her, his elbows resting on his knees.
Brim could take out his throat in the blink of an eye. But Baasîl wasnât afraid.
He should be, Em thought.
âDoesnât take a genius to figure out why youâre here, little one. You show up, two humans with a hellhound. Not here to see the animals. See, I could tell you were looking for something. Had to ask myself what, âWhat could they be after?â â He tapped his cheek with one long gray finger. âSo hereâs the deal. You give me Big Daddy there, and you walk away with the pups. Free and clear.Simple exchange. Iâd throw in the bitch, too, but she lost in the ring last night, so . . .â
Instant tears surged, burning Emmaâs throat. The mother was dead. Her hand clenched into a tight fist, and the one holding on to Brimâs neck dug into his muscled flesh. Her anger and grief blinded her for a second and then crystallized into a defined point. That point was Baasîl. âYouâre going to pay for that,â she said in an even, flat tone.
Baasîl laughed softly, indulgently. Another one of his mistakes. Not believing her. Underestimating her. Behind him the arena gate opened and a small wire cage was carried in with the pups in it.
A shudder snaked through Brimâs body; Emma felt it beneath her hand. He whined, glancing quickly at her, then back at the pups. Torn. He was torn between leaving her and guarding her. Tears thickened her throat.
âDonât cry, pretty girl.â Baasîlâs words tried to sound comforting but they came out grim and dark and just wrong. âHe would want you to do this. Go ahead, ask him.â
âWhat do you mean?â
âOh, I saw you, how you were with him when we met earlier. He listens to you. You listen to him. Even among my kind, there are those who can talk to beasts. Rare, but it happens. Maybe even rarer in humans, I donât know.â He leaned closer, his bony face harsh, daring her to argue. âI know what I saw. So you ask him.â
Baasîl sat back, a smug light coming into his eyes. âItâs his choice, remember?â He threw her words back at her, and Emma realized with a sinking feeling in her gut that he had her. He had Brim. Because Brim wouldnât even have to think about it. Heâd give up his life to let her and the pups walk out of there safely.
The ringmaster went to touch her knee to nudge her as he said, âGo ahead, askââ
Brim lunged. Baasîl lurched backward, his back meeting with the chain links as the hellhoundâs massive jaws and fangs snapped inches from his face. The suddenness of it made Emma jump. The snarl and growlâsheâd never seen Brim so angry, so wild . . .
Beyond the ringmasterâs shoulders, Emma saw the jinn in the arena reach in and grab one of the pups from the cage and hold it up by the neck. It squirmed, its lower body twisting back and forth. It let out a small cry at the tightening fingers around its neck. Brimâs nostrils flared, drool dripped from his bared fangs, and his eyes burned hot and red.
He stepped back.
The ringmaster let out a relieved laugh; the gray color of his skin had gone to pale ash. He straightened his top hat and found his voice. âHeâs perfect. The crowd will love him.â
âYouâd trade three hellhounds for one? Why?â
âThe pups are useless to me right now. Itâll take years for them to grow and to train. But him . . . heâll do whatever I want. Tricks, commands, fights, coordinated attacks. Can you imagine what heâd look like in the warhound armor of old?â
âHe wonât listen to you,â she told him. âHeâll turn on you the first chance he gets. He wonât forget what youâve done.â
âOh, I think he will. See, Iâve thought this through. Iâm a businessman and all. As long as he listens, his pups are