But Lore was something else. As jailers went, he could have been much worse. There was no mistaking the power that clung to him like a second skin, but he hadn’t hurt her. That counted for a lot.
He did seem bent on finding the truth. That gave them something in common.
On top of that, he was easy on the eyes. She was a sucker for the hard, strong kind of guy who worked with his hands. The kind you knew could fix the sink or the car or the horrible day you’d had with his oh-so-capable touch. She bet Lore was just that type. A haircut and some wardrobe advice, and he’d be a definite hottie. Oh yeah, and he could use some advice on the whole handcuffing thing. Definite turnoff if it wasn’t handled just right.
But what did you expect from a monster? A wry smile twisted her lips.
What does the word “monster” mean, anyway?
Did it really describe a guy who walked into the hell he’d escaped and bargained for the lives of his people? That was the stuff of legends.
No one was left behind
. The words had power over her, because she had been abandoned when it counted most. Over and over again.
What had Lore asked? How did she end up in this mess?
The kickoff really had been the incident with Max and the succubus painting. Talia was just old enough to see the incident as a wake-up call. Killing monsters was the hub of Hunter culture, but so was despising anything that made a man weak. That included women. Lust happened, but it was something to be sniggered at or hidden in dark corners. Her father was already shaping the way Max saw his future loves.
Most of the Hunter women accepted that they were second-class warriors and not much else, but Talia’s mom had been from outside the tribe. The male grip on Max was hard to break, but she’d given her daughter ideas. It was her mom that had given Talia the courage to strike out on her own.
Against her father’s wishes, Talia left for university. She’d done brilliantly, found a job she loved, built the start of a sane life—but such a lonely one. There’d been no one to fill the place of the tribe and all the close-knit family bonds she’d had from the cradle. She still loved and hated them at the same time, and with such passion. Too bad there was no Toxic Homes Anonymous.
Hi, my name is Talia and I can’t stay away from my homicidally screwed-up roots
.
Her mistake had been letting family bonds drag her home again. Going back had cost her life.
I tried to be a good daughter. I should have tried harder to become a good wife.
No, that last one would have been a disaster.
She sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes. She’d survived her family, sort of. Even death hadn’t stopped her. She’d soldiered through that like she had everything else—but each battle took a little more out of her. Michelle’s loss had hit her hard. Grief had made it easy for Lore to capture her.
I can’t afford that. If I’m going to make it past this, I have to keep it together
.
Talia closed her eyes, realizing the whole murdersuspect thing meant abandoning her teaching position. She felt a sudden, nostalgic wave for the hush of the university library, the scent of fresh paper, and that eager nervousness of September beginnings.
I don’t want to lose that, too
. Her students were her only real contact with the human world. The world of books was the one place where being a vampire didn’t matter.
The price for survival just kept getting higher. The only way to stop paying was to clear her name and go somewhere her past couldn’t reach her.
If she was going to find the killer, she had to be at the top of her game.
The bedsheets felt cool under her fingertips. She sat for a moment, watching the snow fall outside the window. Lore had left the drapes open, giving her a view of the winter scene. The drifting flakes invoked a sense of inevitability that was almost like peace.
Talia was definitely feeling—not exactly better, but calmer.
Okay, then, think.
She had defined goals: to find and punish Michelle’s killer, and to escape someplace where the rogue registry couldn’t find her. To accomplish either one, she needed her money, ID, clothes, and weapons.
She’d run out of Lore’s condo once already—straight into the cops. She was going to plan properly this time.
I am calm and rational. I am in control. I spit in the eye of fate
.
First, she wanted out of the bedroom. The memory of being chained to the bed was making her claustrophobic. Talia rose, walked to the door, and tried the handle.
It was locked. She rattled the handle a second time, just to be sure. A tingling spread over her hands, creeping up to her elbows like a glove of electricity. A spell.
Damn him!
Lore had been so sympathetic, so kind, she thought he’d given her a refuge, not made her a prisoner again!
