strode back to the discarded chalk, and prepared to finish at least one thing today.
Risk stared at the sparkling gems on Lusse’s glove. Would the sadistic witch use it on the boy? Boy. Risk shifted his gaze to the semiconscious male lying at Lusse’s side. Risk’s son, and no boy. No, he was a man — almost twenty years old if Risk’s memory was right.
Old enough to be starting life as an adult. Moving away from his family and starting one of his own. Or training in one of the few career choices open to free hellhounds…or, something Risk had often dreamed of, mingling with humans and carving out a life for himself there.
Old enough for any of that, but far too young to be lying here on Lusse’s fine wool rug, bleeding and beaten.
“So, Risk, where is my witch?” Lusse twisted her hand so the light caught a ruby-tinted jewel releasing a crimson blaze.
Tell her you lost her. Stick with the plan. Forget the boy — son or not, he’s nothing to you.
Lusse stared back at him, one gem-covered finger tapping against the boy’s back.
“I told you. There were…complications.” Risk kept his gaze focused on Lusse’s eyes and away from his son.
“Complications?” Lusse pushed one finger into Venge’s back. The glove sizzled to life. The muscles of Venge’s back twitched, and the line of his jaw tightened.
Damn Lusse. What would she do to the youth if Risk didn’t deliver Kara?
“Yes, complications…” Risk began.
Lusse let a second finger drop, the pressure light, but her intention clear.
“But…” Risk continued. “Nothing I can’t deal with.”
“Of course. I have complete faith in you.” Lusse curled her fingers toward her palm, breaking all contact with Venge’s back. “I would, just out of curiosity you understand, like to know what exactly constitutes a complication.”
Risk paused. Sunlight caught on the gemmed glove, sending a sprinkling of rainbows dancing across the room. A cold thread of dread uncoiled in Risk’s stomach. If he didn’t give up Kara or a believable reason why he wasn’t, his son would suffer for it. Risk had already doomed the boy to a childhood of suffering. How could Risk, by his actions, sentence Venge to more?
“She has a twin.” Risk let the words lie there, knowing Lusse would realize the importance of what this meant.
“A twin?” She stood up, peeling the glove from her hand as she stepped around the prone Venge. “That is wonderful news. Was there a problem? Did they learn of your coming?”
“No, not that. It’s more complicated. The sister. She’s missing.” As the words fell from his lips, Risk’s mind whirled ahead. All wasn’t lost. Maybe he could still work the situation. Buy time.
“Missing? She ran off?” Lusse frowned.
“No, I don’t think so. I think she’s been taken.”
“Dead?” Lusse twisted her lips to the side.
“Not according to Ka — the witch you sent me to retrieve.”
A flicker of suspicion passed over Lusse’s face at his slip, but Risk hardened his gaze and continued. “I knew you would want both, but to find the sister I need the help and trust of the first. That’s what I was working on when you called.”
“Building trust?” Lusse cocked her head. “And how, my alpha, do you go about doing that?”
Risk stared at her, his gaze cool, knowing.
She laughed. A sensual smile tipping her lips, she stepped closer. “A little mortal witch. How could she resist all this?”
While Risk held his breath, disguising his distaste, Lusse ran her bare palm up his stomach, over his ribs and onto his chest. “No chance at all.”
As soon as Risk felt confident he’d reestablished at least a modicum of trust with Lusse, he prepared to leave. The boy, Venge, had sat up, his gaze distant, but Risk could feel the emotion pulsing beneath his son’s carefully crafted facade. Venge was angry, seething. Given the chance, he would most likely rip out the throats of both Lusse and Risk. Risk accepted that. His son had been dealt an ugly hand. Rage was to be expected. But Venge would do what all hellhounds did, embrace his anger and use it to grow stronger.
Risk turned his thoughts to Kara, what he had promised Lusse and how he could possibly twist the situation to get everything he needed while accomplishing his goal. Lusse now knew about the sister, but thanks to her ego, also believed Risk was in the process of hunting the twin to deliver to Lusse. Of course, somehow, Risk had to avoid that — string Lusse along enough to keep his freedom to move about the human world, without actually delivering his part of the bargain.
And Kara, she expected him to help her find her sister. Which he would. He’d just need a little repayment from the pair before he released them. But, one step at a time. First he had to return to Kara.
Now that Risk knew the distinct scent of not only Kara’s human musk, but also her emotions, it would take him only moments to locate her. Inhaling deeply, he trusted his senses to lead him to his target and shimmered away from Lusse’s mansion.
Even before he solidified completely, he began scanning the room. It was dim, cool, and smelled of damp. A disquieting energy thickened the air. The hairs on his forearms unfurled and his muscles tensed. Eyes scanning the space, Risk waited for his body to catch up with his senses. Solid, he stepped forward, toward a line of light leaking from under a nearby door.
Odd, if Kara was there — which his senses said she was — then why hadn’t he shimmered closer, at least into the same room?
His instincts screamed at him. Something wasn’t right. Immediately switching into hunting mode, he concentrated and pulled on his ability to blend, confuse the eye. He wasn’t invisible, but unless a person expected to see him and had some magical ability of their own, Risk would blend into the background, going unnoticed until it was too late.
Unsure what awaited him, Risk padded closer, his muscles tensed and ready to spring. Keeping his body to the right of the closed door, he pushed the thin barrier open with one palm.
The space was illuminated from above by a bare bulb dangling from a single wire. Beneath it — her hand flung to the side, her body twisted like an abused doll — lay Kara.
An unfamiliar emotion snaked through Risk’s gut. Pale, broken, the image of Kara lying on the cold cement floor seared into him, freezing him in place. Dead.
She couldn’t be.
The thought snapped him into action. He jumped forward. A prayer that Kara was alive forming in his brain, he collided with a wall of pure power. He had no time to think or react — just flew backward, knocking into a plastic tub and sending its contents skittering across the floor.
Stunned, he sat for a moment, the aftershock of his collision reverberating like the roar of a souped-up engine in his ears. Kara lay as she had when he’d first seen her, not even a hair moved though the floor was now littered with small stones, statues and shards of broken pottery. Balling his fists, Risk reached out with his senses again — this time checking for anything or anyone that might have laid this trap. Nothing. Not even the faint remnants of an old emotion. No one besides Kara had been in the space for at least a week, maybe longer.
Satisfied there was no hidden danger, he concentrated again on Kara and what repelled him so thoroughly. He pushed himself to a stand and took a guarded step forward, ready to lash out if attacked. His bare foot landed on something small and hard, but before he could pull back, it flattened to white dust.
Chalk. Witches used chalk. For circles. Traps.
He glanced back at Kara, and for the first time noticed a thin white line traced in a perfect circle around her.
Yggdrasil. The witch was laying a trap and got caught somehow herself. What was she hunting? Him?
Heat simmered in his chest. Did she think him such easy prey she could act the innocent, blind him to her
