Frostbound (31 page)

“Hello, little duck.”

Talia started at the voice, freezing where she stood.
Belenos!
Her heart plunged, cold terror folding around her until she was drowning in it.

He chuckled. “You’ve got to learn to pay attention. Leaving the door open like that? I thought a Hunter like you would know better. But then, you never were particularly wise.”

Talia forced herself around, bit by bit, as slow as if she were in a nightmare turning to face the monster. Oh, wait. She was.

“Where’s Baines?” she demanded, surprised that she’d managed to keep her voice steady. But she could hear the faint rattling of the data sticks in the box as her hand shook with fear. She set the box down. Wouldn’t do to advertise the fact that she was about to faint.

“Where’s Baines?” Belenos mimicked. “Where’s my money?”

Talia forced herself to look him in the face. It had been well over a year since she’d seen him, and time had smoothed over some of his injuries. His fox-red hair had grown back to shoulder length, hiding the places where his scalp had been torn away. His face was still scarred, but the lumpy flesh had paled from red to pink. He was healing, but slowly. Whatever Omara had done to him had been from the extra-special column of the torture menu.
Too bad she didn’t finish the job
.

“I spent your money,” she said without expression. “All of it. On pretty clothes.”

He looked her up and down with an angry sneer. “You would.”

She swallowed hard, both angry and relieved that he believed such a stupid answer. She wanted to keep that money out of pure spite. He owed it to her.

“Where’s the police detective?” she repeated.

“What do you care about a human?”

“He’s just doing his job.” She gripped the back of Perry’s chair, holding herself steady. Part of her was waiting for him to zap her to smithereens, or whip out a sword and take her head. This civilized conversation was just painful anticipation.

Belenos looked heavenward, as if bored. “For now, your detective is in the hallway. He made a nice little snack. Oh, don’t make that face. He’ll be up and around in a few hours, but he won’t remember a thing.” Her sire narrowed his one topaz eye. “Here you are defending him. He’ll blame you for sure. You’re the only vampire he’ll recall.”

“Whatever.” As long as Baines hadn’t died because of her. “Why are you here?”

“A little bird told me that you were visiting to look at the poor professor’s things. Such a shame, what happened to him. But then, he shouldn’t have gone snooping in things that aren’t his business.”

Talia gulped. How had Belenos known any of that? Who was betraying them?

“Yes, little duck. It’s been like watching you step off a cliff. Part of me wants to cry out a warning, and the rest wants to see blood and bones strewn all over the rocks below. Guess which part of me won.”

He made a gesture, as if grabbing something from the air. A crushing force slammed into her rib cage and squeezed her skull in an invisible vise. Talia dropped to her knees, suddenly too weak to hold herself up.
Help!
she cried out in her mind, but the impulse never made it to her lips.

“You forget that I made you.” Belenos closed his fist, bringing the pain to an exquisite pitch. “I can take back that life just as easily. Good. You’re finally looking at me with the proper respect.”

She wasn’t looking at anything. Colors floated toward Talia like the bad special effects from a 3-D film. Black spots exploded before her eyes. A human would be dead.

Just as suddenly, the pressure released. Talia collapsed in a heap. She drew in a small breath, testing her lungs. Everything still worked.
I’m going to kill him. I don’t care how ridiculous that sounds, or how afraid I am right now.

Belenos hauled her up with his good hand.

When she could pull it into focus, the hallway beckoned like the stairway to heaven. Surely that security guard would be back soon. He’d see Baines, call more cops, who would shoot her sire. Maybe there was a way out of this yet.

She took a shaky step forward, as if she were going to bolt for the door.

“Talia,” he said, his tongue relishing her name. “I wouldn’t try anything, if I were you.”

She froze, her arms held out to her sides a little, letting him think he’d stopped her.

Talia wheeled and lunged for the door, her wordless cry echoing in the hallway. Belenos grabbed her hood, hauling her back. The force of it popped a button. She heard cloth tear, the sound nearly as sharp as a whimper of pain. She fell against him, the weight and smell of him bringing back waves of terror. He kicked the door shut.

