Лори Девоти - Unbound

Kara licked her lips and tried to ignore the pain shooting through her arm from his viselike grip. “He shows up later, you tell him I asked you to do it. Tell him it was you, or them.” She shifted her gaze to the front door and whatever lay waiting for her outside.

“Yeah. Yeah. That’s true enough. Barely made it through the desperates myself. Be like I’m doing a good deed. He’d see that, right?”

The bartender grunted.

Kara nodded. “Exactly.”

Dear God, let the man take her through that doorway before Risk showed up.

Sigurd stood in front of Risk, four broad feet planted firmly apart, his head lowered, and his lips pulled back in a snarl.

Risk watched him through narrowed eyes. Hound against human was an unfair fight, but Risk would be damned if he would acknowledge the other male’s challenge by changing, too.

“This is why you can never be alpha, Sigurd. It has nothing to do with me. I’m not your competition. You taunt me for having too much humanity. You don’t have enough. You can’t think when the bloodlust is on you. In your hound form it’s even worse, isn’t it? Can you even follow what I’m saying to you?”

The black hound stepped to the side, circling Risk.

“Confused aren’t you? So what if you kill me like this? It won’t gain you anything. The others will know you were weak. That you had to change to gain the courage to face me.”

The black dog growled deep in his throat.

Risk stared him down. This wasn’t like Sigurd. Yes, he was jealous of Risk, hated him, but he wasn’t this stupid, and he would never attack Risk in front of Lusse unless he’d been encouraged.

Sigurd wasn’t his problem here. It was Lusse, as always.

This time he needed to address her, head-on. He spun on his heel until he faced her, Sigurd still in his line of vision, but barely.

“What are you trying to do, Lusse?” he asked.

She flicked her gaze from her nails to Risk. “Me? You know what I want.”

“I’ll bring you your witches, but I can’t do it from here. Release me, so I can finish the hunt.”

She placed a fingertip against her bloodred lips. “The witches. Yes, I want the witches, but I also want to know my alpha is dedicated to me. After the stories…” She glanced at Sigurd, who shifted his weight slightly from side to side. “How can I trust you haven’t lost your strength? You tell Sigurd humanity gives logic during bloodlust, but we both know that’s a lie. Humanity offers nothing but doubt, hesitation, weakness.”

She tapped her finger against her lips. “I think I’ll prove it right now.” She flicked her hand toward Sigurd.

From the corner of his eye, Risk saw the hound lunge. He raised his arm, blocking the gaping jaws headed for his throat.

Sigurd’s teeth sank into his forearm through muscle all the way to bone. Gritting his own teeth against the pain, Risk shifted his gaze to Lusse.

“Oh,” she added. “Forandre rules. Each of you in your weakest form, and didn’t you just admit for Sigurd that was hound?”

Damn the witch.

Narr glanced around the bar again, his hand tugging Kara’s wrist close to his chest. He gave it another tug, pulling her in, close to his face. “This isn’t a trick? You won’t fight me?”

Forcing herself not to turn her head away from the sour smell of his breath, Kara shook her head. “No. No trick. I’ll go now.”

“Yeah, now is good.” Narr grinned and jumped to his feet with surprising agility. His fingers still wrapped around her wrist, he tugged her toward the bar. “I got my toll, garm,” he announced.

The bartender stared at them for a second, his expression unreadable.

Narr stepped closer and slapped her arm against the wood. “I got my toll and I’m demanding passage.”

The bartender narrowed his eyes. “Demanding, Narr?”

Narr cringed slightly, but held his ground. “Don’t be getting all beastie on me. I know the rules. I got the toll. You have to let me pass.”

The bartender growled, but flipped open the hinged portion of the bar and stepped beside them. “Unfortunately, you’re right. But don’t be expecting any favors from me when her hound comes hunting.”

Narr shot Kara a nervous glance. Afraid the bartender might still talk him out of taking her through the doorway, she patted his arm with her free hand. “Don’t worry. He isn’t my hellhound.”

The bartender laughed.

Kara changed her pat to a stroke. “And if he does come looking for me, just tell him what I said.”

Narr nodded and took a step forward. “We’re ready, garm.”

Sigurd pulled his massive head left then right, trying to tear the flesh from Risk’s arm.

Just a week earlier Risk would have taken Lusse at her word and let Sigurd rip out his throat, but now there was too much at stake. Too many other lives depending on him — lives he now had to admit, at least to himself, he cared about.

Sigurd clenched his jaws tighter around Risk’s arm. His eyes were crazed and glowing red against black fur.

He was slipping quickly into the bloodlust. If Risk hesitated, Sigurd would surrender completely and Risk would have little chance of escaping to find and save Kara’s sister.

Murmuring a quiet apology for using what he knew was an unfair fight move, Risk pulled back his hand and shoved two fingers into Sigurd’s glowing eyes.

With a howl, the hound released him. Blood streaming from his eyes, he pawed at his injuries. Knowing Lusse would be satisfied with nothing less than a full knockout — if not a kill — Risk stepped forward; his knee flying upward with the motion, he caught the dog under the chin and sent him flying backward.

Not waiting to see if the other male would rise, Risk closed the space between them and pinned him to the ground. As the giant beast struggled to get his back feet into position to kick Risk off, Risk wrapped his good hand in the chain around Sigurd’s neck and twisted.

Sigurd’s head swung, his jaws open and one tooth scraping Risk across the cheek. Sweat beaded on Risk’s forehead as he twisted the chain tighter.

“Pass out, Sigurd, you slow-witted cur. I’m not your enemy. Lusse is and you’re giving her everything she wants,” he muttered against the dog’s ear.

Whether the dog heard him or just couldn’t continue, Risk couldn’t tell, but all fight seemed to leave the beast. Spittle leaking from between his jaws, tension left Sigurd’s limbs and he collapsed on the floor beneath Risk.

Lusse pushed herself out of her chair and strolled over. “Well, that was rather disappointing, wasn’t it?” She looked at Risk, her lips twisting.

“You got your answer. I’m still the strongest you have.” Risk shoved Sigurd’s body away and stood.

Her arms folded over her chest, Lusse tapped the toe of her riding boot. “Fine. You proved yourself for now. But when you find the second witch — I want to know immediately. Or the lock on Venge’s cage might just work itself loose.”

She lifted one of Sigurd’s paws with the top of her foot then let it flop to the floor. “I’m sure if Sigurd isn’t recovered, one of the other hounds would be more than happy to challenge the whelp. Especially if word of his lineage just happened to leak out.”

Without another word, Risk spun and strode from the room, shimmering midstep.

Shaking his head, the bartender reached behind the bar and pulled out two luminous straps, like the plastic ties police used on drunken crowds except shiny and somehow much more dangerous looking.

“What are those?” Kara asked, her gaze darting to the silvery strips in his hand.

“Part of the process,” the bartender replied as he motioned for Narr to hold out her hands. With a deft movement, the bartender wrapped a strip around her left wrist, then slipped the second through the first and around her right. With a snap, the two tightened like industrial rubber bands, locking her wrists against each other.