Лори Девоти - Unbound

The Midgard Sea. Kara searched her memories of high-school geography for any mention of Midgard. She came up empty.

“We’re on the bottom of the ocean?” she asked.

“Bottom, middle. Don’t know. Don’t know that there even is a bottom,” Narr muttered, as another streak of green sped by.

“Ssstep forward,” the voice ordered.

Her hands clasped in front of her, fingers intertwined, Kara took a small step.

“Not her, you.”

Narr’s fingers wrapped around her arm. “This is it. Once I get my bounty, you’s on your own.”

Kara swallowed and nodded her head even though she doubted the man could see her in the gloom.

The pressure of Narr’s hand on her arm disappeared. The scuffle of his feet against the floor telling her he’d moved toward the lights. As he got closer, she could see him, a squat dark silhouette against the yellow glow.

There was mumbling and hissing. Then Narr turned and scurried back toward her. “Good luck, witchy,” he called, his sleeve brushing against her as he hurried past.

His footsteps seemed louder as his speed increased, then suddenly silence.

Kara pressed her clasped hands to her lips. He was gone and she was alone except for whatever creatures stood waiting for her behind the glowing lights.

Risk glanced around the darkened bar, his fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightened. The place was empty.

Knowing the garm wouldn’t have gone far, Risk strode to the bar, shoving a stool out of his way with his foot.

The stool teetered, then fell with a loud clunk onto the floor.

“Are you always this late, hound?” The bartender from the night Risk had first entered the Guardian’s Keep stepped through a door next to the bar.

Risk narrowed his eyes. Garm. With the bar empty, and his senses not focused on prey, he could smell the pungent pine of wolf.

“Where is she?” Risk asked through gritted teeth.

“She?” The garm walked to a display of glasses and removed one. Not taking his gaze from Risk, he picked up a bottle of liquor and filled the glass.

The aroma of whiskey wafted across the space.

Fire flickered inside Risk. Kara’s drink.

He narrowed his eyes. “Where did you send her?”

The garm laughed and slid the glass down the length of the bar toward Risk. “I didn’t send her anywhere. Your little witch did this all on her own.”

The glass stopped a few inches from Risk’s hand.

“Where?”

“Can’t say, unless you have the toll.” The garm leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “You got another witch to spare, hound?”

Risk lunged across the bar, his fist balling into the other forandre’s T-shirt. “Send me to her.”

The garm’s gaze dropped to Risk’s fist, then over to his torn arm. “Challenging me won’t get you your witch. Even if you could win, you can’t operate the portal.” He raised his eyes to meet Risk’s glare. “Remove your hand, or I’ll ban your ass from my bar.”

Risk stared at him, the desire to smash the garm against the mirrored wall behind the bar almost overwhelming.

“Hounds,” the garm murmured. “Inbreeding makes you weak, a victim of your own nature.”

Risk’s pulse throbbed in his neck, fire building to a roar inside him. His fist tightened.

Kill. He wanted to kill — consequences be damned.

“Choose, hound. Bloodlust or logic? I’m almost out of patience.”

Bloodlust. Sigurd.

Risk inhaled a shuddering breath. Was he as weak as the male he’d left unconscious on Lusse’s floor?

His mind shot to Kara — how would she see him?

Beast. Fear. Repulsion.

His body shaking with the effort, he straightened his fingers and released the garm.

“That’s a good dog.” The garm grinned at him, revealing white, even teeth.

Risk’s hands flexed. “Send me to her.”

The garm leaned back, his elbows resting on the shelf holding the liquor. “No can do. Not without the toll.”

Impatience boiled through Risk’s blood. Maybe Sigurd had the right of it. Maybe some things called for bloodlust.

His hands pressed against the bar, Risk took a step back. He had to get through the portal, and the garm’s games had worn through three seconds after Risk had landed in the Keep.

But, he knew the garm spoke the truth. Risk had no way of operating the portal without him. Or did he? Remembering his battle with Kara’s protective circle, he eyed the dark doorway next to the bar.

The garm rolled his head from side to side, as if the whole thing was boring him.

A high-pitched whistle sounded from under the bar. Cocking one brow, the garm strolled over and bent down to tap on a computer.

Risk inhaled a breath filled with stale beer and cigarettes, and shimmered. Materializing six feet in front of the doorway, he lowered his head and charged.

The garm glanced up, just as Risk plunged into what appeared to be empty space. The air around him melded until he was moving but against a force, like running into a trampoline. Then with a snap, he went flying backward, straight toward the brick wall of the Keep.

Cursing, he shimmered again, landing in a crouch beside the bar, his breath heaving.

“Cute,” the garm commented. “Next time lose the shimmer.”

Risk raised his lip in a growl.

With a chuckle, the garm turned his back to Risk and strode to the doorway. Two seconds later, the man who Risk had seen holding a knife on Kara in the parking lot trotted through the door, a scroll clasped in his fist.

“Back so soon?” the garm asked, a half smile tilting his lips.

“I wasn’t exactly waiting for an invite to tea,” the man replied, stroking the paper in his hand.

“And you got what you hoped for?” the garm prodded.

“Yep. She wasn’t lying. Once they saw how much she looked like the other one, they didn’t bother hemming or hawing. Paid right up.” With a grin, he looked up — directly at Risk.

All color drained from the man’s face, leaving him a dirty pasty white.

Risk straightened, his arms held loosely at his sides, his eyes fixed on the man who had just traded Kara for whatever he gripped in his hand.

“Where is she?” he asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

The man took a step back, his empty hand held up in front of him. “Now, don’t be getting excited. She told me you weren’t—” Risk narrowed his eyes, his nostrils flaring.

“She, she told me to tell you she made me take her. Damn near threatened me. Kol, here, he can tell you.” He shot a nervous glance at the garm. “That’s right, isn’t it?”

The bartender leaned against the bottle shelf, an amused smile on his lips.

Risk took a step forward.

The man shoved the rolled paper inside his sweatshirt and edged toward the garm. “You don’t want it getting out the Guardian’s Keep isn’t safe to do business at, do you, Kol?”

The garm shrugged. “Can’t say it matters much to me.”

Risk smiled, his hand reaching out. The man spun and sprung like a cat to the top of the bar. Cursing, Risk lunged, snagging the man’s tattered hood and jerking him back to the ground.

He leaned down and growled in the man’s ear. “Tell me who has her and how I get to her.”

The man glanced around, his brow lowered to a stubborn set. “Ask the garm.”

Risk twisted the man’s hood around his fist, pulling the material up around the man’s neck until he sputtered for breath. “I asked you.”

The man glared back.

Risk’s hand shot out and wrapped around his throat. He might need the garm, but he didn’t need this little thief.

He squeezed. The man’s heels kicked against the floor, his face turning red, then white.

The garm leaned over the end of the bar. “How’s that working for you?”