” Access to her power or not, she was going to find Kelly.

  “All right.” The bartender stepped behind the bar, fiddled with his computer for a second, then looked up. “They’re expecting you.”

  Narr took a step forward, jerking Kara with him.

  “Witch,” the bartender called.

  She turned her neck to see him.

  “Keep your nose down and your ears up. And remember…”

  Narr took another step toward the doorway; Kara leaned back to hear the garm’s last words.

  “In the other worlds, things aren’t hardly ever what you think they are.”

  Narr tightened his grip on her arm. “Gotta go. Them outside’ll be getting restless.”

  With a nod, Kara took a deep breath and strode into the murky darkness in front of her.

  14

  The sound of water whooshed around Kara. It was dark, hot and humid, like a rainforest at midnight. Only the thin strips around her wrists showed, pearly lines that bounced with her steps.

  “They’re near. I can smell ’em. You smell ’em?” Narr whispered in her ear.

  With Narr by her side, Kara could smell little else. She bit her lip and lowered her face to her shoulder, wiping a ribbon of sweat away. “Who…what are they?” she whispered back.

  “You’ll see soon enough. The drop-off’s up ahead a bit. Just walk fast. I don’t like spending no more time than I have to out here.” With that, he grabbed Kara’s bicep and pulled her along.

  Risk materialized in the Guardian Keep’s parking lot. Energy throbbed around him, the air heavy with the scent of greed and desperation.

  Something brushed against him, whispering in his ear, “Go home, little doggy.”

  He turned, his hands grasping for whatever taunted him. A laugh danced across the icy ground.

  A woman dressed in a short green velvet jacket and purple high-top tennis shoes dropped a cigarette butt into the snow and stepped on it. Her gaze fixed on Risk, she muttered a curse and turned to leave, gesturing to something or someone Risk couldn’t see.

  “What’s happening here?” R
isk called.

  She paused, then turned, her head cocked. “Nothing now that you’ve arrived.”

  Something trailed over Risk’s face, caressing his torn skin. A cold wind whipped around his body, spraying snow and tiny ice shards into his eyes. The voice he had heard earlier chortled nearby.

  Rubbing the ice from his eyes, he looked at the woman. “Is this your doing?”

  She shrugged. “My daughter. She’s disappointed you arrived and stopped our quest.”

  Risk tilted his head. “What quest would that be?”

  The woman pulled a fresh cigarette from her pocket. “Bounty. We hunt bounty. There’s a good one for bringing in witches, but I guess you know that.”

  Risk shimmered across the lot, materializing inches from the woman. His fingers flicked out to grab her cigarette and snap it in two. “What witch?”

  She looked at him with dead eyes. “Any witch.”

  Risk stared at her, still not sure what she was or what powers she held.

  “Maybe your witch,” the woman added, a new cigarette appearing in her hand.

  Risk reached out, intending on grabbing her, but she stepped back, disappeared for a second then reappeared. “I don’t have to talk to you, hound. We all know what you are. We’ve seen you here panting after that little witch.”

  Risk flexed his hand, grasping nothing but air.

  She smiled, then pushed his hand down with her own. “But because I have a weakness for lovers, I’ll tell you. Your witch is surely gone. She’s been inside too long and Narr’s in there now. If Kol hasn’t kicked them both out in the snow by this time, he’s let them through.”

  An icy band clamped around Risk’s heart. “Through to where?” he demanded.

  She raised her finger in a tiny no-no motion. “You’ll have to ask Kol about that. I don’t piss in a garm’s pasture.” Stepping back again, she held up her arm. “Time to go.”

  As the wind twirled around her, she stepped off the curb and into the street. A thin bony tail trailed from under her velvet jacket, swaying to and fro with her steps.

  Trolls.

  Risk rubbed his hand over his face. This bounty on witches must be great, if trolls were out with the sky barely settled into darkness.

  He stared at the swaying sign above the door to the Guardian’s Keep. Now he knew he was at the right place — there was a garm inside and it sounded as if he already had Kara.

  Not bothering with the niceties of walking or opening a door, Risk shimmered into the bar.

  A yellow light shone ahead of them. Kara shuffled along, her fingers gripping Narr’s grimy sweatshirt, sweat streaming down her face into her eyes.

  “Ssstop,” a voice hissed.

  “I have the toll,” Narr replied, his voice shaking. With one hand he reached behind himself, grabbed Kara and shoved her in front.

  Blinded by the sudden light, Kara blinked. Featherlight, something flickered across her face.

  “Ssshe looks like the other one,” the voice said.

  Kara’s breath caught in her throat. Kelly. He was talking about Kelly. She squinted into the light, willing her eyes to adjust.

  Four round yellow spotlights shot out at her from the darkness, a thin black vertical line making them look like cat eyes, but they didn’t blink. They held steady.

  A wisp of panic curled inside Kara’s chest. What kind of creatures were they?

  “She’s a twin,” Narr’s voice boomed from behind her, causing Kara to jump.

  The foul little man was getting bold just as Kara’s bravado was failing her. Maybe because he thought he would escape soon.

  His words seemed to excite whatever bore the spotlights. They leaned together, whispering.

  Kara glanced around, looking for any clue as to where she was. With her back to the spotlights, she could make out shapes and movement around her. Fluorescent green streaks sped past her on both sides. Kara shivered, but held out her hands toward them.

  “Can’t touch them,” Narr whispered in her ear. “They’s on the other side of the tube.”

