What did he smell?
He swiftly ruled out the tapestry of smells that had become unfortunately, depressingly familiar: dank stone, ancient mold, bat guano, fur, feathers, the pent-up frustration of his own long confinement here. He wasn’t looking for any of that. He was looking for anewsmell, and—
There. That was new.
New and fresh and beautifully complex.
A woman, he could tell that much. The clean ivory scent of soap, a citrusy tang of grapefruit-scented shampoo. Outside air, air that didn’t have that cold reek of a stone cellar. With it, something cool and dry and almost spicy, impossible to identify beyond that.
Anyone who smelled like that didn’t belong anywhere near this place. All the sickness and darkness and cold would take over and ruin her.
But she was coming down the winding tunnels anyway, and she was accompanied by a hateful scent that he knew all too well.
Sebastian.
Logan threw his head back and howled.
Even to him, a hellhound’s full-throated cry was eerie.
It automatically sounded mournful and blood-curdling, enough to chill even the bravest person down to their bones.
*
IZ WAS STUMBLING FORWARDin the darkness, the fang still at the base of her spine, when she heard a howl split the air.
It sounded a little like a wolf’s cry, but she knew instantly that it was different. She had heard werewolves before: Cousin Theo worked with one of them. When a wolf howled, you could hear its ferocity, but you could also hear its feeling of companionship. It was howlingtosomeone, to its packmates beneath the moon.
This cry was savage and horribly alone, and it stopped her in her tracks.
Sebastian prodded at her again, the fang biting wickedly into the small of her back. She felt a hot burst of blood as the sharp tip cut through her skin, and her body slackened, like she was a puppet with cut strings. She only got the feeling back when he retracted the fang just a little.
“Keep moving, please.”
As though him saying “please” meant that he wasn’t kidnapping her.
“What was that?” Iz demanded, trying to inject some haughty, dragon-matron authority into her voice. Two could play that whole draconian civilization game. “What do you have down here?”
“A hellhound.” He said the word with relish, like it was a particularly choice morsel.
She almost said,I thought they were extinct, but she held back at the last moment. Why give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d surprised her?
“One of the best pieces in my hoard, actually,” Sebastian added, pushing her forward again.
“Collect ancient pirate treasure and enchanted artifacts like a normal person,” Iz said.
He kept talking right over her. “Most of the creatures I collect are beasts, really. They’re hard to track down, but capturing them is hardly a challenge. But a hellhound...” He sighed pleasantly. It was like he was finishing a good glass of wine. “Well, you’ll see. He’s magnificent.”
“You can’t hoard living things.”
“Why not?” He sounded honestly interested, but it was only a front. Iz could hear that same old cruelty in his voice. He was enjoying himself, toying with the concept of morals like a cat with a mouse.
And he still hadn’t stopped pushing her, and she really hated being pushed.
“Because I’llstopyou,” she said sharply.
Sebastian laughed. “The odds don’t seem like they’re in your favor, my dear.”
She wheeled around, grateful to still have some of her usual speed even with the basilisk-wyvern poison making her sick to her stomach. She had a second to catch a glimpse of his handsome, aristocratic face, all aglow with satisfaction. She spat at him, catching him right on the cheek.