The Hellhound King

by Lori Devoti

  She stared into his eyes. The blue so dark and deep at that moment they almost appeared black. There was no anger there, only desire…for her. And hope, was there hope there? Or was it all in her mind?

  Realizing she was slipping, letting reality take hold of her brain and pull her out of the moment, she closed her eyes and pulled her body up, let Raf slide out and then back in—over and over.

  Her breasts began to tingle. Little charges shot through her each time they brushed over his chest. Her center clenched and tears formed behind her closed eyelids. Her body was rising, or seemed to be, she was rising, swirling—the tension so intense and filling her with such pleasure she thought she would explode. Beneath her, inside her, Raf’s body tightened, too. His fingers dug into her hips as he helped her to move, until they could move no faster. Then her body found its release, and she fell, floated until she was lying against Raf’s chest, breath falling from her lips as if she’d ran from a legion of hellhounds rather than made love to just one.

  Not one…Raf. She’d made love to Raf, again. How she had missed him.

  Marina lay cradled against Raf’s chest. They were both naked. The smell of sex filled the room. There were other smells, too, emotions he didn’t want to recognize, to deal with. Hope, fear and maybe even a tiny tinge of love hung around them.

  Marina’s emotions or his? He didn’t know and wouldn’t allow himself to discover the truth. He couldn’t think about what Marina’s hopes might be or why she might fear him. And love? That couldn’t be true…not for either of them.

  He glanced down. Her hair was spread over his chest. He wanted to reach down and brush it back from her face, to gather it up in his hand and inhale the scent of her shampoo—violets and roses. A mixture made for an elf, a princess.

  He wanted things to be simple between them, their past to be erased. Wanted his past gone, too, so all he had was a future to look forward to, a future with this female. But life wasn’t that simple. Even if their past could somehow be overcome, forgotten, Marina’s future could never be his. She was an elfin princess, and he was a homeless hellhound who had lived for nothing but revenge for over one hundred years. Neither belonged in the other’s world.

  Her fingers, which lay against his chest opened. She seemed to be staring at them, or his skin, he couldn’t tell which. She closed them again, then curled them under, her nails scraping over his skin, but lightly, pleasantly. She let out a sigh and he knew she felt as he did, that she hated that the moment was about to pass, dreaded returning to the conversation they’d avoided by making love.

  But he had to go back to it. Had to finish it. Every moment he spent here, being with Marina, was another moment his family’s killer walked free, breathed. Was another moment he risked falling back under Marina’s spell, and risked forgetting his family all together.

  He placed his fingers over hers, carefully moved them from his chest onto the carpet beneath them. “Marina?” he murmured.

  Eyes, green as new buds, glanced up at him, then down at her fingers. She scraped her nails over the wool. When she looked up sadness flickered behind her eyes, then the emotion, all emotion, was shuttered off.

  Her face went blank, cold, prepared for whatever he had to say.

  The moment was over.

  Marina pushed herself away from Raf. She hadn’t wanted to move, but he’d said her name and when he had looked at her she’d known he was ready to tell her the real reason he was here.

  She walked naked to where her clothes lay and pulled them on. When she looked back, he was dressed, too, and standing.

  She hardened her heart before returning to him. She’d been hurt before, and she was about to be hurt again. Funny how she could predict that now.

  She retraced her steps until she was standing before him. Her spine straight, she stared up at him. “Are you ready to tell me why you’re here? Or at least to tell me where you think I belong?”

  She held her breath and waited for his reply, even, though, she knew it wouldn’t be the one she wanted.

  He stared over her head for a second as if gathering his thoughts, or resolve, then looked down at her. “With the elf lords.”

  Her facade cracked. She tensed, then shoved him. Caught off guard, he jumped backward. She whirled around in a circle not sure what she was searching for, but needing to release the anger that had exploded inside her. He was, as her uncle guessed, working for the elf lords. He had made love to her knowing he planned to turn her over to them.