“Let me go!” she shrieked, landing an elbow in his ribs.

He flinched, then chuckled, long and low. “Sh. I’m going to help you.”

“Help me what?” she asked in a low, hoarse voice. She knew him all too well.

“I’m going to help you remember what it is to be the servant of a master and not a rebellious whore. Oh, yes, I know what you’ve been up to with your dog. That little bird simply talks too much.”

Oh, God, no, she didn’t want Lore mixed up with this lunatic!

“Such long, delicious shudders. One would think I was going to punish you as Omara punished me.”

He crushed her against him in a nauseating embrace. He brought his lips close to her ear, his breath tickling her nose and cheek. “We can’t have that, now, can we? Why copy a job when one can improve upon it?”

 

“
A
ll I want is a quiet beer,” Darak said to Nia, raising his voice over the din. “Where’s the mystery?”

The New Year’s crowd at the Empire was rocking, the bar three and four people deep. Darak had both elbows out, guarding his territory. Daisy was asleep at his feet.

Nia seemed to hold her spot by being female, exotic, and wearing nothing to speak of. There was more of that cosmetic glittery powder against her ebony skin than actual clothing. The werebear beside her looked ready to offer marriage.

“The mystery, my friend, is in how you think you can prevent me from helping you to pluck the guts from this King of the East.” Nia gave him her squinty-eyed look, which said he was likely to end up with an arrow in his ass if he tried to sneak away. “I am the perfect choice for your hostage. I am beautiful. Men never expect a beautiful woman to cut their throats.”

“No.”

“Who else would you choose?”

“No one. No hostages.”

“You think you can get close to him without playing his game?”

“How close do I need to be? I’m just stepping on a bug.”

“Bugs bite.”

Darak sighed. There were only a handful of people he let backtalk him, and they’d all known him since before the Dark Ages. It was hard to fool someone who’d been at your side since togas went out of fashion.

There was the whole problem: You couldn’t replace people like that. They were his chosen kin. “I want to go after this fool alone because he’s a crazy sorcerer. They’re always bad news. How can I hand you over to him?”

“Bad news is my meat and drink.” Nia took a sip of her cocktail. It was mauve with a flower floating in it. “And I’m bored. Stop trying to keep me—all of us—safe. After this long, it’s getting very old. You should have told us what the ghost girl said right away. You should have let us help you look for the necromancer. Enough of that. In three hours you will take me to the pier, and I will play my role as a poor, helpless slave girl. You’re not doing this alone.”

Darak grunted something that was neither a yes or no. He was watching the bartender, Joe, who was holding a cell phone to one ear and his finger in the other. By his face, he was getting bad news. It seemed to be going around.

Joe’s gaze flicked up, meeting Darak’s face. He began walking toward him, closing the phone. He leaned on the bar, bringing his face close to Darak’s so that he could be heard. “You met Lore, the Alpha hellhound, a few nights ago?”

“Yeah.”

“He has a message for you.”

“What?”

“He needs your help.”

Darak sat back on his stool.
Great. Now what?
“What makes him think I care?”

Joe shrugged. “He does this prophecy thing. He said you made a promise to a ghost.”

Darak’s skin went cold. “What did you say?”

“He said to say the airports are open. If you plan on doing something, meet him at this address now.” Joe grabbed a napkin and wrote something down. He slid it across the bar.

Nia picked it up. “What has this got to do with your ghost?”

Joe gave them a dark look. “Our friend Talia is missing.”

 

 

Perry Baker lived in an apartment on the ground floor of a Victorian-era warehouse in Spookytown, the entrance off of a parking lot at the rear. Iron stairs zigzagged up its brick face, a few of the railings sporting Christmas decorations. Security lights winked on as Lore made his way around the building, casting harsh shadows in the snow. Someone had cleared a path through the drifts. Bit by bit, Fairview was getting a handle on its Winter Wonderland status.

His mood was far from festive.