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
She’d granted him a glimmer of trust, and this is what happened.
Fool!
A sense of betrayal flared through her. She clenched her teeth so hard the back of her skull ached. She’d been had.
Now what am I going to do?
She could pick a lock. There wasn’t a thing she could do about magic.
Damn!
She slammed the heel of her hand against the door in frustration.
Talia slid down the door until her rump hit the carpet. She was so going to tear the dog a new one once she got free. No one chained her up, locked her up, and fed her stale blood and got away with it! Fleas were too good for him.
Calm and rational, remember?
She ground the heels of her hands into her eyes.
You haven’t tried the window yet
. With a surge of hope, she got to her feet, crossed the room, and tried to push it open. A zap of electricity numbed her arm. She yanked it away.
Her whole body felt the low burn of frustration.
Just let me go, you mangy bastard!
The sound of the door to the main hallway opening sent her skittering back from the window. Stupidly, she felt like a teenager caught ransacking the liquor cabinet.
There were voices. Several, and ones that she didn’t know. That threw a new wrench in the works.
Who are they? Police? Or the killer? The mysterious vampire?
She glared at the door.
I’m caged here. A sitting duck
. And Lore was out, nowhere around to protect her—and he’d locked her in so that she couldn’t protect herself.
Idiot.
She needed a weapon, and she needed her freedom. A quick look around the room revealed only standard bedroom stuff. She opened the closet. A weapon could be anything, if it could stab or club.
Like a baseball bat. There it was, hiding in the corner behind a pile of junk. Talia picked it up almost lovingly. It was an old wooden one that bore the marks of many, many games. Perfect for smacking anything short of a full-blooded demon. If it broke, heck, it would make a great stake.
Talia steps up to bat, and the crowd goes wild.
Finding a weapon had taken only seconds.
Check.
Now for the door. Would Lore’s magic work on it if it wasn’t attached to the wall?
The construction in the building was better than most condos, but interior doors were for privacy, not security. They crumpled like paper if you knew what to do. Hunter 101.
The thought brought a spark of satisfaction.
Talia stripped off her dainty, high-heeled boots. The bedroom was crowded, but there was enough room for a good kick. A couple of steps and a twist, and she would lead with her heel and the full force of her anger. She tested the carpet—just enough nap to give great traction.
It was a perfect strike from the right hip. The door crashed open, pounding against the wall in an explosion of splinters and drywall. Talia landed on the balls of her feet, her fists raised to cover her face. In the next second, she swooped to pick up the bat, ready to swing.
A faint whiff of ozone filled the air.
On the other side of where the door had just been, Lore was turning around, eyes wide with surprise. Astonishment turned into a frown as he planted his feet and crossed his arms, looking like an irate Egyptian statue. “Getting impatient, I see.”
Astonished, she fell back a step. The doorway crackled, thin blue veins of electricity making jagged spider webs across the empty space. The spell guarding the door was still going strong.
Crap!
“What’s going on?” a male voice shouted.
“Nothing,” Lore said in a flat tone.
Nothing?
Her anger wasn’t nothing. She shifted her grip on the bat, wanting to smack the superior look off his face. “I’m so done with the bondage games. C’mon, by now you must know I’m not the killer.”
He made a disgusted noise. “The wards were for your protection, in case someone came looking for you.” Eyes narrowed, he poked at the spot where the door handle had punched into the drywall. “I guess that wasn’t necessary.”
“Damned straight,” she shot back, lingering anger making her surly.
I trusted you. I cried on you, and you locked me up again.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” the voice yelled again, but this time there was amusement in the tone.
“Yes!” Lore snapped.
“Oookaaayy, I’ll take your word for it.” The voice dissolved into a chuckle. “Next time try a dating service. It’s safer.”
Talia’s cheeks burned with outrage.
What the hell?
With a grumpy expression, Lore made a gesture and said something under his breath. The crackle of electricity stopped. The spell or ward or whatever it was fell away.
Lore stood aside. “You can put the bat down. You’re free to go, if that’s what you want.”
