Frostbound (38 page)

“Are you okay?” Darak asked, studying her face.

“Yes,” Talia said, hearing her voice shake. “I used to be one of them.”

Talia realized what she’d just said, and felt her whole body turn to ice.
This is where he fights me, or we fight the Hunters together.

But Darak seemed undisturbed as a block of granite. “They’ll kill you. You know that, right?”

“Yeah. I’m a monster.”

He gave her a piercing look. “Only if you want to be. Being a vampire gives you power. How you use it is up to you.”

Talia couldn’t take her eyes from her father. “I want to pull their plug.”

The huge vampire made a satisfied noise. “Got a plan?”

“The Hunters will use Errata as a living shield. They’ll make their way to the exit assuming we’ll hang back, but they always kill their hostages at the last minute. The only chance we have of saving her is to get close enough to take out the Hunters before they know we’re there.”

Darak looked at her, a crease between his brows. “How do we do that?”

“Just get me one of their uniforms.”

“You sure about this?”

Frustrated, Talia snatched her sleeve, pulling it up, exposing the Hunter tattoo. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Okay, then.” Darak gave her a mock salute. “The killer babe is in charge.”

“Damned straight.”

“Stay here.” He slipped out of the hiding place, seeming to vanish once he reached the corridor. For such a huge man, that was impressive.

She leaned her head against the cold stone wall, simmering with impatience. Every memory of her long years of training flooded back to her. Planning what to do next took less than a minute. Most of the rescue would have to be improvisation, based on what she knew of the Hunters.

The hard part was turning on her family. It should have been easy, but right and wrong was for the brain. Going against the loyalties drummed into her from the cradle was going to break her heart.

But, sooner or later, she had to decide who Talia was. She wasn’t the soldier her father had left on the battlefield, or the monster he’d banished from his table—and she sure as hell wasn’t the scared girl who followed his orders even though her conscience screamed every time they went out on a hunt.

And none of that would mean a thing to him. Whatever she did next had to be done because it was right, not because it settled a score or proved a point. She would never change the way her father thought.

Darak returned with a Hunter’s vest, utility belt, and two rifles. “There were dead nearby,” he said tersely, thrusting the gear at her but keeping one rifle for himself. “I’ll lurk in the shadows. They didn’t have anything in my size.”

“You don’t need to come with me,” Talia said. “I can do this alone.”

“Sure you can,” he said, watching her pull the vest over her blood-spattered clothes. “Shut up and tell me what you’re going to do.”

A surge of gratitude loosened the knot of apprehension in her chest. “I catch up to them. The uniform will fool them for about a second, but hopefully that’s all I need.”

“For what?”

“Follow my lead.”

“I don’t like that plan.”

“Too bad.” Talia took off at a run, praying they weren’t too late.

The Hunters were only a few minutes away from the exit in the Castle alley. As Talia had predicted, her father had a gun to Errata’s head. Max walked next to him. There were two other Hunters following in the rear. She could see the red glint of hellhound eyes in the shadows up ahead, watching the Hunters as they passed, but the hounds were helpless to attack. Talia prayed the hounds recognized her as a friend, despite the borrowed gear.

Talia caught up to the uniformed men. Her father turned to acknowledge the troop joining his team, and in that split second Talia had to act. She gave a short, sharp whistle, the band’s signal for danger ahead.

As she’d hoped, every Hunter jerked their attention forward, away from her. Talia smashed the butt of her rifle into her old neighbor’s head, knocking him unconscious, then delivered a solid kick to the man on her other side.

Surprise was on her side. Talia wheeled and kicked the rifle out of her father’s hand and yanked Errata out of his grasp. “Go!” she yelled.

Errata sprinted for freedom.

Talia’s heart leaped with victory. She spun around, ready to follow, but her luck ran dry. She felt her gun hand wrenched behind her back, the sudden pain forcing her to drop her weapon. She swung her free arm, only to feel the slice of a blade so sharp it took a moment for the nerves to summon pain. A moment later, there was the cold kiss of a knife at her throat.

