“Did you do as I asked?”
Bader’s round eyes blinked back at her.
“Venge, did you send him?”
Another nod.
Lusse relaxed into the velvet comfort of her favorite chair, her ankles crossed delicately on the matching ottoman. Another plan perfectly executed.
Kara stretched out one leg, pointing her toe, then flexing her foot. Fur tickled her inner thigh. Rolling onto her stomach, she buried her face into the soft pelt beneath her.
Fur? Pelt?
She flipped back over and jerked to a sitting position. The white fur covering her dropped to her waist, revealing naked breasts — her naked breasts. She stared stupidly at the white flesh before coming to her senses and yanking the pelt back up to her chin.
Where was she? The room was dark, the only light coming from an oversize rock fireplace. The crackle of the blaze and the smell of wood smoke was ominous rather than reassuring. She spun on her knees, the fur still gathered around her. Peeled-log chairs and a couch sat beside her; behind them she could make out a rock breakfast bar and what appeared to be a kitchen.
No dogs, and no people.
For now.
Dogs…The memory of red eyes, and dripping canines, sent a tremor of unease through her. Real or a slip from sanity, she didn’t know, and at the moment she didn’t care.
Her breath ragged, she stared down at the fur she held pressed to her breast. She was naked in a strange house.
Who had brought her here? What had happened last night? The thoughts pinged around in her brain. Her fingers curled into the fur.
She pulled the cover more tightly around her and closed her eyes. Slow breaths. In. Out. Listen to the fire. In. Out. Finally, her exhalation barely audible over the crackle coming from the hearth, she opened her eyes.
Calmer, she was able to think. She had to get out of here. Get home where she could go quietly insane in her own space.
A quick glance around the room didn’t reveal her clothing. There was a closed door behind the couch, but Kara wouldn’t risk opening it and alerting whoever or whatever had brought her here.
At the thought of what might lie behind the door, her heart sped up. She pressed her palms onto the cold wood floor beside her and ordered her mind to focus.
Calm. She had to stay calm. Eyes closed, she practiced her breathing again, visualizing her heart rate slowing, her body relaxing just the way that last counselor had taught her. Steady, she opened her eyes and glanced down at her hands. No shaking. She inhaled. No problem breathing.
She was improving. Maybe next time the panic wouldn’t even appear. The thought pushed her spine a little straighter. She could do this. Filled with a strange confidence, she glanced around the room again.
Her situation wasn’t any better; still no sign of her clothes, and the door was still closed hiding God knew what, but…she’d be damned if she’d sit here waiting.
Naked or not, she was leaving.
Jamming the pelt under her arms for a better grip, she sprinted to the front door. Made of rough-hewn lumber, it had only an old-fashioned wrought-iron latch as a lock. She flipped up the metal strip and yanked on the handle.
Her barrier to freedom didn’t budge. A hot flush crept up her body. No. She wouldn’t panic. Try again.
She jerked harder. Nothing.
Cursing, she dropped the fur, grabbed the handle with both hands, and used every ounce of her 110-pound frame to dislodge the recalcitrant door.
“Aren’t you cold?” a composed male voice asked from behind her.
Kara froze, the sharp edge of the door’s handle cutting into her fingers. Biting her lip, she waited. Who was he? Would he rape her? Kill her? Let her leave?
“Here, this might help.” Her shirt and jeans landed in a heap beside her.
She glanced at her clothing. That was good, wasn’t it? Would a rapist toss her her jeans? Unless he wanted her off guard, wanted to trick her into trusting him. She gave the door one more subtle tug.
“That’s not the way out.” The voice sounded amused.
Kara paused. Of course not, why would she think that? Obviously, she should be scrambling up the chimney or searching for a mouse hole. The hysteria from the night before returned.
Her bare foot brushed against the rough material of her shirt. Glancing down, she saw the folded edge of Kelly’s “missing” flyer poking out of the pocket.
Kelly. Kara had let her down for a week. Doing nothing to find her — trusting in the police. Now, one day after she’d found a clue, as worthless as it had proven to be, this.
Her fear began to bubble and change inside her until it had evaporated, leaving pure cleansing anger in its place. Reaching down, she jerked up her clothes and began tugging them on. Fully dressed, she spun to face her captor.
He was huge, at least six-six, silvery blond hair and dark eyes — she couldn’t make out the color. A heavy silver chain hung from his neck, bisecting a huge gash at the base of his throat. She skipped over the wound. His size alone made him intimidating; thinking about what he’d battled to get such an injury would send her back into a panic.
Swallowing hard, she forced her gaze to move on. His chest was bare. She paused again, this time fixated on the smooth muscle, mesmerized by the up-and-down movement of his breath.
He crossed his arms over his chest, a sound close to a growl rumbling from his lips.
Her mouth suddenly dry, Kara remembered the danger she was most likely in. Snapping her gaze back to his face, she said, “I’d like to leave.”
“Would you?” He sauntered forward, his eyes burning into hers.
She folded her fingers into her palms, forcing herself to stay focused and calm. “Who are you?”
He stopped just short of touching her. His gaze flitted from her face to her neck, and then continued the descent to her still bare feet.
The wood floor seemed to warm beneath her.
Flight of imagination. Ignore it.
“How did I get here?” she asked, her voice coming out stronger than she felt.
He paused, then glanced back at her face.
Kara’s blood pulsed through her veins. She felt bare, as if he could see inside her, but she resisted the urge to shrink back against the door.
“Who are you?” she repeated, forcing an edge to her voice.
He took another step forward, and with a slow deliberate motion, twisted a lock of her auburn hair around one finger. “You first. Who are you, and why does Lusse want you?”
Risk stared down at the tiny woman in front of him. The air was thick with her emotions, which were just as mercurial this morning as they had been last night. Fear to anger, with no stop in between.
He fought the urge to step even closer, to gorge himself on the heady scents.
“Why does Lusse want you?” he repeated, asking himself as much as her.
She blinked up at him, confusion clouding her eyes.
Risk twisted his finger farther into her hair. Using the physical contact to strengthen his senses, he focused on her, searching for something that would draw Lusse.
A fist to his gut broke his concentration. Huge eyes dark with anger glared up at him. The self-imposed leash
