Лори Девоти - Unbound

Satisfied that at least the fight was solely between him and his son — at least until Lusse decided to interfere — Risk lowered into a fight stance.

“You are playing into her hands. You’re smarter than that — or should be.” He flicked his hand, sending a black glob soaring into the crisp blue sky.

Venge snorted, and took a step closer.

Risk matched his move, his feet slogging sideways through the mud. His foot hit something solid. Without letting his gaze drop from Venge, he ran his bare foot over the object, round and hard. Sigurd’s staff.

“Why so angry?” he asked, moving again until he was centered over the stick.

Venge lowered his eyebrows, his hands curling closed in front of him.

A sharp breeze cut through the ring, shooting the evidence of Venge’s emotions straight at Risk. Anger, determination and the first whiffs of power.

Risk was losing him. Venge was on the verge of changing.

There was only one way to stop him. Defeat him first.

Mumbling words of regret that his son wouldn’t appreciate, Risk dropped to the ground, yanked the staff through the inches of mud that covered it, and bits of muck flying like a swarm of locusts, pole-vaulted across the fifteen feet that separated them. With a roar he landed an arm’s reach from his son.

Venge stared back at him, his eyes turning crimson. Before Venge’s change could go further or Risk’s own hellhound nature could manifest, he raised the pole and cracked it across his son’s face.

Venge crumpled to his knees, his face frozen in disbelief. Blood streamed from where Risk’s staff had struck, making a trail down Venge’s forehead into his eyes. Eyes that glimmered red for one second. Then noiselessly, Venge dropped into the mud unconscious.

With a growl, Risk flung the staff across the rink and into the grid. The pole exploded, sending chunks of wood and mud splattering around the arena. The hounds behind the grid stood silent, all eyes filled with assessment.

Had Risk helped Venge or just endangered him more? The other males knew Risk’s trick. Knew he could have killed Venge outright or simply allowed him to change — a death sentence by forandre rules. Would they now see Venge as an easy mark? Realize his tie to Risk?

Risk strode to his son’s unconscious body. Time to add to the act. Confuse them if nothing else. Arms raised to signal his victory, he lifted his bare foot and used it to smash his son’s face firmly into the mud.

With a roar, Risk stepped around his son’s prone body and stared up at Lusse. She leaned over the railing, the bandage in her hand waving in the breeze. Her eyes sparkling, she dropped the bloodied cloth. A flick of her 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.