by Lori Devoti
Raf materialized inside the house. The curtains were closed now—must have fallen back into place when the woman tumbled—and the room was silent. It was a typical living room: couch, a couple of chairs and an oversized TV. There were toys scattered across the carpeting, but Raf couldn’t say if that was unusual or not.
The woman lying unconscious beneath the window, however, definitely was. She was wearing a robe and house shoes. Raf guessed Geir had surprised her not long after her family left for school and work.
He flexed his hands, but didn’t approach her. That would be the expected thing—a perfect time for Geir to attack him from behind.
He turned instead, spied an open door that seemed to lead to a kitchen. He shimmered.
The kitchen was dark, too—all the blinds were pulled. Some kind of stew bubbled inside an electric pot beside the stove, filling the air with the fragrant scent of meat. He ignored it, ignored the ticking of a clock that hung on the wall, too, concentrated on smelling elf, or hearing the whisper-light steps of Geir somewhere in the house.
Instead, he smelled something completely different, felt something he didn’t expect to feel at all—the smoky scent of hellhound and the ripple of magic as one shimmered.
Chapter 24
A ir whooshed. Raf dropped to the ground and rolled, then sprung back to his feet.
The hellhound/bounty hunter who had been hunting Marina grinned at him from a few feet away. “Nice of you to come to me.”
Raf drew back his shoulders and lowered his head. “If I’d known you were waiting for me, I’d have been here sooner.”
“Yes, I guess you would have.” The hellhound shimmered. Raf shimmered, too. Both materialized—Raf just outside the kitchen door, the bounty hunter where Raf had been seconds earlier.
Raf nodded his gaze toward the woman who lay unconscious on the floor. “Was that necessary?”
The bounty hunter lifted one shoulder. “I didn’t pick this place. My employer did, but I couldn’t exactly leave her wandering the house could I?”
“You could have tied her up.”
The bounty hunter shrugged again. “Takes time. I’m into efficiency.”
Raf was, too. He lunged and shimmered. His target dropped to the ground; Raf overshot him and slammed into the stainless steel refrigerator. Both hellhounds were back on their feet immediately.
Raf sensed this could take some time. He might as well learn something while he decided how to kill the other male. And kill him he would. It’s what he should have done in the first place.
“So, is Geir here, too, or are you waiting for him?”
“Geir? You mean the royal who hired me first time around? Can’t say I know what he’s been doing. Can’t say I care.” The bounty hunter grinned. “You don’t know who hired me. Someone wants you dead, and you don’t even know who—and that same person I hear sent visitors before. To a house, in the woods?”
Raf froze. There was only one house the bounty hunter could be speaking of—Raf’s house where he’d lived with his wife and child, where he’d left them with his brother. Where he had returned to find them all dead. Rage roared through him. His adrenaline surged, felt like fire ripping through his veins.
He gritted his teeth and balled his fist, barely kept himself from throwing his body at the other hellhound. The male knew who was responsible for his family’s murder. Raf had never been this close to learning the name; he couldn’t blow this chance by giving in to the blood lust now. There would be time for that later—when he was staring into the eyes of whoever was responsible for his family’s slaughter.
The bounty hunter watched him, seemed to measure Raf’s reaction. “So, it’s true then? I heard stories when it happened—a female, a male and a child?”
“My wife, my brother and my son.” Saying the words hurt. Raf struggled to push them out past the pain shooting through his core.
The hunter looked away. A stupid move that left an opening for Raf to attack, but he didn’t, waited to hear what else the bounty hunter would say instead.
“I don’t like working with elves, never had until the princess, but times are tough. I can’t afford to be choosey.” The other male blew air out of his mouth, in a loud disgusted breath. He laughed. “But when I checked the site for jobs I found your picture there. I couldn’t pass that up. In fact, I can’t say I’ve ever been more eager to take a job.” He paused. “Everyone else had turned it down. When I asked around, I found out why.”