  She felt betrayed. She should be used to it—but she was tired of it, too. And coming from Raf when she had hoped…

  The gleam of brass caught her eye. She twirled toward it—a metal letter opener. Her fingers wrapped around the handle and she held it up, the tip aimed at Raf’s throat. Her hand shook; she steadied it, forced the hurt down, let anger fill the void inside her.

  “I am an idiot, aren’t I? I let you so close…why wait to take me to the elf lords? Why not just kill me yourself?”

  The elf lords had to want her dead. That had to be why they had sent Raf. Amma was free; Marina couldn’t change that, or change that she was responsible for it, either.

  Her hand was shaking again. She’d faced down so many beings who wanted her dead in Gunngar and hadn’t blinked, but now facing Raf she was trembling. She hated that she couldn’t stop her body from betraying her.

  To cover, she took another step forward, pressed the metal against the vein that throbbed under the skin of his throat.

  He wrapped his fingers around hers and stared at her. She could see in his gaze he knew the truth, knew she lacked the strength to shove the blade into his throat.

  She closed her eyes, cursed herself and dropped the opener. Waited for him to do whatever the elf lords had hired him to do.

  Seconds ticked past.

  She opened her eyes. He hadn’t moved. He didn’t mean to kill her here then, perhaps something more public, more fitting for the media which her uncle and the elf lords seemed to incessantly court.

  “Killing you will solve nothing. They will just send someone else,” she muttered. She turned and walked toward her dresser. Inside was her wardrobe of silk and satin. Not practical for prison or the gallows.

  “What are you doing?” Raf asked.

  She dropped the handful of silk she held into the drawer. “You’re right. This is silly. They will hardly want me to dress in silk, or have a new outfit for each day.” She turned back and held out her wrists. She wasn’t sure what she would do when he tried to slip the ties around her wrists again—didn’t know if she could stand it or not. But she couldn’t kill Raf; she’d accepted that. Not even to save herself.

  He frowned. “The elf lords didn’t send me to get you.” He hesitated on the last. Marina tilted her head, suspicious.

  “But they sent you. You didn’t come on your own.”

  He closed his eyes, seemed to be making some kind of decision. “Not exactly.”

  His hesitance made Marina calm, something inside her click. Deny it as he might, he was playing games, and she knew games. “Exactly what then? Are you going to tell me why you’re here? Did the elf lords send you? And if so, why? Are you here to help me or hurt me?”

  Panic flickered deep in Raf’s eyes. Marina knew then whatever he was about to say would be a lie.

  “To help. I’m here to help you.”

  She sat down on the bed and stared at the mass of silk that was piled on her floor. She wished she could believe him, but she’d been trained in deception by the best. By elf standards, by her standards, Raf was a babe in training. And she was about to teach him how out of his league he was.

  She smiled, made her body relax as if she did believe him, as if until this moment she’d been holding everything inside. “Thank you. It’s a relief to have someone I can trust.” Then she squeezed out a tear and waited for him to tell his next lie.

  Chapter 10

  R af frowned. He’d never seen Marina cry. He had seen her happy and angry, k
nown earlier she was afraid, but tears? He had never seen that—and she was forgetting something.

  Hellhounds smelled emotions. She wasn’t sad; she was angry. It made him angry, too.

  He strode forward and grabbed her by the arm. “Don’t.”

  She blinked, her eyes still huge and damp. “Don’t what? I’m just so happy to have someone on my side, to not be alone. You don’t know what it’s been like.”

  He laughed. He knew plenty about being alone. Since losing his family, he’d kept to himself, not allowed himself to get close to anyone…until Marina.

  And look how that had turned out.

  Resisting the urge to shake her, he dropped her arm. “Quit the act. I don’t buy it.” Her pretense reminded him of his own, of the lies he’d told to get into her uncle’s house, of his role as spy before that. But he’d told her the truth. He had decided while watching her with the reporter and her uncle that he would help her—by getting her out of here and taking her to the elf lords. Life with the elf lords had to be better than this….

