room posed a threat, he replied to the garm. “I’ve brought the toll.”
“Her?” The garm shot Lusse a disbelieving look. The witch stood feet apart, hands on her hips, obviously assessing the other occupants.
“Her,” Risk replied.
The garm paused for a second, then shrugged. “Fine. Bring her over.” He walked from behind the bar to stand by a doorway, two thin straps in his hand.
Risk walked to Lusse, then gestured toward the garm.
With a bored sigh, she sauntered to the doorway. “This is the garm?” she asked, her gaze roaming over the bartender’s muscled body.
The garm crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowed.
“You here alone, garm?” she asked.
The bartender glanced at Risk. “You ready?”
Risk nodded, the hair on his arms rising. Lusse stood with her hands still on her hips, studying the garm the way a cat studies a mouse.
“What powers do you have?” she asked.
The garm passed a questioning glance to Risk. “She your toll or not?”
Risk placed a gentle pressure on Lusse’s elbow, urging her forward. She turned her head with an annoyed snap, but moved closer to the doorway.
“She has to wear these.” The garm held the thin straps over his open palms.
Lusse laughed. “Jormun’s idea?”
Ignoring her, the garm twisted a strap into a circle and leaned forward to slip it over Lusse’s wrist.
She stepped backward, pulling her hunting horn from inside her cloak. “Lovely bauble, though it is. I don’t think so.”
Before Risk or the garm could react, she tipped the horn to her lips and blew.
The air around Risk began to shimmer.
The garm vaulted over the bar, reappearing with a silver bar in his hand, just as five hellhounds in human form shimmered to solidity behind Lusse.
With a smile, Lusse held out her hand and blasted a stream of white-hot power toward the portal.
Not waiting for the impact, Risk somersaulted across the floor, knocking two hounds down on his way.
Lusse’s line of energy crashed into the portal, screeching against the protected doorway like metal on metal. Bits of stray power sprayed across the room, striking patrons as they fled. The sounds of cursing, tables crashing and feet pounding toward the exit filled the space.
Risk stayed in a crouch, the fingers of one hand splayed over the dirty wood floor. The energy in the bar shifted, signaling the arrival of more hounds. At least six, Risk guessed, but his gaze stayed locked on Lusse.
Crazy power-hungry witch. What was she doing? She was going to lose any shot he had at saving Kara.
His fingers curled into a fist, rage washing over him. Kara. She was risking Kara. He would not lose her now. Not just so Lusse could play whatever game she had chosen.
His eyes blazing, he stood up and stalked toward the portal. Without pausing to consider the consequences, he reached out and grabbed Lusse by the shoulders.
Eyes narrowing, she turned her head toward him and murmured, “Stupid hound.”
With no other warning, Risk sailed backward, crashing into the wall behind him before he had any thought to shimmer. The chain around his neck constricted, cutting into his throat. He grasped at it, struggling for air. The chain only pulled tighter, matching its resistance to his own.
“Who is ruled by the bloodlust now, alpha?” Two black boots stepped into the gray ring that outlined his diminishing circle of vision.
Still struggling with the chain, Risk rolled to his side and glared up at Sigurd.
“You can’t beat it. Haven’t we all tried enough?” The other male stared down at him, his eyes dispassionate. “It matches its force to yours. The harder you pull, the more tightly it constricts. Won’t kill you, but you’ll be laying here for centuries — long after your little witch is dead.”
Risk’s fingers hesitated, some tiny rational part of his brain telling him Sigurd was right. There was no fighting Lusse. To try now would only put off finding Kara more. His fingers trembled, instinct warring with logic.
Sigurd nudged him with his boot. “Your choice.” Then shifted his gaze to where Lusse stood, both hands now extended, parallel lines of energy crackling from her hands toward the doorway. Her body shook with the effort, her cape swaying as she moved.
The garm stepped forward, the silver bar held like a bat in his hands.
“Capture him,” Lusse screamed, her voice cracking.
The garm swung, the bar striking the closest line of power. His muscles trembling, he held the bar into the stream. Energy bounced against it, bending like light on a mirror. The stray force shot upward, burning through the dingy ceiling tiles and out through the roof.
Bitter night air poured into the bar.
The garm couldn’t hold her off, not without destroying the bar, and what would happen to the portal then? Shut down? Risk’s only hope of saving Kara gone?
But Risk couldn’t fight Lusse; he’d proven that to himself yet again. But maybe…He stared at the sweating garm, the bartender’s brows lowered in concentration, his muscles bulging with exertion. Risk couldn’t fight Lusse, but maybe he didn’t need to. Maybe he could use her own ego against her.
Relaxing his fingers, Risk willed his body to accept the bondage of the chain.
Six hellhounds swarmed onto the garm, knocking him to his knees. The bar dropped with a clank on the floor, releasing Lusse’s stream of power back toward the portal.
The garm raised the bar again, striking a dark-haired attacker in the head. The male faltered, but another surged into his place. Two males grabbed at the bartender’s wrists using their weight to pull his arms down.
If they subdued the garm, Risk’s plan would be lost.
He unfolded his fingers and concentrated on thoughts of Kara relaxed in his arms, blue eyes gazing up at him, her fingers stroking his arm. A smile curved his lips, a sense of peace settling over him.
With a clink, the chain loosened.
Risk pulled cold air into his lungs and swung his eyes back to the battle.
The garm was covered by Lusse’s males, all but Sigurd answering her call. From beneath the squirming mass, a howl rent the air.
The garm. He was changing. Leaving Risk with only one option. With a roar, he released the hold on his beast and began to transform, as well.
The great room curved and narrowed into a narrow tube, exactly like the hallway Kara had entered through. Glancing at the glowing fish as they swam by, she wondered if Jormun’s entire home was like this — one long curving tube that bloated out occasionally. A vision of a giant snake digesting its rat dinner filled her mind.
A hiss escaped her lips at the thought. The lead snake-man turned to her, surprise on his face. Giving him a bland smile, she concentrated on what lay ahead — and not just in this tunnel.
She and Kelly had to escape. Her hands were still bound. Were Kelly’s? Could they somehow convince Jormun to release their powers? Even if he did, and they managed to escape to the portal, could they pass back through?
Panic clawed within her, crying to get out, past the calm she’d enforced on herself since leaving the bar with Narr. If only Risk were here. Even if he didn’t love her, he would help her free Kelly, right? Surely the witch he planned to turn them over to couldn’t be as bad as…
They entered a new section of tubing, this one lined on the right with shimmering doors. The side of the tube with the doors was more opaque, smoky. Without pressing her face to the glass there was no way Kara could see what lay beyond the doorway.
They passed the first door and the second, but as they approached the third, the snake-man slowed.
Her heart pounding, Kara waited as her escort pulled out his stick and banged on the door. The barrier thinned, and he grabbed Kara by the arm and shoved her through the opening.
