She moved into his field of vision, her gun pointed at the hound. “You okay? Well, other than being pinned under a giant hound?”

He managed a laugh. “Other than that, yeah. Where—?”

The hound snarled, as if to say, Hey, asshole, did you forget I’m here? and he saw that it was the hound. The injured one. The broken one.

It was and it was not, because when he looked into those fiery eyes, blazing with hate, he didn’t need to ask where the Huntsman had gone.

“I see you,” he whispered.

The hound snarled. Those massive jaws opened, and Liv leapt forward, covering the last few feet between them.

“Don’t you dare, hound,” she said, a snarl in her own voice, and when the hound ignored her, she was right there, the gun barrel at the back of the beast’s skull.

“No!” Ricky said.

“I won’t unless I have to. But if those fangs get any closer—”

The beast lowered its head an inch. Taunting her. Testing her. And her finger tightened on the trigger.

“No!” Ricky said again. “It’s not the hound. It’s him—the Huntsman. He’s possessed it.”

“And I’m sorry,” she said slowly. “But that doesn’t matter. That can’t matter.”

The hound’s lips curled, and Ricky swore he heard the Huntsman’s laughter. Rage rippled through him.

You bastard. You twisted son of a bitch. The hound served you well, no matter how much it hated you, and this is how you repay it. As a pawn in a game. A lesson to me.

Ricky looked into the hound’s eyes and his knee shot up, catching it in the gut. As that knee made contact, his hands shot around the beast’s throat, but the blow surprised the beast for only a second and it wrested its head free, and they rolled, him grappling for a hold, the hound slashing at him, and then the beast convulsing as a blow rocked it, and Ricky glanced over to see Liv falling back, her leg still raised from a kick.

The hound slashed and snapped at him. Liv cursed as she tried to intervene. Ricky managed to land a blow under the hound’s muzzle, and its head jerked up, and he grabbed fur in both hands, fists of fur, holding its head aloft as it fought and snapped, the beast stronger than him, so fucking much stronger. He tried to knee it in the gut again, but the angle was wrong. It fought wildly against his hands, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Liv lining up her shot. He yanked the beast’s head down—toward him—and the surprise of that startled the hound enough for Ricky to lock gazes with it and shout, “Mine!”

This is mine. My hound, you son of a bitch, and I’m taking it back.

Darkness swirled, wild darkness, and when Ricky opened his eyes, he was looking down at himself, unconscious on the ground.

“Ricky!”

He stumbled back fast. He saw Liv raise the gun.

“What did you do to Ricky?” she said, that gun pointed at him.

I’m the hound. Shit, I’m inside the hound.

He glanced down at his feet … which were now giant black paws.

There, sorted? Now get the fuck away from your body before she shoots.

He kept backing away, staggering and sliding, his limbs moving awkwardly as he scrambled. Liv advanced on him, gun still raised, fury burning in her eyes. He whined and lowered his head.

Damn it, Gallagher, figure this out before—

But she didn’t shoot. She just gave him one glower before dropping beside his body, her gaze still on the hound, her trembling fingers going to his body’s neck, her eyelids fluttering in relief as she picked up a pulse. Then she looked at him, the hound, her eyes meeting his. Her head tilted, nose scrunching, as if seeing something she couldn’t quite decipher. Her eyes widened and her lips opened, and before she could get the words out, darkness swirled, and when he opened his eyes again, he was lying on the forest floor, staring up at Liv crouched over him as the hound teetered and collapsed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Ricky’s hazel eyes looked up into mine. I put my arm under his shoulders and helped him sit.

“Were you just …?” I began.

“Possessing a huge fae hound?” he said. “I have no idea. At this point, I’m starting to think someone sprinkled acid on my pizza and I’m passed out on a sidewalk somewhere.”

“We ate the same pizza,” I said. “Which may be the explanation.”

He chuckled and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah. If that’s what visions are like, I don’t know how you do it, Liv. I’m here, and then I’m not, and then I’m someone else, and then I’m something else, and holy fuck.”

He got to his feet, still wobbly as I helped him up.

“I remember when I turned eighteen,” he said. “My dad took me to the cabin, and he brought out a bunch of shit. Product. You know. He said if I was curious, that’s how I was going to do it. Try it there, with him to watch me. Get it over with.”

“Did you?”

He shook his head. “I wasn’t curious. I’d smoked pot when I was a kid. It made me feel just kind of … flat. Relaxed. Mellow. Not really my thing. Now?” He rubbed his temples. “I feel like my brain exploded … and not in a good way.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“I’m the dumbass who had to see what was in the forest—” Ricky wheeled, gaze flying to the hound, still lying on its side. “Shit!” he murmured as he ran and crouched beside it. “Okay, it’s breathing. And …” He looked around. “The Huntsman?”