“How dare you show your face to me?”

The rough, hard edge of her father’s voice sawed through her, bringing a rush of confused emotions. Panic. Disbelief. Disappointment. Hatred. Somewhere under all that, the memory of loving him.

“Don’t kill me, Daddy.” She could see the tip of the knife from the corner of her eye. It was the big Bowie knife her father had always carried. Big enough to—eventually—take off her head.

“Please, Daddy.”

“I’m
not
your father.”

“No, don’t!” yelled Max.

She felt the knife bite into her skin. The sharp, hot pain wrenched a scream from her.

 

The news from aboveground was good. The queen was safe and under the watchful eyes of Clan Thanatos as well as her own armed guard.

 

While Lore’s hounds secured the dense south end of the tunnels, his Beta’s crew and the wolves of Pack Silvertail had tightened the other sides of the net. Many of Belenos’s vampires had been caught or killed. When the news came that Talia was safe and had killed their sire, the fight had gone out of them.

More hounds and wolves had arrived with the werebears. Baines had called them, and they arrived just in time to have a share in the final roundup. There was also a heavy police contingent aboveground, covering every exit they could find.

Lore was satisfied with the progress so far, but there were too many questions left unanswered. To begin with, where was Talia? No one had seen her or Errata since they’d been separated from Joe.

Instead, he found Mavritte leaning against a wall, her leathers running with blood. She was staring at the floor.

Lore studied her face. “Thank you for fighting so bravely today.”

“I am no coward.” She gave him a hard look. “I have not forgotten my challenge to you.”

“Even with everything that has happened tonight?”

“What has this to do with the pack? It is a war of vampires. Hellhound business has not been resolved.” She turned her face away, speaking so softly he barely heard her. “Though I see what you love in your vampire.”

That surprised him. “You do?”

“She killed her sire. She is a warrior without fear. But she is not one of us.”

“Does that matter so much?”

She looked sad and tired. “The pack leaders must put the pack before all. How can a vampire put the hounds first? It goes against nature.”

Lore was silent.

“Without a strong Alpha, there will be no future for us. No anything. The legends say there will be no young.”

“You speak of legends. Traditions. We live in a different world now.”

Mavritte poked him in the chest. She smelled of sweat and blood and gunpowder. “Do you not dream in prophecy? Do you not smell evil on the air? Are we not demon kin? You cannot believe what you want and ignore the rest.”

“I will not let tradition trample what I know in my soul to be right. And I will not fight you.”

“Then you can wage all the wars you like and remain a coward. It is the battle on the hearth that counts.” Mavritte turned away, contempt in her eyes. “If the home is not strong, the kingdom has no foundation to rest on. The Alpha must have the strongest house of all. You have no true mate. You have nothing.”

Lore was momentarily speechless.

Then they heard Talia’s shriek of pain.

 

Lore scrambled into the tunnel, morphing into hound form as he ran.

He looked first for Talia. She was down and bleeding from the neck and arm.

Errata stood to one side. She had a gun, but didn’t seem to know what to do with it.

One Hunter was down on the ground, but another, who was bleeding from the head, flew through the air. Darak lifted a third over his head like a sack of flour.

Lore had to get to Talia, but there was an obstacle. Two more Hunters—Talia’s brother and an older man—were wrestling on the floor and in his way. It looked like Max was trying to grapple for a knife. They both looked up to see Lore at the same time. In their surprise, the knife went skittering across the floor.

Lore gave a warning growl. The older one grabbed for a rifle that was lying on the ground.
Mercury bullets
. Bad news, because Lore’s strength was close to tapped out. The odds of pulling off that disappearing trick again tonight were low to none.

Rage slammed into him. He had to try. That was his mate wounded on the ground.

Kill. Protect.
Lowering his massive bulk into a crouch, Lore bared huge, white teeth, his growl echoing like an earthquake down the tunnel. Someone screamed. Lore bounded forward, massive paws raised to trap and crush.