  Her tears disappeared. Her eyes hardened. “What do you expect from me? You think I don’t know you’re lying? You think I can’t see through that—” she waved her hand in a dismissive manner “—act?”

  Her anger freed him from his worry, freed him to be angry, too. He bared his teeth. “And yours was so great?”

  She rubbed her fingers over the skin where he’d held her. Through the thin gauzy top she wore, he could see the white imprint of his fingers. He reached out, meaning to rub away their imprint. She stepped back.

  “Don’t, as you said. I’m fine.” She walked to the other side of her room to her desk. She pulled out the chair and sat down. “Time to be honest. Tell me why you’re here.” Her emotions shut off; she was cold, distant.

  Raf glanced around the room, his gaze moving from the floor where they had made love to the female watching him through suspicious eyes. He wanted to run his fingers through his hair and pull it out in frustration. He hardly recognized himself anymore.

  “Tell me,” Marina said again, her voice hard.

  He let out a breath. “Before I came to Gunngar, I had a family—a wife, a child, and a brother. My brother came to stay with us one holiday. He was only a year younger than me, but he’d gone through a lot, screwed up a lot. He was working through that, was finally getting his life together.” Raf swallowed. He hadn’t told this story to anyone—ever.

  “I was on a job, hunting an escaped prisoner. I was gone for two days. When I came back they were all dead.”

  Marina rolled her lips into her mouth; her eyes were moist again, but this time Raf could smell her emotion, knew it was real.

  “What happened?” The question was soft.

  Raf dropped his gaze; emotion clogged his throat. “I don’t know. It wasn’t other hellhounds. I could tell by how they were killed—swords. But there was no scent at all, not the killer’s anyway.” His brother, wife and child’s scent had been everywhere, their fear and anger everywhere. Raf fisted his hands, tried to keep the image of their bodies, of their slit throats and the bloodstained floors from flashing through his mind. It didn’t work. He saw, smelled, felt everything—just like he had that day. His knees buckled; he walked to the wall and slammed his fist into it. The noise and pain helped, brought him back to where he was.

  Marina was quiet. She didn’t need to speak; he could smell her distress, feel her support. He’d shouldered this feeling alone for so long….

  He inclined his head and kept talking. Now that he had started, he needed to get it all out or he would freeze up, be unable to say any of it again. “I started searching that day, but I found nothing of use. There was no scent, no trail, nothing. It was as if whoever had done it had dropped in, then disappeared.” He looked at her. “A trail is never dead, not for a hellhound. But this one was. I went crazy for a while, then I started researching all the legends and tales I’d ever heard of, concentrating on elves and Svartalfars.”

  “Because of the swords,” Marina murmured.

  “It is their choice of weapon,” he said. “I didn’t find anything that explained how the killer had appeared and disappeared without leaving a trace, but I did find a tool to help me learn who that being was—the seer stone of Alfheim.”

  Marina shook her head. “I’ve heard of it, but I don’t know anything about it. There are so many myths in Alfheim. It’s impossible to know which are real and which aren’t unless you have experience with them yourself.”

  “And you don’t?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Should I?”

  “You are the princess.” He didn’t say it as an accusation, just a statement of fact. Sim had admitted the stone was in the castle.

  She seemed to realize what he was saying. “Is it supposed to be royal?” She frowned. “I’ve never seen it, not that I know of, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. I was a child when I left the castle, and not much into Alfheim lore.”

  Raf accepted her answer. The information he’d first found on the stone had been ancient—a diary from an elf who had heard tales of it from servants. Even that elf’s account had indicated the stone wasn’t common knowledge, that its very existence was kept hidden from the masses. Which, of course, made it all the more likely servants would speak of it.

  He’d followed that lead, though, to the elf lords. After they claimed the stone was real and were willing to give it to him, he’d taken the job spying on Marina.

