Лори Девоти - Unbound

Forandre rules meant a shape-shifter had to stick to his weakest form — in other words human. It also meant to win, all the other hounds had to do was taunt Venge to the point the beast in him took over. For many hounds this took little more than seconds.

“How long have they been fighting?” Risk asked, trying to match Lusse’s tone.

“Hmm? You know I have no use for time — unless I’m waiting for someone.” She gave him a calculating look, then pulled a slim watch out of her pocket. “But since I was curious when you might pop in, I happened to take note of when the festivities began. Let’s see…” She made a show of mumbling under her breath and counting off on her fingers. “It must be close to eighteen human hours now.”

“You put him in there as soon as I left?” Surprise caused Risk to ask the question, though his logical mind knew it was a mistake.

Fortunately Lusse seemed unfazed. “Why yes, I guess I did. He’s held up quite well, all things considered. How long did you make it?”

Weeks. Risk had endured weeks of the torment. But he had been older, more in control of his urges, and he hadn’t already been weakened by a fight with his father and who knew what other torture from Lusse. She’d done Risk the favor of putting him in fresh. Just to prolong the pain, Risk suspected.

“I really wasn’t sure how Venge would do, but with his bloodline, I hoped he’d make it at least a few days. It would look bad if my alpha’s son fell in the first day, don’t you think?”

Below them, the burly leader took another swipe at Venge with his stick. Venge leaped, somersaulting over it and landing on his feet.

“See, he has days left in him. Perhaps he’ll be finished up when you return with my witches.” Lusse turned her eyes, focused with deadly intensity on Risk.

So this was her game. Force Risk to hurry his hunt with the threat of his son being destroyed at any second.

Some games Risk wasn’t willing to play.

Slipping off the worthless shoes she’d forced him to wear, he catapulted over the railing and landed in crouch on the rutted ground below.

Cold mud squished between his toes, his fingers also sinking in the muck. He ignored it, concentrating instead on the six males in front of him. The leader, Sigurd…Risk’s mind spat out the name…stepped back, widening the circle and pulling Risk into their midst.

Risk smiled.

Sigurd palmed his staff, his brows lowering. “I thought you were off playing lapdog, alpha.” He made the title sound like an insult. An assessment Risk shared.

“And you got bored waiting for my return?” Risk nodded toward Venge. The boy’s only acknowledgment of Risk’s notice was a tightening of his jaw.

“What’s your interest?” Sigurd spun the staff like a deadly windmill in front of himself.

Risk shrugged. “My interest. My business.” He glanced around. “But don’t you think you should even things up a bit?”

Sigurd laughed. “You have been gone too long.”

Risk cocked his head. “No? Fine. If you don’t want to call more hounds to assist you, why should it bother me? A quick slaughter is always better. I have places to be.”

Sigurd’s eyebrows shot up, but as Risk circled toward him he lowered his staff and matched Risk’s approach.

“What about her?” Sigurd motioned to where Lusse stood watching.

Risk kept his eyes trained on his opponent. “As long as there’s blood — she won’t care from what source.”

“Good with me.” Sigurd raised the staff and swung out with the first blow.

“Not with me.” With a roar, Venge threw himself across the circle and plunged into Risk’s side, knocking him into the mud.

Late the next morning Kara took a taxi to the Guardian’s Keep. Risk had very considerately left his Jeep for her, apparently taking a cab wherever he had gone, but Kara needed to retrieve her own car. Driving Risk’s Jeep would have just meant leaving his vehicle in this less than savory section of town. After paying the cabdriver, she slammed the door and hurried toward the bar.

After her last visit here, she didn’t want to spend any more time loitering around outside than absolutely necessary. She was focused on learning something about Kelly’s disappearance. She wrapped her hand around the worn metal door pull, and stepped inside.

The Guardian’s Keep was less intimidating in the daylight, and dirtier. Kara scuffed a discarded cigarette butt off her shoe — much dirtier. The overhead lights were dingy with dust and dead insects. The floor so sticky with spilled beer, a little sucking noise announced each of Kara’s steps.

But she was here, and with the sun filtering through two grimy windows, she could see it was just an old rundown bar with nothing overly nefarious in sight.

Her newly found powers giving her confidence, she squared her shoulders and walked toward the dark wooden bar that ran along the left side of the room. The same bartender who’d refused to answer her questions a few nights earlier was clicking away on a computer tucked out of sight under the counter.

She strolled toward him and knocked her fist on the wood. Strong. Confident. That was her.

Eerie, almost clear, blue eyes glared up at her. She took a step back.

He gave her a quick startled look, then as if sorting something out, shook his head and continued clicking.

Kara used the time to study him more closely. The other night she’d been too busy scurrying away in fear to really size him up.

He was tall, not as tall or broad in the shoulders as Risk, but definitely in shape. His pectorals had seen more than one set of chest presses. Even the back of his neck as he bent down to flip off the computer screen showed cording. And, with the exception of his eyes, dark. Dark skin, dark hair — he looked back up at her — dark mood.

“You need something?” He raised one brow, his gaze skimming her body.

Inhaling through her nose, Kara mentally recited her mantra — confident, strong. “I was here the other night. I’m looking for my sister. She looks just like me, except…” She paused. She had been about to say stronger, but that wasn’t true anymore, right? She squared her shoulders. “She looks just like me.”

“Can’t help you.” He picked a glass out of the sink and placed it on the drain board.

“But…” Kara bit her lower lip. He had to know something. He had to. “I know she’s been in here. I found this with her things.” She opened her palm to reveal the matchbook.

“You found a matchbook and you think that means she’s here? Look around. You see anyone?”

Kara glanced over her shoulder at the almost empty bar. One man sat in the booth she’d occupied on her last visit. His hooded sweatshirt pulled up over his forehead and an ashtray full of butts in front of him.

“I didn’t mean now.” She replied, her exasperation showing. Good. Maybe she needed to get mad. She let the emotion grow. “I’m not asking you to do something crazy like…” She wiped her hand over the bar, her palm coming back stained with brown goo. “Clean. Just tell me if she was here — two weeks ago.”

He folded his arms over his chest and cast her an assessing gaze. For a moment she thought her act had worked, then he said, “Go home.” He strode to the other end of the bar and started sifting through what looked like receipts of some sort.

Damn it. Concentrating on the small pile of paper beside him, she held out her hand and prayed. Get his attention.

A small wind stirred around her, shifting her hair. Then a skittering feeling ran down her arm — like a cockroach scurrying for safety. Kara fought off a shudder.

Why didn’t tapping into her power feel as good today as it had earlier? Ignoring the nagging thought, she focused on her task.