Hellhounds were constantly fighting for position among themselves—but an outsider sneaking into a hellhound community? Killing a hellhound child? It had angered Raf’s friends and enemies alike. Raf tightened his fist more, focused on the now to keep the pain at bay.
“Give me his name.”
The bounty hunter, his gaze back on Raf, sighed. “We really need to quit talking and get fighting. I’m looking forward to my pay. Good thing about elves, they pay in gold.” He lunged toward Raf.
This time Raf didn’t move; he was ready to get done with this fight. He had a new plan, though. The hunter knew who had killed his family, or ordered them killed—one way or another, Raf would know soon, too.
The hellhound hit him in the midsection. Raf hardened his abs and bent forward. He let the momentum of the hit carry him backward into a somersault, then used his leg to slam the bounty hunter into the ground.
The other male groaned. Raf leapt to his feet and pulled his leg back to kick the hellhound in the head. The bounty hunter grabbed Raf’s foot and jerked him down to the ground.
The two rolled across the floor, knocking into the center island. Raf landed on top. He wrapped his hands around the other males’ throat and squeezed. The bounty hunter’s eyes began to glow; Raf could feel the blood lust coming over both his opponent and himself—but he needed more answers and then he had a bigger enemy to find, kill. He couldn’t afford to get lost in this battle.
He lifted the male up by his throat and slammed him back down, smashing his head against the slate floor. The other hellhound growled, tried to shimmer, but couldn’t—not with Raf touching him and blocking the move. Raf slammed his head down again. The hellhound brought his own hands up, fisted, and slammed one and then the other into Raf’s sides.
Raf grimaced, but ignored the pain, concentrated on inflicting it on the male beneath him instead. “A name,” Raf muttered through gritted teeth.
The bounty hunter glared back.
Raf lifted him, and dropped him down again. This time there was a crack—the floor or the bounty hunters’ skull—Raf couldn’t tell. He shook the other male. “Give me a name. My son was only five.” Pain rolled over him, emotional, not physical. If someone had shot him through the heart he didn’t think he’d feel it right then. He’d never been more focused on anything.
He lifted the hellhound again, but the last smash had been too much. The bounty hunter’s eyelids flickered, his hands fell limp and finally, his eyes rolled back in his head.
Raf dropped him with a curse. The hunter was still alive, but out. Now Raf would have to bring him back around—get him to talk. He bent and levered the unconscious hellhound onto his shoulder.
Someone screamed.
He spun. The woman from the window hung onto the kitchen door’s trim, her mouth open and a shriek racing from her lungs.
Without bothering to hide what he was doing, to give her an easy explanation for what she was about to see, Raf shimmered.
Marina could do nothing but stare at the Paladin. He’d lied to her, had said the stone showed Raf betraying her, when actually it had shown Raf beside her on the throne.
What else had he done?
She wrapped her fingers around the throne’s arms and formed her words carefully. “The throne. Does it have any special powers?”
The Paladin hesitated. “Why do you ask?”
She fluttered her fingers, made a noise as close to a laugh as she could manage. “Just now, I saw something. Nothing important, my mother and father talking with you.�
� She smiled, warmly she hoped. “They seemed fond of you.”
He let out a breath, nodded. “Yes, like the stone, it does. It holds memories.”
She tapped her fingers on the arm, tried to look trusting. “Whose?”
“Every ruler’s. The throne is part of the trinity—the past. The stone is the future and the current ruler the present. All three together and Alfheim is whole.” He smiled, seemed pleased, but nervous.
“All memories?” she asked.
He shook his head, looked more confident. “No, just ones important to present-day choices. The throne is too wise to not filter out the unnecessary, it isn’t flawed like the—” He pressed his lips together.
“The stone?” she prompted. “The ruler? Is the throne wiser than both?”
The Paladin opened his lips to answer, but before he could reply, there was a noise in the bailey. He turned and scurried toward the doorway. Marina rose, intending to follow, but before she could move more than a step Raf appeared in the doorway, the bounty hunter who had pursued her in the human world hanging across his shoulder.