  Marina looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry. I really am, but…” She looked up. “Do you expect me to turn myself over to the elf lords? What if they are lying to you?”

  He stared at the canopy above her bed. “If they are, they will regret it.”

  Marina stood and paced across the room. Her scent flowed after her. Raf gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the warmth that surged through his veins. “I don’t expect anything—” Then bit the words off.

  He had expected her to follow the plan Sim had laid out, and if not, he’d meant to somehow force her. Now none of it seemed that simple. He relaxed his hands. “The elf lords don’t know about Amma. I don’t know that they’d even care. Right now, all they want is you to publicly support them.”

  “Why?” She stared him down, demanded with her eyes that he be honest with her.

  He met her gaze, knew he had to tell her everything. “The legend, that the throne picked you to rule Alfheim.”

  She rolled her eyes to the side. “I knew the royals placed stock in that, but I didn’t think the elf lords did.”

  Raf lifted one shoulder. “The citizens of Alfheim do.”

  Understanding passed over her face. “The elf lords want to use me to court Alfheim.”

  “From what I was told, there have been uprisings.”

  Marina’s brows lowered almost imperceptibly. “I hadn’t heard.” Her hand drifted to her throat. She turned. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

  Raf stared at her for a second. “You would benefit from this, too. You would be out from under your uncle’s roof.”

  She shook her head. “And under the elf lords’.”

  “In the castle.”

  She laughed. “Gilding doesn’t make the cage any more tolerable.” Seeing his face, her expression softened. “I’m sorry. I know you want the stone. I even believe that you think pretending for them would be better than being here, but I’ve already dealt with the elf lords. I won’t do it again.”

  Raf’s world closed in around him. He blinked, confused. Her uncle had forced her to return here, held her now, he was sure, against her will. But Raf had offered her a choice, life at the castle, working with the elf lords who he knew she’d worked with before, and she had turned him down.

  Was his suggestion that bad? How could life with her uncle be preferable to life with the elf lords?

  Not knowing what else to say, he walked out of the room.

  Marina fell back onto her bed and stared up at the white curtains. She w
ished she could roll up in them and disappear. She’d sounded cold and harsh when she had turned Raf down, but she had her sister to think of.

  And no reason except Raf’s misplaced trust in the elf lords to swing to the elf lords’ side.

  Elf lords or royals, a case of lesser evil. Not a choice she would ever have wanted to make. Lucky her, she didn’t have to. Lucky her, the choice had been made for her by her uncle and the damned inset embedded in her sister’s throat.

  She closed her eyes and lay her arm over her face. Why couldn’t Raf have been here for her, had a plan to save her sister and whisk Marina away? Why couldn’t he be the prince Cas, the reporter, referred to him as?

  She dropped her arm to the bed and opened her eyes. Because she was a commodity. Nothing else.

  The room assigned to Raf was bigger and more luxurious than any room he’d ever occupied. The bed was piled high with cushions and his feet sunk into the thick pile of the rug. He ignored it all, strode into the room and snapped the door shut behind him.

  His arms crossed over his chest, he scowled at the satin-covered bed. He’d shared his story with Marina, thought the reason he needed the stone would sway her, but it hadn’t.

  She refused to go, to leave her uncle’s even though he treated her as he did. If she wouldn’t help Raf, why wouldn’t she help herself?

  Raf picked up his bag that some servant had left on the mattress and tossed it to the side.

  The bag flopped over. A white note fell out onto the blue comforter. He paused, suspicious.

  He’d had no note in his bag, had nothing in there but the most basic of toiletries and a couple of changes of clothes.

  He glanced around the room as if someone might still be there, then, sure he was alone and unmonitored, he picked up the note.

  It was on common printer paper, and the words inside, when he unfolded the note, were typed—or more accurately printed—by a computer or similar device. A note from the elf lords; he knew it before he began reading.