He fought the urge to step even closer, to gorge himself on the heady scents.

“Why does Lusse want you?” he repeated, asking himself as much as her.

She blinked up at him, confusion clouding her eyes.

Risk twisted his finger farther into her hair. Using the physical contact to strengthen his senses, he focused on her, searching for something that would draw Lusse.

A fist to his gut broke his concentration. Huge eyes dark with anger glared up at him. The self-imposed leash he kept on his instincts slipped in response. Anger. So hard to resist. The blood surged a little quicker in his veins, but he kept his face blank, undisturbed.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

She was verging on full rage. His pulse quickening, Risk leaned lower and burrowed his nose into the waves of her hair. Annoyance, rage, fear; they all were there, and…he placed his palms flat against the door behind her, trapping her into place…something else, something barely tapped. Ignoring the blood pooling in his groin, he pulled his head back and stared into her eyes. They flickered with one of the few colors he could truly identify — the violet of unsullied power.

The intensity of her emotions engulfed him, making him reluctant to leave her side. “What are you?” he whispered.

Her lower lip disappeared between her teeth as she stared up at him. Another gleam of violet.

Whatever she was hiding, it was growing stronger. Like most power, it must be tied to her emotions — and with the strength of hers, whatever she was, unfettered she would be formidable.

He should stop now, take the female to Lusse. Let the witch wring whatever she desired out of her. But…the female’s eyes flashed again…she wasn’t like his normal Lusse-directed prey. This female’s power was…he hesitated…pure. An inaudible laugh escaped him. Pure power. It was impossible, a myth. Power corrupted. It was true, cliché though it was.