It was the fear he smelled first, a pheromone-laden scent almost irresistible to the hell hound within him. She was here–somewhere.   

Risk Leidolf spun on one worn boot heel, searching the dim interior of the bar for his latest assignment. He didn’t have much information: young and pretty, Lusse had said. She hadn’t bothered to tell him anything more. It didn’t matter. Whatever Lusse’s latest target brought to the fight–talents or temptations–she would be no match for him. 

They never were.   

The room was a kaleidoscope of sounds, smells, and emotions–an onslaught that would be overwhelming to a less experienced hunter, but sadly for his prey, it would barely slow Risk down. He inhaled, dissecting the surrounding scents. Stale beer and human sweat. He shoved them aside. 

Emotion was what he sought. What he craved. 

A tinge of desperation wafted toward him. He ignored it too. Despair and what followed, guilt and sorrow, held no appeal for Risk. No, much as he wished it different, adrenaline was what lured him–fear, anger. They called to him, making him a slave to urges he wished he could forget. 

Clearing his senses, he concentrated, listening to the low murmur of voices around him. It was quiet for a bar, but an undercurrent ran through the place, a vibration of danger humming around him like a tuning fork held to his ear. 

The bar held secrets, but Risk was unconcerned. He had one job tonight, to retrieve the female for Lusse, and save himself from another period of service in the kennels. Torture he could handle, but being forced to live with the other hounds, fighting daily just to survive, perhaps even losing the small piece of territory he had secured for himself in this world, that would surely drive him mad.   

He laughed, a dry hollow sound. Like a hell hound could ever be called anything but mad, soulless according to his owner. 

Thoughts of Lusse caused his jaw to tense, brought him back to his purpose. Enough. Get on with it.   

Adjusting his dark glasses down his nose until he could peer over their tops, he studied the room. Grizzled men and timeworn women filled battered tables around him. Not sparing them more than a glance, his gaze shifted to the back, where the shadows grew deeper. Instinctively, he knew that was where he would find her. 

She might think the gloom would disguise her, but it offered no protection from Hel’s hunters. With a sigh, he continued his scrutiny.  The booths were empty–save one. Huddled in the cubby furthest from the door was a small lone figure. His prey. Even with Lusse’s vague description he couldn’t miss her. Young, pretty and fresh. She stood out in the place like an angel dropped into a pit filled with vipers. 

Leaning against the rough paneling on the wall behind him, he took a moment to study her. Petite, probably only one hundred and ten pounds, and with dark hair that fell past her shoulders, she seemed lost in thought. Her hand hovered over a shot glass of amber liquid and a crumpled paper was smoothed out on the table in front of her. 

Now that he had her pinpointed, he focused on her fully. Fear. The strength of it caught him off guard. Placing his hand on the unfinished wood, he inhaled, nostrils flaring. How did one so small contain so much emotion? Willing himself to stay controlled, he turned to her again. Yes, fear, but there was sorrow too, and…she plucked the shot glass off the table with her finger and thumb and tossed the liquid to the back of her throat…determination. 

This one might be afraid, but it wasn’t for herself.  

This one was a fighter.   

A sliver of respect sliced into him. With a shake of his head, he tamped it down.  Let her fight.   

A lot of good it would do.  The cynical thought should have urged him to action, but he waited still. She would be easy to capture–why rush?  The female slid the empty glass across the table and signaled the waitress for another. As she waited, she ran a pale hand over the crumpled paper in front of her, caressing it, as if trying to gain reassurance or knowledge from its length. 

The waitress returned and his prey looked up to thank her, but her gaze wandered to Risk instead. Startled, he stepped sideways, further into the gloom. Could she see him? He had guarded himself carefully tonight. Perhaps Lusse was right. Perhaps his human half was growing too strong, weakening the hell hound, weakening his hunting powers. And, as Lusse was fond of pointing out, weakness equaled only one thing–death. 

He peered back at his prey. Did she see him?   

Her gaze passed over him, and he relaxed. Just coincidence, but still…he hesitated. There was something different about this female, something that made him reluctant to deliver her to Lusse, the witch who kept him chained in her service.   

He shook his head. This was insane–he should just be done with it, lure the female to the parking lot, Change and carry her to Lusse.  The female downed her second drink, picked up the paper and stood to leave. This was Risk’s chance. One husky whisper in her ear, and it would be over. Another soul, another power, in payment toward his eternal debt. 

The female strode past him, close enough he could smell the undertones of spice in her perfume, and he let her pass.  

He pushed his glasses back into place, hiding eyes that almost surely glimmered red by this time. What was wrong? Why was he reluctant? Why did a piece of him almost wish she had seen him–proven he was more human than beast. Why did the thought of destroying one more life seem a much bigger price than the torture and loss he faced if he didn’t.