Лори Девоти - Unbound

“But if this being is so weak, how can she have destroyed the witch I saw and hold the twin witch?”

Lusse turned her head, her hair snapping with the gesture. “Are you comparing me to a mortal witch?”

“No, of course not.” Risk bit the inside of his cheek. He needed real information not assumptions colored by her ego. “So, the burned witch…that was caused by…?”

Her lips thin, Lusse slapped the riding crop against her thigh. “I don’t know that you need to know that.”

Risk waited, to push her now would guarantee her silence.

She flicked her gaze to his face. “But since I am feeling so generous today, I’ll tell you. A familiar. She is using them to focus power she can’t control alone.”

“Focus power?” Risk prompted.

Sighing, she turned them both back onto the path, heading toward the kennels. “Those less adept at the handling of magic often have focus problems. They might be able to pull the energy they need for a spell, but either not enough at one time to get the results they want, or the power splinters, flying around, each piece no more than static.

“They use a familiar as either a battery of sorts, storing up power so they can gather it in bits, or like a convex lens that focuses their energy rather than light.”

The path they were on split, a gravel section breaking off and leading to the kennel door. She paused, her foot hovering above the walkway. “Would you like to visit your son? I’ve heard he’s doing quite well.”

Risk tensed. Venge. What had she done to him? Keeping his face neutral, he replied, “Whatever you wish.”

She tilted her head as if considering. “As long as we are so close, it would be rude to just walk by, don’t you think?”

Risk gave a slight nod of his head. “Of course.” And followed her onto the gravel path.

Determined to get all the information he could while her seemingly mellow mood held, Risk continued their earlier conversation. “And the witch being so completely burned. Does that indicate anything? Any added danger?”

She laughed. “Just more ineptitude, I’d guess. But don’t worry, alpha. Just lead me to the thief who has stolen my witch.”

Sensing this was as far as he could push her, Risk let the conversation drop and followed her into the kennels. Cells lined the walls of the first room. Blue energy crackling floor to ceiling guaranteed anyone trapped inside would stay inside — even a hellhound in hound form. Today the cages were all blessedly empty.

With a wave, Lusse gestured for him to follow as she walked down the aisle between the cells and pushed open the door that led to the next room.

The space was dark, the smell of anger and discontent thickening the air. The center aisle continued, flanked by a row of cots on each side. Lusse flitted through, pausing to pick up a discarded bloodied bandage, which she ran through her hand like a satin ribbon.

“Where can they be?” She spun to face Risk.

He knew very well where the hounds would be if not in the kennel — the pit. And…his stomach twisted…if Lusse was this carefree, Venge had to be the center attraction.

“Could they be?” She flitted to the end of the room where doors led out to the viewing area over the pit. “Why yes. There they are.” She glanced at Risk over her shoulder. “It appears we are in luck. Your son is exercising.”

His face grim, Risk followed her out onto the dais carved from one mammoth stone.

Kara sat in front of the dying embers, her arms wrapped around her knees. She wasn’t sure which of today’s events to analyze first. So much had happened in so little time. Some amazing. Some horrifying.

Risk fitting in the amazing, if somewhat unsettling, part.

It was great to have someone in her corner, especially today. Kara couldn’t believe she would have survived the visit to the morgue if he hadn’t been there to lend her strength. Then after, back here…A shiver of pleasure danced up her spine.

She wasn’t exactly the most sexually active woman in the world, but she’d had her turn at hurried sessions in the back of a car, and less hurried but just as unsatisfying sessions in a few short-term boyfriends’ apartments. But she had never experienced anything to prepare her for Risk.

For the first time sex made her feel strong instead of vulnerable and exposed.

And it wasn’t just in her head — she had physical evidence that she actually was stronger. She held out her hand. Power. She had powers. What could she do with them?

She twisted around until her knees were under her and placed her empty whiskey glass on the warm brick beside her. Holding out her arm, she concentrated on zapping the glass to dust.

Nothing, not even a tingle.

Frowning, she picked up the glass and moved a few inches closer. After lowering her shoulders and rolling her head from side to side, she tried again.

Nothing.

Damn. Kara stared at the glass. If she couldn’t even crack cheap barware, she’d never be able to use her powers to save Kelly — once she found her.

Think. Think. Think. What had she been doing when her powers had first appeared?

Stroking Risk. Her lips curved at the memory. God she hoped he hurried back. How could she so thoroughly miss someone she’d just met?

Concentrate. Risk wasn’t here, and she needed to do this alone, anyway.

So, maybe not what she was doing, but how she was feeling. Could that be the key?

Sitting back on her heels, she let her mind drift back to the moment. Risk on top of her, his warmth seeping into her. Feeling appreciated — worshipped almost — safe, and most importantly strong.

Her eyes closed, she dropped her head. Let the feeling wash over her. She was strong. Confident. Nothing could stop her. Breathed in. Her lungs expanded. She could feel the energy flowing into her body.

Smiling, she opened her eyes, held out her hands and blasted the whiskey glass into tiny shards.

With a laugh, she jumped to her feet. She did it. She had powers and she could use them.

Twenty feet below where Risk and Lusse stood lay the pit — a steep-walled hole with no place to hide and no way to escape, until the fight was deemed over by Lusse or whomever she gifted with that power in her absence.

Today the pit was slick with mud, oil and blood. Five hounds in human form circled another armed with nothing except his balled fists.

Venge. Risk’s son.

One of the attackers, Sigurd, a burly man Risk recognized from his own time in the kennels, picked up a staff and gestured to the other four. Venge spun, attempting to keep all five within his view. Two dove for his feet, knocking him to the ground, while the other two grabbed him around the wrists, pinning them into the mud.

Lusse laid her hand on the icy metal railing in front of them. “Oh, that doesn’t look good. Does it?” She tilted her head toward Risk.

He gripped the railing. Heat raged through him, melting the ice under his hands.

Below them, Venge twisted away from one of the males holding him, then swung his now free fist into the nose of the second. Blood splurting from his face, the second attacker loosened his grip on Venge’s wrist. Free, Venge sprang to his feet.

Risk’s grip loosened a bit in response.

“Hmm,” Lusse murmured.

The leader, Sigurd, signaled for the others to step back, then feinted to the left. As Venge turned to protect his right side, Sigurd arced the staff down, striking him across the neck.

Chuckling, the leader hopped back and yelled something to his companions.

They were goading Venge, trying to make him lose control. Risk moved closer to the railing, his gaze frozen on his son.

“Forandre rules. He changes, he’s dead,” Lusse commented with the casual delivery of a weather report.