Black Dog by Caitlin Kittredge Read Free Book Online

“Relax, Ava. I don’t care that you’re a freak. I’m one too. Imagine being the only kid in Brighton Beach who could bring their dead dog back to life.”
    â€œImagine being the dead dog,” I muttered. Leo laughed. It was kind of shocking, even through the hot pain of the burns on my flesh. He didn’t look like a chuckler, and his laugh was clear and genuine, completely at odds with everything else about him.
    He took out his flask and held it to my lips. “Drink. It’ll take the edge off.”
    I didn’t disagree with him, so I let the vodka slide down my throat, the chemical burn giving me a shiver.
    â€œGood girl.” He capped the flask and sat down, rolling back and forth so the chair squeaked.
    â€œIs this part of the torture?” I said. Leo shook his head.
    â€œYou’re a kick in the pants. I’m glad Gary sent you.”
    Maybe I could still salvage this. If I could bring something like information on the nut job necromancer plotting his death, I could convince Gary to go easy on me for not shredding the guy when I had the chance.
    Maybe.
    â€œSo what’s your beef with reapers?” I said. “And how exactly do you think you’re going to kill one?”
    â€œReapers are parasites,” Leo said, taking another drink himself. “Parasites with demon magic, but if humans stopped giving up their souls, where would they be then?”
    I shrugged. “I’m not the brains of the operation.”
    â€œClearly you’re smart,” Leo said. “Smarter than most hellhounds I’ve run into.”
    I laughed, and it hurt, which was fitting. “That’s not a very high bar, trust me.”
    â€œWarlocks can’t seem to resist cutting deals with Hellspawn,” Leo said. “I’ve seen more than one idiot dragged off screaming in the jaws of a hound.”
    â€œBut not you,” I said.
    Leo’s face went from pleasant to furious like a trap snapping shut on my foot. He slammed the flask down on the tray, making all the pointy objects rattle. “I’m nobody’s bitch, Ava. Least of all a demon’s.”
    â€œYou’re packing way too much voltage to not have a demon behind you,” I said. “Warlocks who are strictly white don’t raise the dead, just to start.”
    â€œCall me gray,” Leo said. Given the chance to talk about himself, he was practically chatting my ear off. “There’s a lot of stuff floating around out there. Books, other warlocks. The type who can be convinced to tell you what a demon told them.”
    That didn’t play. Warlocks are worse than stage magicians—­they never share the tricks up their sleeves. “I’m supposed to believe you tagged a guy like Ivanof and raised him based on some secondhand story?”
    Leo’s lips parted. “I can be persuasive.”
    I wriggled against the chains. Nope, still bone-­crushing tight. “As persuasive as you were with me?”
    â€œI have a skill set a certain kind of person finds valuable,” Leo said. “I didn’t enjoy hurting you, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t enjoy hurting anyone. But it doesn’t bother me, either.” He slipped out of his suit jacket and slung it on the back of his chair. His black shirt opened at the throat, and I caught ink creeping up above his collar, his wrists, everywhere there was a little bit of skin. Well, there was no rule a Russian gangster couldn’t have a hobby.
    â€œI knew your reaper would send someone if his blood dealer went belly up and deadheads started turning tourists into fast food,” Leo said. “And turning Alexi into a deadhead was a bonus, really. Miserable fuck that he was. Did you know he used to dose women with vamp venom when business was slow and drain them while they were out of it? Making him attack but never feed, bend to my will—­that I did