The older Hunter raised the rifle.

But Talia had lunged for the knife and thrown it a fraction of a second before, a look of deep anger in her eyes. He could still see the whirling blade, the
thwopthwop
of it as it spun through the air. It was the same moment as had been in his prophecy.

Lore twisted in the air, giving extra clearance for the knife’s path. The rifle fired. Lore had a moment of freefall as he waited for the tearing of the mercury bullets through his belly.

But they never did. He felt them skim by, a hot flick against his skin.

When he hit the ground, the knife had drawn a long, bloody slash down the older man’s arm. Lore landed with a clumsy thump and roll, coming to his feet in time to see the two men disappearing down the tunnel. Darak chased after them.

Talia was weeping, the harsh, racking sobs of heartbreak. Lore padded over to her. Her neck was bloody, but it wasn’t bleeding. There was a wound in her arm that was far worse.

He didn’t think it was the cut she was crying about.

Lore curled up on the ground, pushing his body against her thigh, and put his chin on her knee, peering up at her. Hellhounds weren’t known for their appeal, but he gave it his best doggy-soulful try.

She hiccupped. “Oh, stop it.”

He whined and licked her face, but just once.

She squeezed her eyes shut, burying her hands in his fur, kneading the ruff of his neck. It felt like heaven. “That was my father.”

A fresh bout of tears seized her. He melted back into his human form, and held her close against his chest.

“But I didn’t let him kill Errata,” she said. “I stopped him. I stopped my father.”

 

“
H
appy New Year and best wishes from your friends at CSUP Radio, coming to you from the University of Fairview campus. This is Signy White filling in for Errata Jones.

“Here’s a piece of British folklore for you. Remember, ladies, that if the first person to enter your home on New Year’s Day is a tall, dark-haired male, it’s good luck. They call this man the first-footer. They don’t say what they’d call it if he had four feet.

“What the heck. Tall, dark, and lucky? I’m open to that kind of visitor any day of the year.”

 

 

Once she was in the clear air aboveground, Talia remembered that the sewer exit was a stone’s throw from the Castle doorway. Guards were there, two in hound form, two in human. The old, stained brick of the alley glittered with frost, waves of snow clinging to the bottom of the walls. The middle of the alley gleamed with ice. Just then, the carillon at the museum began ringing in the New Year. Above, the fireworks from the harbor started. A thunderclap filled the air as a Roman candle flared to life overhead.

A dozen yards away, a bare patch had grown around the back door of a Chinese food restaurant that someone had propped open with a huge white plastic bucket. The doorway exhaled gusts of chow mein–scented steam as if the whole of Fairview had ordered in for their latenight celebration.

As Talia got her bearings, one of the hellhound guards from the Castle doorway ran over, calling something to Lore in their own language. Lore replied tersely, and the guard reversed course.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“I asked him to get help.”

She suddenly felt faint. “Help? Aren’t we done for tonight?”

Lore turned her to look at her arm, his touch kind but no-nonsense. “For you. Your arm is bleeding. A vampire should have healed by now.”

Talia realized what he said was true. She hadn’t had a big injury since she’d been Turned, but she’d seen other vampires bounce back from the most horrific trauma. Life with Belenos was nothing if not educational. “Silver blade.”

He looked up, a touch of fear in his eyes. “We’ll get you looked after.”

“I’m tough,” she said.
I’m dead. Could I actually bleed to death?

He slid his arm around her waist. “Good.”

There was another explosion overhead. It sounded like a cannon shot, but incongruous sparkles of gold dusted the sky. Talia let herself lean against Lore’s chest, his coat rough against her cheek. If she admitted it, the pain and hunger and slow blood loss were wearing her down—but she didn’t admit it. That was the first thing a Hunter learned: If you don’t believe in pain, it can’t hurt you.
Yeah, right. So much for that theory. It bloody well hurts, Dad, so stick it in your ear.