“Yggdrasil! Obstinate alpha.” Lusse jerked the glove from her hand. Then, pulling a small vial from the folds of her skirt, strode toward him.
If her spell hadn’t frozen him in place, he would have jerked backward, evaded her cure — just for the sheer pleasure of thwarting her. How it would have irked her to have killed him herself and without learning about the witch she’d sent him to retrieve. The thought made him smile inwardly, but unable to move, all he could manage was a slight sway sideways before warm liquid splashed onto his face.
Within seconds his wounds changed from icy numbness to blazing fire then simmered to a dull, throbbing ache.
As the potion followed the course of the poison, the pressure on Risk’s lungs lessened, making it easier to breathe, but refusing the need to gulp air, he kept his posture steady and his breaths controlled. With silent effort he stamped down the last remnants of pain.
Lusse stood a few feet away, eyes assessing, her toe tapping, and the empty vial dangling from two fingers. “Bader,” she snapped. “Bring in the whelp.”
So, Lusse was ready to end her game. What treat did she have planned for him now? Whatever her ploy, Risk was grateful for the delay; it gave him a few more seconds to compose his answer regarding Kara.
“Bader,” Lusse repeated, her voice cutting through the room like an arctic wind.
The double doors leading to the hall crept open on silent hinges, followed by Lusse’s ancient servant, Bader, his polished dress shoes barely leaving the floor as he inched along. In his hand was a silver box; following close behind was a young redheaded hellhound in human form. The youth, the hound who’d invaded Risk’s territory, Risk guessed, walked steadily behind the servant. A strand of energy crackled from Bader’s tiny box tugging the younger male forward as it connected with the chain around his neck. Despite that insult and the numerous wounds that decorated his body, the youth kept his posture stiff, his eyes focused forward.
“See, it’s as I told you.” Lusse directed her question to the boy, her outstretched arm gesturing to Risk. “Your father knows his proper place.” Raising her hand, she signaled Bader to bring the other male forward.
Risk stared blankly at the scene in front of him, one word echoing through his brain. Father?
As Bader twisted a dial on the box, pulling the chain around the younger hound’s neck taut, Lusse turned a blinding smile on Risk. “Oh, I forgot. You haven’t been introduced, have you? Risk, this—” she gestured to the youth “—is your son. Venge, this is the father I’ve told you so much about.”
The younger male, his eyes focused on a spot somewhere behind Lusse, didn’t acknowledge Risk or the old servant Bader, who rose on his tiptoes in an effort to control the surging energy and bring the youth to his knees.
Seeing her servant’s ungraceful position, Lusse’s eyes flashed, a spark of cream in her naturally dark color. Briefly, Risk wondered what the true color of her power was to someone not hampered by the colorblindness of a hound. Not the pure violet of Kara’s eyes. That was certain.
“Bader,” Lusse bit out the name, then with an impatient toss of her head, held her closed fist, palm up, toward him and the other male.
“No.” Risk’s order broke through the tense scene like a hammer through glass.
Lusse paused, tilting her head toward him. A slow lethal smile transformed her. “What, Risk? You object to a little discipline?” She wandered toward him, her uncurled hand trailing over tabletops and chair backs as she came. Circling him, nails rasping over the bare skin of his shoulders and chest, she continued, “A show of fatherly love, perhaps?” Reaching his back, she stopped and leaned forward until her cold breath puffed against his neck.
Realizing his mistake, Risk stared ahead. Lusse said the other male was his son, but she’d offered no proof, and even if what she said was true, what did it matter to Risk? It didn’t change his reality, his goal — to defeat Lusse.
“What? Cat got your tongue?” Lusse giggled, a sound as different from Kara’s feminine laugh as the hiss of a cobra from the coo of a dove.
“He is yours, you know. Same strong shoulders…” Lusse’s hands cupped Risk’s. “Same solid chest…” Her hands slipped lower, her palms rubbing his chest, her breasts pressed against his back. “Same delectable taste.” Her tongue flicked out, lapping at his neck.
Risk contained the urge to toss her across the room, to hear her spine snap as her body collided with a wall.
“Same stubborn disposition…” In one fluid movement, she held out her fist and uncurled her fingers. Power arched from her outstretched hand, hitting the chain on the younger male’s neck. The surging power raced around the silver links encircling the youth’s neck before merging with the line of energy pulsing from the metal box still clasped in Bader’s fist.
Bader watched, eyes rounding as the combined force raced toward him. As it hit, his body thrashed like a sheet caught in the wind. Lusse smiled, her free hand still stroking Risk’s back.
The younger male grabbed at his throat, attempting to yank the chain from his neck, his eyes squeezed shut in an obvious effort to ignore the pain arching through him. One knee buckled, and he threw out his arm, grabbing the wall beside him for support. His body jerked, the power popping and snapping as it continued to flow from Lusse to the collar and into him. Still vibrating against the surging energy, he raised his eyelids and glowered at Lusse and Risk.
With a bored sigh, Lusse muttered against Risk’s ear, “See, obstinate.” Standing, she yelled, “Enough.” Then, holding out both arms, let loose another stream of magic.
The thick scent of the youth’s fury clouded the air.
Risk tensed, the desire to turn on Lusse even stronger than before. How long could the boy survive such force? Risk had survived worse, but this hound was young, not possessed of his full strength yet. Would Lusse kill him to make a point?
The beast inside Risk growled, eager to break out and turn Lusse’s torture into a real fight — one, bound as he was by her magic, Risk was sure to lose. But, a growing voice inside him murmured, if the reward was just a few drops of Lusse’s blood it would be well worth any price.
As the fire in his soul began to grow, his fingers curved into his palms. Change. Change. Change, the hound within him chanted.
The younger male pitched forward, both knees giving out at once, only the stream of energy flowing from Lusse stopping him from landing on the floor.
“At last,” Lusse muttered. Flicking her wrists, she sent one more surge of magic into the chain, then apparently satisfied her message had been sent, dropped her arms.
Both Bader and the youth fell to the floor with a disturbing thump.
Risk took a deep breath, attempting to calm the unsatisfied animal inside him. Keep with the plan. Saving the girl was the only way to hurt Lusse.
Except…His gaze wandered to the near-comatose youth.
“So, Daddy, what do you think of your son? Is he everything you hoped for?” Lusse strolled to the younger male, picking up her long skirt to step over an unconscious Bader on the way.
“I don’t have a son,” Risk replied, turning a now cool gaze on Lusse.
“Oh, but you do.” Lusse placed the sole of her shoe on the boy’s back. “Big, beautiful and brazen — he’s definitely yours. Don’t tell me you don’t even remember? How sad.”
The youth raised his eyelids, his gaze simmering with impotent fury.
At Risk or Lusse?
“Poor Venge. His daddy won’t claim him.” Lusse knelt beside the youth, then reached out to draw circles on his sweat-dampened back.
Snapping her gaze back to Risk, she continued, “Such a special night. So full of promise. Don’t you remember? The battles, the bloodlust? The weeks of training to get you to the point where you would lose control, to give yourself over to the power of the Hunt. It cost me six strong hounds, but it was worth it just to witness the completeness of your Change.” She hugged herself, her fingers dancing up her arms in a shiver of joy.
The completeness of his Change, Risk’s mind repeated. Yes, he remembered.
“But…” he began.
“Oh, that’s right. How could I forget?” Lusse brushed a lock of hair out of the pup’s face. “He thinks he killed your mother. He almost did. Tore her throat so thoroughly, she barely lasted long enough to deliver.” She glanced
