A growl echoed inside his head.
Pain clawed at his temples. Cristobal shook his head, but it was too late. The pressure built and his mind unhinged, opening a fissure into the unknown. Into something greater. Into a vast space filled with majesty and magic. As the chasm grew, twin entities stepped through the breech, one behind the other, huge claw-tipped paws leading the way as—
“Cristobal.” Familiar and deep, the voice drifted from the trail behind a rock face.
Ah hell. Xavian. Talk about bad timing.
Choking on magic, Cristobal coughed, fighting to find his voice. He needed to warn Xavian. Tell him . . . he frowned . . . what exactly? Stay away? Put his arse in gear and get him help? Jesus, he couldn’t decide. Not while the beasts circled inside his head and his muscles screamed. Absorbing the agony, insight struck. Oh God. The pair was trying to get out—to leave the confines of his mind and take physical form.
Razor-sharp teeth bared, the pair paced—back and forth, round and round—urging him to set them free. The click of claws tapped against his eardrums. Soft snarls pressed in, amplifying the sound, making his skull throb as the two grew in size, lethal presence expanding by the second. The pain increased. The pressure swelled into cerebral burn, threatening to geyser and . . . rahat, here it came . . .
His stomach heaved.
Bile touched the back of his throat. Swallowing the bad taste, Cristobal retreated and, head bowed, slid backward onto one knee. Away from the cliff’s edge. Toward the trailhead and his best friend. Probably not the best move. Cristobal didn’t care. He needed help. Right now. Couldn’t contain the hellhounds much longer, much less—
The tattoos shifted.
One moment, the ink sat on his forearms. The next, the pair came alive, leaping off his skin, streaking into black blurs. The duo took physical form mid-jump. Huge paws thumped down on the plateau in front of him, kicking up stone dust. Cristobal froze, becoming a living statue as the twin hellhounds—each movement in perfect accord—pivoted toward him. Heads low, ears back, glossy pelts and bladed spines glinting in the sunlight, the beasts roared at him. The shrieks obliterated the quiet, rising in a deafening wave, bombarding the sheer cliff face behind him. Chips of shale came loose and tumbled, cascading down to slam into the base of the stone wall.
“La dracu,” Xavian said as he stepped off the narrow trail, onto the plateau.
Huge fangs bared, the beasts’ focus snapped toward his best friend.
“Don’t move.” Still on one knee, his gaze locked on the hellhounds, Cristobal raised his hand, backing up word with deed. The second Xavian moved—drew his weapons or tried to back away—the beasts would give chase. Stood to reason. Predators, after all, enjoyed the thrill of the hunt. “Stay perfectly still.”
Hands gripping his knife hilts, Xavian froze, obeying without question.
Cristobal shifted to the balls of his feet, drawing the hellhounds’ ire. Two sets of eyes settled back on him. The pair sidestepped, huge paws padding softly in stone dust. Covered by black fur, interlocking scales clicked as they moved, the body armor sending an ominous message through the quiet. Lethal accord. Duel purpose. The beasts shared common intent—one grounded in a prospect called unfriendly. Bladed tails twitching, the duo met his gaze. Cristobal drew a deep breath, then exhaled long and slow. Calm. Cool. And collected. He must epitomize all three. Otherwise his attempt to tame the twins wouldn’t end well, never mind . . .
Nay, scratch that. Not twins. Not exactly.
His eyes narrowed. The twosome looked alike—almost identical—but not quite. Slight though the differences might be, he identified individual characteristics. Without moving a muscle, he looked them over again. The hellhound on his right stared at him through unblinking yellow eyes. The beast on the left, however, possessed a unique pair—one yellow eye, the other bright blue. The variance didn’t stop there either. Blue Eyes sported a single snow-white paw while her sibling was black from head to the tip of her tail. Both female. Both huge, standing at least five hands at the withers . . . species not of this world. Razor-sharp teeth set alongside jagged fangs. Lethal claws tipping enormous paws. Blunt ears rising from enormous heads that resembled a cat’s with some wolf thrown in for good measure.
He should be afraid. Or, at the very least, wary.
Cristobal was neither. Instead something akin to pride surfaced, urging him to explore the bond he sensed between him and them. One that became stronger by the moment, infusing him with a power not his own. Magic flowed. His senses sharpened and came alive, allowing him to hear, see, and smell everything—just like he had at the cemetery. He hummed, the sound half purr, half snarl. The hellhounds responded, returning the hostile sound. Which made perfect sense. Felt right too. The twins had come from somewhere inside him, leaping off his skin to take physical form. So aye, as lethal and angry as the pair appeared, the hellhounds belonged to him.
Instinct his guide, Cristobal pushed to his feet.
The hellhounds tensed, growling in unison.
“Ah, Cristobal?”
“Relax, Xavian,” he said, reassuring his friend. No reason to be alarmed. Well, at least, not yet. Raising his arms, Cristobal turned his hands, palms up, and approached the hellhounds on silent feet. “I’ve got them under control.”
“Jesu, I hope so. I’ve no wish to be eaten by . . .” Hands gripping the hilts, but blades still sheathed, Xavian dragged his focus from the twins. Pale eyes full of unease, his commander threw him a meaningful look. “Well, whatever the hell they are.”
“Hellhounds.”
“If you say so.”
His lips twitched. “Trust me.”
“Uh-huh.”
Ignoring the skepticism, Cristobal continued to advance. Blue Eyes bared her fangs and, white paw crossing over black, sidestepped, readying for attack. The show of aggression didn’t faze him. He reached for her instead, holding his hand out, encouraging her to catch his scent, while Yellow Eyes circled around behind him. Enchantment rose. The wind died down. He murmured, using his voice to soothe her. The hellhound at his back came in close and . . .
Bumped him from behind.
Her touch unlocked a floodgate inside his mind. Knowledge washed in, bringing insight and understanding. Wrought by magic, the bond between them snapped into place. A name streamed into his head. Lowering his arm, he laid his hand atop her large head—felt the hard scales beneath soft fur—and stroked his palm over the back of her neck.
Allowing his touch, Yellow Eyes nudged him again.
His mouth curved. “Hello, Thrax.”
Acknowledging his greeting, Thrax purred. The loud rumble made him smile as she pushed her snout into his hand, asking for more. Cristobal gave it to her, petting Thrax without hesitation while he waited for her sister to come forward and receive the same. It took a while. Moments tipped into more, but he didn’t push her. He waited instead, allowing the hellhound the time she needed. After what seemed like forever, but was no more than a minute, she bridged the distance, set her chin in his palm, allowing the bond to take shape and form.
“Vicars,” he said, calling her by name, scratching behind one of her ears. She growled and, tipping her head to one side, leaned into his touch. Giving her what she wanted, he rubbed a little harder, then glanced over his shoulder. “We’ve some new playmates, Xavian.”