Dangerous Games

He cursed, then his free fist was in my side, burrowing deep. Something snapped within, and everything went red as the force of the blow battered me away from him. I tumbled over and over in the dirt, changing shape along the way, until I hit the far wall in human form and with spine-jarring force.

But there was no time to lay there. No time to get my breath. The air was screaming with the scent and force of Gautier's follow-up leap. If he pi

I rolled away and slashed sideways with my heel. The blow co

I twisted, lunging up, fingers like daggers as I went for his eyes. He reared back, and I changed the blow, chopping down on a pressure point instead, trying to break his grip on my leg.

He swore, and swung, throwing me across the room a second time. I hit the wall with a smack that knocked the air from my lungs and left me gasping. Or maybe it wasn't the blow. Maybe there wasn't any air to begin with, because my lungs burned and I couldn't seem to breathe, no matter how much I gasped.

And he was coming at me again.

Somehow, I got up. Somehow, I forced myself to move. I felt rather than saw the sweep of the blade, and threw myself out of the way. Felt the silver point slash my calves as it whooshed past, leaving a trail burning fire in my flesh.

I rolled to my feet, scrambled around the table, putting its bulk between us. There I stood, watching him as I gasped for breath, my body shaking, aching, and bloody. It didn't matter. I was still standing, still fighting. The great Gautier hadn't beaten me yet, and he fucking well wouldn't. No matter what he did. No matter how bad it got.

He came at me again, and this time the knife was a deadly silver blur, leaving me with little option other than to back away. I didn't expect him to lunge forward, and the move took me by surprise. I jumped backward, but my foot caught against something solid—Jin's body, I realized with despair—and suddenly I was falling, sprawling, across the floor. Right next to the curved sacrifice blade—which was at Gautier's feet.

He laughed, a sound of pleasure and victory combined, and raised the knife, the bloody blade glittering as the torchlight caressed it.

I had one hope left and I tried it.

"Rhoan," I gasped, looking past Gautier. "Blow the bastard's brains out."

Against all the odds, against all reason, Gautier turned. I grabbed the curved knife, bucked upright, and swept the bright blade from left to right, removing Gautier's head from his shoulders.

I saw incredulity bloom in his eyes before his body crumpled and his head rolled away into the shadows. Which was good, because I didn't want to look at his ugly mug any more than I had to.

I dropped to my knees beside his body and took a deep, sobbing breath. Rhoan had once told me that old tricks would never save my life. How wrong he'd been.

I'd won the battle I never thought I could win. I'd beaten the great Gautier, and had done it with a trick as old as time itself.

And yet, the danger wasn't over for me. Two dragon heads might now be dead, but there was one left, as well as the dark lord. I had to get out of here, while the going was good.

But it seemed that fate had helped me as much as she intended to. Because as I stumbled to my feet, John Kingsley walked back into the room.

His gaze swept from the altar to the bodies of the two men and then to me. If he was at all a

"It seems Gautier was right. I did underestimate your strength."

I clenched my fist around the ceremonial knife. "People tend to do that."

His gaze slid down to the knife I held so firmly, and a smile teased the corners of his thin lips. "So who, precisely, are you?"

"So Gautier really didn't tell you?"

"Gautier was distressingly closedmouthed when it came to details about you. A point he paid the ultimate price for."

"I'm a guardian," I said. "And I'm here to stop you."

He laughed, and it was a sound so warm and enticing fear skidded down my spine.

I thought I was free of the dark god's influence.

I was very, very wrong.

Kingsley raised his hands and began to chant. His rich voice seemed to evoke a power from the hieroglyphics on the wall, because they began to glow with a muted purple light. Energy swirled around us, pungent and acidic, caressing my skin with a warmth that felt like water, and yet stung sharply as salt in a cut.

My skin began to tingle, my toes and fingers jump. As I breathed the suddenly thick, aromatic air, the aches and pains rolling through my body began to ease, until it was all but a muted ache.

I remembered the smile his other victims had died with. Remembered the feeling they'd died wanting the death and agony Kingsley had given them.

Realized that this power, whatever it was, was the reason. It didn't only ease the pain, but eased will, as well. I couldn't afford anything to affect clear thought—not if I wanted to stay alive.

I raised the ceremonial blade. Under the odd, purplish fire coming from the hieroglyphics, the blade gleamed with a deep red glow. As if it had a life and blood of its own.

"Stop whatever you're doing, Kingsley, or I'll chop something vital off." Because I couldn't kill him, not without pi

And that would take the concealed silver knives that were miraculously still in my hair. But using them would mean getting closer, and that was something I just didn't want to do.

He smiled. Power swirled around me, through me, tugging at my resolve, dampening my will.

"You will drop the knife, young Riley."

I gripped it harder. The power became thicker, richer, stirring my senses, pulling at desire. I was a wolf and lust part of my nature, but the desire he was promising was not the sweetness of orgasm but rather death.

Sweat trickled down my spine. "Kingsley, this place is surrounded by the Directorate. If they're not already busting into your lair, they soon will be. Give up, while you can."

"They will never find this place. We are deep underground, and protected by magic. Fighting me is useless, little one."

And the magic swirled, becoming a crescendo from which there was no escape. I wanted to fight it, I desperately wanted to, but it was as if someone had pulled the plug on the sink that was my courage and determination. It all just floated away, and that odd detachment came back full force.

I couldn't beat him. Not alone.

"Come here," he said.

My feet moved me across the room. I fought every step and it didn't matter a damn. Kingsley smiled, and touched a hand to my cheek. His fingers were cool and clammy, reminding me of dead flesh, and the part of me that was still free wanted to scream in horror.

"Look at me," he said softly.

His words were a command that whipped around me, and there was nothing I could do but obey. This close to him, his will was extremely strong, flaying my flesh with power and heat and desire. Despite everything, my body began to respond, my blood flicking like fire through my veins once again.

His gaze was ablaze with hunger and power, but what he hungered for this time was not sex, not emotion, but something far more powerful.

Death.

"Do you wish a completion?"

It was the same question he'd asked in the room with the stocks. Then, as now, I held my tongue, biting down hard on the need to answer.