The Paladin stopped, blocking his entrance into the room. “What does it take to kill you?” he hissed. “I’ve tried Svartalfars, serpents, even your own kind. Why won’t you die?”
Raf’s eyes flared. He dropped the bounty hunter onto the ground and stepped over him. “You?” he asked. He glanced up and saw Marina.
She took another step, to join him, but his eyes told her to stay where she was.
The Paladin grabbed a stick from the floor and slapped it against the palm of his hand. In his fury, he seemed to have forgotten Marina, forgotten everything except venting his rage. “Because of you, Alfheim suffered. Over one hundred years with the throne empty. Do you see what you caused?” He waved his hand and the scenes he’d shown Marina, the destruction that had encompassed Alfheim in the last few weeks appeared on the wall.
Marina fisted her hands; pieces fell into place. The Paladin was behind it all—the snake, the murder of Raf’s family, the murder of her parents. He’d done all of it to keep a hellhound from sitting on the throne.
Raf’s eyes glimmered red; Marina could feel the magic building in him. He was on the brink of changing, of throwing himself on the elf and ripping out his throat.
The Paladin deserved it; she knew that. But if Raf killed him without a trial, without the citizens of Alfheim being given a chance to hear what the Paladin had done, they might never accept Raf. The Paladin might die, but he’d get what he wanted—no hellhound on the throne. Instead, Raf would be tried and executed.
She moved back to the throne and sat down. She had to activate the broadcast.
“He wanted to stop you from being with me, from ruling Alfheim,” she said, her voice calm, but her mind racing through ways to keep the Paladin talking while starting the broadcast.
Raf frowned. “Ruling Alfheim? I’d never been to Alfheim when he ordered my family killed. I don’t think I’d even met an elf.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head at the irony of what the Paladin had done. He’d brought Raf and her together—killing his family had sent Raf to Gunngar, just as killing hers had ultimately lead her to Gunngar, too.
Power zipped through her. She put her hands behind her back, hiding the glow. The Paladin had yet to see her magic; she might be able to use that last little surprise to their advantage.
The scenes the Paladin had playing on the wall changed. They weren’t the same as she’d seen before, they were new, had to be what was happening in the streets of Alfheim right now.
Elves pressed into the area surrounding the castle. Her uncle, her sister and the elf lords were there, too. For now all was peaceful, but she could see elves glancing from one to the other, see their lips moving as they murmured among themselves. They were ready, waiting for the broadcast; time to bring it to them.
She stood and waved for Raf to approach.
The Paladin frowned. “He shouldn’t get near you.”
She smiled, tried to look as if she didn’t hate the elf, didn’t want to kill him herself. “He’s no threat to me. Let me show you.” Power shot from her palms and wrapped around Raf like a vise. He stiffened. His eyes glowed and she could feel him shifting.
Praying her plan would work, she sent a tendril of power curling up his chest, around his neck, let it flicker against his ear, then in her mind she mumbled her message to him, over and over. Willed it to flow through the line of magic like a voice through a taut string.
He glanced at her, nodded.
She smiled at the Paladin. “See, no problem.” Then she flipped her palm and sent Raf sailing into the wall.
The Paladin’s gaze locked on to her. Behind him, Raf reached up and flipped a switch. Marina settled back against the throne. Let the show begin.
“You’re a witch,” he muttered. “If I’d known—”
“What? You’d have killed me, too, along with my parents?”
“Elves aren’t witches.” His hands tightened around the stick he held. She could see a war being waged behind his eyes.
She held out both hands, showed the power snapping there. “This elf is, and the throne accepted me. Would you kill me, too?” She moved as if to rise from the throne.
The Paladin screamed and pointed the stick at her head. “I would. I will. I didn’t go through this to see an abomination on the throne. I am the Paladin. My job is to protect the throne.” A yellow bolt of energy shot from the stick, and barreled toward her.
