hand diverted the wind, directing the strip to Risk’s feet.
Nodding in acknowledgment, he bent to retrieve her favor then strode to the ramp that led out of the pit.
“I don’t remember giving you permission to leave me.” She slapped his arm lightly with the riding crop.
“But the fight met with your approval?” He held out the bandage she had tossed him.
“Very entertaining, and very enlightening.” The expression in her eyes turned calculating.
“Then I should consider my efforts rewarded.” He turned to look out over the arena.
Enlightening. Had his performance at the end of the match failed?
“So, Sigurd is still in charge of those in need of exercising?” He bit back a laugh at the term. Exercising. More like exorcism, but in reverse. Lusse’s goal was always to bring more demon into a hound, not relieve them of what they had.
“You would know, if you spent more time behaving like the alpha, rather than playing with the humans. Of course, I could change that couldn’t I? Cut off your contact with humans altogether?”
Risk tensed, then forced his muscles to relax. “But who would bring you your witches?”
She tapped her chin with the crop. “Sigurd? Venge — when he’s done a bit more exercising?” She stepped forward until her body pressed against Risk’s back, the leather tail of the riding crop tickling his ear. “I smell her on you, you know. I may not have the nose of a hound — but you reek of witch and sex.”
Risk stared blandly down at the ring. Sigurd strode out into the mud then signaled two other males to remove the still-unconscious Venge.
“I only did as you asked — used my talents to gain her trust.”
“Is that what you did?” Lusse murmured.
Sigurd left the ring and began striding up the ramp; the two males dragging Venge followed close behind.
“Of course. What else? And it worked. I learned of the other witch.”
“The dead one — the focal tool.” Lusse pulled back. “I might know where to find our witch thief, or least who can lead us to her.” She turned, pressing her back against the railing beside him. “Have you met any garm, in this little human world of yours?”
Risk frowned. Garm, a wolf forandre, were not friends of the hounds. Not that hellhound’s had any friends. But as hunters they were the natural enemies of garm whose only passion was to protect and guard — no matter who or what they had to destroy in the process.
“I don’t search out garm too frequently.”
“To find my witch, you may have to. Garm guard the portals. I suspect our thief has tucked herself away somewhere I and others can’t sense her attempts at improving her powers. Which means it has to be one of the protected worlds — one that can only be reached through a portal.
“Find a garm, and you will find the portals,” she concluded.
“Any garm?” Risk asked.
Lusse sighed. “There’s a pecking order of some sort — not all garm have the strength to keep the portals controlled, but find one and he will surely know where to find a garm that does.”
The strong scent of testosterone warned Risk that Sigurd and the other males had arrived. Widening his stance, he fixed a disinterested expression on his face.
“Your whelp,” Sigurd announced as the two males rolled Venge across the stone dais.
Thinking his old nemesis had learned Risk’s connection to the boy, Risk’s gaze shot to Sigurd, but his eyes were squarely on Lusse.
“Yes, my whelp.” Lusse tilted her head toward Risk.
Venge shifted, his head raising for a second, then plunking back onto the rock.
“Did you have to shame him so thoroughly, my alpha?” She looped her arm through Risk’s. “It will make keeping him alive in the kennels all the harder, I’m afraid.”
As was Risk.
Venge stiffened.
Risk stared at his son’s beaten form, before switching his gaze to Lusse. “Perhaps he should be caged.”
“Caged?” Lusse’s eyebrows shot upward. “You surprise me. I thought perhaps you had some affection for the whelp.”
“Only thinking to save your investment. As you have pointed out, he comes from good bloodlines. It would be a shame to lose him before he had a chance to show his merit.”
“But the cages? That’s so cold.”
And safe. It was the one place Risk knew the other males wouldn’t be able to get to his son.
Placing her hands on her hips, Lusse surveyed the group. “I think I just might. And after our conversation, I realize you deserve a reward of some sort.”
Risk’s throat tightened. He could not even guess what Lusse might consider a reward.
“You’re on the trail of finding my witch — and who knows when you find the garm what other treasures you may uncover.
“I’m going to offer you a little prize. You bring me back the two witches you’ve promised me and I’ll give you four—” she motioned to the males on the dais with them “—of my hounds in return.”
The lines around Sigurd’s mouth deepened. His companions stood completely still, only their eyes darting from Lusse to Risk giving away their shock.
Risk could do little more than mirror them, surprise holding him captive.
She laughed. “A hound owning other hounds. I don’t think it’s ever been done.”
A shuffling sounded from where Venge lay. He looked up, his gaze locked on Risk and his eyes glowing red. Sigurd stepped forward, his staff poised above Venge’s head.
“He’s coming around,” he stated.
Lusse tilted her head at Risk. “The cage?”
Risk gave her a short nod.
“To the cage,” she announced gaily, then with a laugh, she slipped her arm back through Risk’s. “Shall we ride?”
Risk followed her back through the kennel, ignoring the bellowing rage of his son behind him.
Why had she parked so far away the other night? The trip from the Guardian’s Keep to Kara’s car stretched out in front of her. Even in the bright daylight she was beginning to get that itchy feeling. As if someone was watching her, or sneaking up behind her.
She wouldn’t give in to the fear. She would just stop, stand solid and prove to herself nothing was behind her. Lowering her chin, she spun, her hands ready to shoot out whatever power she could muster.
Nothing but an empty parking lot covered in newly fallen snow greeted her.
See; nothing. She turned back toward the street.
The dull whoosh of feet brushing over damp pavement froze her in midstride. Almost immediately an arm smacked against her windpipe, momentarily cutting off her air, and something sharp pricked her neck.
“Don’t move, witch,” a gravely voice mumbled. “I got me a stunner.” Blue lightning flashed in the corner of Kara’s eye.
“I don’t want to use it, you understand. I hear tell it hurts right bad, worse than the knife.” He gouged her again. Kara pulled back, but her body was wedged against his. Her movement brought her face closer to his. The stench of stale beer, cigarettes and motor oil assaulted her. She twisted her head again, causing the knife to tear a thin trail across her skin. Her knees bent and her eyes flickered closed against the pain.
She was such a fool. Why had she thought she could handle this?
“Careful, bitch.” He chuckled. “I got that right this time. According to the Guardian you been bedding down with the dogs. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, mind you.” He laughed again, a high-pitched almost hysterical sound.
Dog, hounds. What was with this talk of her and a hound?
She angled her neck in an attempt to put space between her and the blade. “I think you have the wrong person. I don’t like dogs.”
“Don’t like dogs. Well, that makes two of us.” He pulled her backward, her heels making parallel trails