Lore had dreamed last night, or perhaps it was a prophecy. As usual, he wasn’t sure which and he had no idea what to make of what he saw: Talia throwing a knife at him, a look of deep anger in her eyes. He could still see the whirling blade, the
thwop-thwop
of it as it spun through the air. In the dream, he was leaping, trying to get out of the way. Fear rippled through him, but he wasn’t sure what was the real threat. In the murky dream-state, he’d known there was something worse than the knife coming his way.

He’d jerked awake next to Talia’s still form, his heart pounding. He was sick to death of nightmares. First Mavritte with a blade, and now Talia. How come the women in his dreams never had plates of food, or mugs of beer, or scented massage oils? Just for a change, it would be nice. But now he couldn’t find Talia. Was that what the dream meant? Was the knife the sharp stab of worry in his heart?

Lore had called a meeting of his friends. They needed to regroup and make plans because the airports had opened and Omara was on her way. The timing sucked. He had a splitting headache, and he was deeply worried about Talia. He had to find her, but he had no idea where she was—not at the condo, not at the Empire, not in Spookytown, and not at the cop shop. He needed help.

The headache was one of the curses of being the Alpha. He’d been sitting in Bevan’s living room and talking to the Elders when another prophecy had ridden in on a mother of a migraine headache. Through the blinding lights and nausea, he’d seen Darak making a promise to a filmy presence Lore couldn’t fully make out, but he’d heard Talia’s name. Whatever happened next, the rogue vampire would play a role—and it would involve her.

Two prophecies in twenty-four hours? Unusual to say the least. That in itself set his ruff standing on end.

The headache would fade, but worry dug in like the talons of a raptor. Talia had a talent for vanishing—from his condo, from the hospital, and now from Osan Mina’s house.
The woman is pure chaos
. At least this time, he was almost certain that she was with Baines. But why? Had she gone on her own? Had Baines forced her? Why hadn’t she told him where she was going?

They weren’t at the police station. As the cop on the phone had pointed out, they’d not been gone two hours. Talia was an adult. Lore should chill out.
Sure
. After all he and Talia had been through, it was impossible not to fear the worst. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, as if he could protect the spark between them with his own bones and muscle. Last night had meant everything. Talia had been everything. Brave, vulnerable, generous—those qualities that drew him to her had been there in her lovemaking. Also, that chaotic, unpredictable element. After living by the rules of the pack for so long, the surprise of her was intoxicating.

When the storm of lovemaking had been spent, he’d slept beside Talia, his body desperate for rest. On top of crime, death, and Mavritte, the venom had taken its mind- and body-blowing toll, but more than an urge to sleep had kept him there.

Hellhounds guarded—and he wanted to guard her. Forever. No one else brought the kind of peace he felt when his fingers brushed her skin. No one—hound, human, or anything else—drew his eyes and filled him with her scent the way Talia did. In a matter of days, she had become the center of his thoughts.

But she wasn’t a hellhound.
This isn’t supposed to happen.
Too bad. His soul knew who it wanted, and that was that.
I don’t care. I want her, and she obviously needs someone to cover her back for once.
What she had been through in her existence was appalling, even by Castle standards.

Anxiety sparking through his limbs, Lore crunched through the snow with extra force. He crossed the parking lot. Some of the cars were dusted off, others still lumps of snow. A trail of footprints led the way to his destination. He wasn’t the first to arrive.

Sometime before Christmas, Perry had hung a stuffed toy on the door—a wolf’s head with a Santa hat and flashing red nose. Santa Claws. Lore had to push it aside to find the knocker.

He’d barely rapped twice when Errata opened the apartment door, looking like someone had stepped on her tail. Behind her, he could see Perry’s black and white kitchen. It was a little messy, but well stocked with cookbooks and cans of food on the open shelving. Lore knew Perry had wooed more than one woman with his spaghetti Bolognese.

Errata met Lore’s eyes with a desperate expression. “I can’t stand the man. Would you
please
take him back to the hospital and chain him to a bed.”