Raf lurched toward Marina. Sitting on the throne she was safe, or should be, but his body didn’t wait for his mind to process the thought. He leapt and shimmered, materialized in midair. The bolt hit him in the chest, knocked him into the wall beside the throne. He landed on the floor with no breath in his body. The smell of torched skin filled the space. He ignored it and pushed to stand up. His shirt was burned through in the front and his skin blistered.
Without pausing to think, he changed.
Hair sprouted and his bones bent. In full hellhound form, he sprang across the room, his jaws opened and directed at the Paladin.
Marina yelled, but he couldn’t hear her words. Blood was rushing through him, hate filling him. The time for revenge was here. He couldn’t wait any longer—wouldn’t wait and give the Paladin another chance to hurt Marina.
The Paladin pointed the stick again, this time at Raf.
Raf didn’t hesitate; he leapt. But the Paladin moved. Marina stood by the throne, vines of magic curling from her palms. She had brushed the Paladin aside like an ant.
“He’s mine,” Raf said in her mind.
She shook her head. “He belongs to Alfheim. Don’t take him from them. Let them decide his fate.” She gestured to the scene still playing out across the wall.
Elves sat on car roofs, stood hip to hip, their eyes all focused one direction, all watching one thing.
“They’re watching us.” Her eyes flickered. “The Paladin did all of this—killed your family, my parents, tried to kill you to keep us from sitting on that throne. If he dies, if you kill him now, he wins.”
Raf growled. He didn’t care if the Paladin won; he just wanted him dead.
Marine closed the fingers of one hand, cut off the power flowing from her palm. “It’s your choice. Revenge?” She glanced at the Paladin who was gripping the stick with both hands, seemed to be waiting for the scene between them to play out before acting again. “Or me?”
Raf closed his eyes. Her words hurt, the reality of what she was saying hurt. He’d waited so long, dedicated his life to finding his family’s killer and now revenge was so close. He could taste the villain’s blood, hear his screams.
He lowered his head. As he did, the Paladin raised his stick, and Raf made his choice. He leapt, knocking Marina backward, onto the throne.
A yellow bolt of magic flew from the Paladin’s stick. Raf spun, ready to lunge and fight, but Marina grabbed him by his fur, held him in place. He snapped, tried to pull free and
fell to the side, onto the throne’s seat.
He froze. The throne had expanded, was now big enough for Marina and Raf to sit side by side. He stared down at it, not believing what had happened, what this meant. He changed into his human form; the throne shifted again.
The Paladin cursed and flew toward them, bolt after bolt of yellow energy shooting from his stick. The throne blocked them all, sent them ricocheting back into the room. The Paladin screamed, cursed the throne for betraying him, for not seeing that what he was doing was right, for the good of Alfheim.
Elves began to pour into the throne room—Geir, Ky, Tahl and others. A group dropped a net on the Paladin from behind and dragged him still swearing from the room. The space was suddenly busy—too busy.
Raf ignored him, ignored all of them. His only desire was to be with Marina—alone with Marina. He placed his hand on her thigh and shimmered them to the tower.
They materialized on the cold floor where they’d made love before.
“If I’m going to help you rule Alfheim, this no shimmer from the keep thing is going to have to be fixed,” he murmured, pulling her toward him.
“So, you’ll stay? You’ll stay in Alfheim, and make history with me?” she asked, her words soft…unsure.
He cupped his hand around her cheek. “Will it make you happy?”
She nodded.
“Will it piss off your uncle?”
She smiled, confident again, and nodded again.
He leaned forward and whispered against her lips, “Then I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Epilogue
R af took the stone out of its box and held it up to the light. Marina, lounging on the grass next to him, cocked an eyebrow.
“Are you planning on using that?”
He rolled the sphere around in his hands then sat it down on the grass, stared at it. “Wouldn’t you like to know what the future holds?”
Marina, her gaze on her uncle and Lord Sim who were engaged in yet another battle of wills and words, sighed. “Knowing the future didn’t help the Paladin any, did it?”