“Seriously?”
His dark eyes flicked away, as if he was embarrassed. “You’re innocent.”
Talia dropped the bat and hurriedly pulled her boots back on while he stood watching like a grim sentinel. Relief warred with awkwardness. She’d been psyched up for a good ass-kicking, and now nothing. She was mentally stumbling, all revved up with nowhere to go.
How does he know I’m innocent?
Did it matter? She pushed past his solid bulk, suddenly feeling like the bedroom walls were closing in. He could change his mind. This whole thing might be a trick.
An urge to run warred with curiosity. What had Lore found out?
Talia nearly collided with a woman taking off a gorgeous black-and-white tweed coat. The woman looked up, and that made Talia slow for a microsecond.
Werecougar
, she thought instantly, looking at the bone structure of her face. The creatures were rarely seen south of the Yukon, but they were unforgettable. Her skin was the dusky tone of café au lait, her posture that of a runway model.
“Nice coat,” Talia said, not sure what to do next. Instinct said to dive for the door, but she was curious. Who was this? Why was she here?
“It’s a Burberry,” the cougar returned, and Talia recognized the smooth voice.
“You’re Errata Jones!” Talia looked from Errata to Lore.
“And you’re Talia Rostova.” Errata hooked the Burberry on a coat tree that was crammed with wet outerwear. Lore had several guests. Of course he did—whoever had been teasing him before was male.
These strangers know who I am!
Talia realized with shock.
So much for keeping me safe!
“Don’t look so worried.” Errata fixed Talia with intense hazel eyes. “Lore knows what he’s doing.”
I’ll bet!
Talia rounded on him, but something stopped her before she could vent her feelings. He looked exhausted and unhappy and more than a little apologetic. The urge to scream at him withered as it reached her throat.
Oh, God, it’s the puppy-dog eyes. Or Stockholm syndrome.
Errata leaned close, murmuring into Talia’s ear, “He likes you, you know. I can tell.”
Talia stared at her, both curious and aghast. Lore was narrowing his eyes at them both.
A sly smile played on Errata’s mouth. “Loyalty. Agility. You could do worse than a guy who can catch a Frisbee in his teeth. Just think what else he can do without using his hands.” The werecougar shrugged, keeping her voice so quiet only Talia could hear her. “Not that he doesn’t need work but, hey, he comes when he’s called.”
Talia stepped back, stunned by an irrational urge to defend Lore. She drew a breath to protest, but then the most gorgeous guy she’d ever seen emerged from the kitchen holding a plastic bag of blood.
The man held up the bag, pointing to the tiny writing stamped on the bag. He looked from Lore to Errata. “Did you look at the expiry date on this? You could kill somebody with this stuff.”
Errata gave a delicate snort. “Oh, come on, Joe. You’re three parts vampire and one part hellbeast. It’s going to take more than funky blood to do you in.”
Talia stiffened, her Hunter sense on alert. This guy was a
volkodlak
, Turned by a curse that made him immortal and very hard to kill.
“This is Joe,” Lore said, sounding irritable. “Ignore him.”
In response, Joe gave her a smile that did funny things to her stomach. He was too pretty for words—a dimpled chin, blade-straight nose, cheekbones sharp enough to cut diamonds. There were no fangs to spoil the sensual curve of his lips—she knew those only came out for feeding.
Talia gave herself a mental shake, woozy from too much hot guy. She had to say something to break through his charm, so she focused on the blood. “I wouldn’t drink that, if I were you. It tastes like a garburator bled to death.”
With a sigh, Joe vanished back into the kitchen. She heard a
thwack
as he dumped the bag in the sink. “Then let’s get this show on the road. I have to take over the bar at nine thirty.”
“You’re a bartender?” she asked in surprise.
“Bar owner.” He gave her another smile that should have carried a warning from the surgeon general. “I own the Empire Hotel.”
Oh, God
. This guy was in the hospitality industry? His species were ravening killers—weren’t they?