  “The tube? Where are we?” she asked.

  “Jormun’s,” Narr replied.

  Like that should explain everything.

  “Who—?”

  An exasperated sputter flew from Narr’s lips. “Garm’s right, got no business hanging out at the Guardian’s Keep, don’t even know who Jormun is.”

  Kara waited, sensing the little man wouldn’t be able to resist being the smart one.

  “Midgard Sea. That’s where you are. Them streaks are fish.”

  The Midgard Sea. Kara searched her memories of high-school geography for any mention of Midgard. She came up empty.

  “We’re on the bottom of the ocean?” she asked.

  “Bottom, middle. Don’t know. Don’t know that there even is a bottom,” Narr muttered, as another streak of green sped by.

  “Ssstep forward,” the voice ordered.

  Her hands clasped in front of her, fingers intertwined, Kara took a small step.

  “Not her, you.”

  Narr’s fingers wrapped around her arm. “This is it. Once I get my bounty, you’s on your own.”

  Kara swallowed and nodded her head even though she doubted the man could see her in the gloom.

  The pressure of Narr’s hand on her arm disappeared. The scuffle of his feet against the floor telling her he’d moved toward the lights. As he got closer, she could see him, a squat dark silhouette against the yellow glow.

  There was mumbling and hissing. Then Narr turned and scurried back toward her. “Good luck, witchy,” he called, his sleeve brushing against her as he hurried past.

  His footsteps seemed louder as his speed increased, then suddenly silence.

  Kara pressed her clasped hands to her lips. He was gone and she was alone except for whatever creatures stood waiting for her behind the glowing lights.

  Risk glanced around the darkened bar, his fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightened. The place was empty.

  Knowing the garm wouldn’t have gone far, Risk strode to the bar, shoving a stool out of his way with his foot.

  The stool teetered, then fell with a loud clunk onto the floor.

  “Are you always this late, hound?” The bartender from the night Risk had first entered the Guardian’s Keep stepped through a door next to the bar.

  Risk narrowed his eyes. Garm. With the bar empty, and his senses not focused on prey, he could smell the pungent pine of wolf.

  “Where is she?” Risk asked through gritted teeth.

  “She?” The garm walked to a display of glasses and removed one. Not taking his gaze from Risk, he picked up a bottle of liquor and filled the glass.

  The aroma of whiskey wafted across the space.

  Fire flickered inside Risk. Kara’s drink.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Where did you send her?”

  The garm laughed and slid the glass down the length of the bar toward Risk. “I didn’t send her anywhere. Your little witch did this all on her own.”

  The glass stopped a few inches from Risk’s hand.

  “Where?”

  “Can’t say, unless you have the toll.” The garm leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “You got another witch to spare, hound?”

  Risk lunged across the bar, his fist balling into the other forandre’s T-shirt. “Send me to her.”

  The garm’s gaze dropped to Risk’s fist, then over to his torn arm. “Challenging me won’t get you your witch. Even if you could win, you can’t operate the portal.” He raised his eyes to meet Risk’s glare. “Remove your hand, or I’ll ban your ass from my bar.”

  Risk stared at him, the desire to smash the garm against the mirrored wall behind the bar almost overwhelming.

  “Hounds,” the garm murmured. “Inbreeding makes you weak, a victim of your own nature.”

  Risk’s pulse throbbed in his neck, fire building to a roar inside him. His fist tightened.

  Kill. He wanted to kill — consequences
be damned.

  “Choose, hound. Bloodlust or logic? I’m almost out of patience.”

  Bloodlust. Sigurd.

  Risk inhaled a shuddering breath. Was he as weak as the male he’d left unconscious on Lusse’s floor?

  His mind shot to Kara — how would she see him?

  Beast. Fear. Repulsion.

  His body shaking with the effort, he straightened his fingers and released the garm.

  “That’s a good dog.” The garm grinned at him, revealing white, even teeth.

  Risk’s hands flexed. “Send me to her.”

  The garm leaned back, his elbows resting on the shelf holding the liquor. “No can do. Not without the toll.”

  Impatience boiled through Risk’s blood. Maybe Sigurd had the right of it. Maybe some things called for bloodlust.

  His hands pressed against the bar, Risk took a step back. He had to get through the portal, and the garm’s games had worn through three seconds after Risk had landed in the Keep.

  But, he knew the garm spoke the truth. Risk had no way of operating the portal without him. Or did he? Remembering his battle with Kara’s protective circle, he eyed the dark doorway next to the bar.

  The garm rolled his head from side to side, as if the whole thing was boring him.

  A high-pitched whistle sounded from under the bar. Cocking one brow, the garm strolled over and bent down to tap on a computer.

  Risk inhaled a breath filled with stale beer and cigarettes, and shimmered. Materializing six feet in front of the doorway, he lowered his head and charged.

  The garm glanced up, just as Risk plunged into what appeared to be empty space. The air around him melded until he was moving but against a force, like running into a trampoline. Then with a snap, he went flying backward, straight toward the brick wall of the Keep.

  Cursing, he shimmered again, landing in a crouch beside the bar, his breath heaving.

  “Cute,” the garm commented. “Next time lose the shimmer.”

  Risk raised his lip in a growl.

  With a chuckle, the garm turned his back to Risk and strode to the doorway. Two seconds later, the man who Risk had seen holding a knife on Kara in the parking lot trotted through the door, a scroll clasped in his fist.