Frostbound (9 page)

Talia pulled up the right sleeve of her sweater. Twin Hunter sabers, crossed at the hilt, were inked on the inside of her forearm. Against pale vampire skin, the fine detailing would never fade or blur. Nor could she ever get the damned thing off. Everything she wore, however fashionable, would be long-sleeved. Forever.

She made a fist, the design shifting along her skin. She’d never been big, but she’d always been good with firearms. She’d also been a risk-taker to the point of stupidity. She’d wanted her father’s approval and at sixteen, she’d made her first kill. A ghoul. He’d given Talia the tattoo as a reward.

It was hardly a reward now. Everyone knew the Hunters’ symbol. If the nonhumans ever saw the tattoo, she would be torn to shreds. Of course, now that she was one of the monsters, the Hunters only saw her as something fit to kill. Undeath was filled with interesting ironies.

Talia pulled the sleeve down again. What was she? Hunter? Monster? Teacher?

Talia blinked, tears of frustration and sadness misting the lights into a blurry wash. The pillow felt cool against her cheek. She’d been in that room, on that bed, almost long enough that it was starting to smell more like her than the hellhound.

It smelled like grief.

Then grow a spine, will ya?
She took a long, shaky breath, fumbling for enough anger to push her into action. Half her instincts screamed to hop the first night bus heading out of town. The other half was crying out for vengeance.

Either way, she had to get out of Lore’s bedroom.
What would happen if he found out I was a Hunter?
Ground vampire patties with extra ketchup, probably.

No one was going to save her but herself. Heroes on white horses were a myth.
I am not a victim
. She rolled onto her back, scanning the room for escape possibilities.

First, she needed a tool to get out of the cuffs. She wiggled toward the bedside table, stretching as far as the handcuffs would allow. There was just enough play to let her slide the drawer open and feel inside. Not much there—just a library book on how to fix kitchen appliances and a pack of spearmint gum. She pushed the drawer shut.

On top of the nightstand were a bedside light, an alarm clock, and some tattered paperback books. She turned the spines of the books toward her. Lore’s reading tastes leaned toward Westerns of the lone-gunmansaves-the-town variety. It suited him.

Despite her fear, she’d noticed a few choice details about her captor. The broad spread of his chest, the slim hips, the skin shades darker than her own, as if he’d labored outdoors in the hot sun. A working man.

But not just a muscled body. Those dark eyes held an entire universe of sorrow. Lore was the sort of puzzle a woman could get lost in solving. She knew the type of guy. Just one more piece, and the picture—or his soul—would reveal itself.

Yeah, right.
The guy had chained her up. She was so out of there. She would not waste time dissecting his psyche.

Instead, she was going to dismantle his alarm clock. Talia’s hand closed over it, feeling the vibration of its ticks. It was one of the old wind-up ones, the kind with a round face and twin bells on top. There should be something inside she could use to pick the lock of the handcuffs. She’d learned the whole Houdini skill set as a kid, along with every kind of combat drill going. Who needed summer camp when you had Dad and Uncle Yuri?

She dragged the clock onto the bed and turned it over. It seemed a shame to break it, but oh well. She popped the brass case off its back and watched the gears tick for a moment. There was a pin at the top that connected the hammer that rang the alarm to a spring. It looked almost like a hairpin. It would do, as long as the metal was neither too soft nor too brittle.

Holding the clock down as best she could with her cuffed hand, she dismantled the gears with the other. Once she had the pin out, she spent some time bending it so that it had a slight curve at the end, almost a hook. Holding it parallel to the cuff, she slid it just inside the lock, where there was a tiny notch in the keyhole. Applying even pressure to the pin, she levered it away from her. The lock gave a satisfying snick. She twisted her cuffed wrist at the same time, grinning with satisfaction as the mechanism gave way. She rubbed her wrists, glad to finally be free of the silver. The cuffs had scraped her skin raw.

Talia rolled off the bed, crossing to the window and looking out. Cold air seeped through the glass, a rim of ice forming at the bottom of the pane. With no breath to fog the window, Talia was able to lean in, her vision unobstructed.

Snow was falling at a brisk pace. That was going to add an interesting wrinkle to her escape. Before long, the roads would be clogged. She had to get moving.

She didn’t want to ever see the place where she’d found her cousin’s body again, but there was no way around it. She would just have to figure out how to get past the cops. She wasn’t going anywhere without her weapons, cash, and decent boots. The dainty ankle boots she had on would be useless in this much snow.

And if the dog got in her way, she’d send him to obedience school. No one caught Talia Rostova twice.

 

D
arak had followed the evil to the fire, but there wasn’t a lot to see once he got there. Bystanders, police, a city pound’s worth of hellhounds were all doing what needed to be done—but none of that interested him.

The fire itself was okay, but he’d seen better sorcery. This one was a little heavy on the whole melting-walls thing. Showy and dramatic, but a lot of energy wasted to get a simple job done.

What got his attention was what the spell slinger had targeted. Campaign office—well, why not hit the most controversial location in town? But a medical clinic—that made Darak mad. It was always the ordinary folk who got it in the neck when the powerful began throwing their weight around.

He paced the sidewalk beyond the perimeter set by the fire brigade. Smuts fell from the sky with the snow, looking as if the flakes themselves were burning. One fell on his cuff and he flicked it away, feeling a hot kiss of embers.

There was no trace of the spell caster here. The sense of evil was dying from the scene along with the flames, burning down into a gray ash of wilted magic. By morning, it would be no more than a shiver up the spine.

That didn’t do him a bit of good. Frustrated, Darak turned and stalked back along the sidewalk again. There should have been more. He wasn’t a magic user, but he knew something about it. A sorcerer didn’t just pull this kind of energy out of his ass. It had to come from somewhere: a sacred object, a ley line, or maybe a sacrifice.

There was nothing here. Whoever had cast the spell had raised the energy someplace else and redirected it. Darak glared back at the fire and its halo of snow and ash.

It was then he saw the woman. She was standing a few feet away, wearing nothing but a blouse and navy blue skirt. Her brown hair was neatly cut at shoulder length. She was shivering, clutching her arms because she had no coat.

Oh, no.
He had a bad feeling, but he walked over anyway.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She looked up at him, frowning the way some people did because they had to look up, and then up some more to find his face. “I’m not sure how I got here,” she said, her voice holding both fear and annoyance. “It’s snowing. It never snows here.”

Darak took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “Here.”

Its size drowned her, but she looked grateful. Pausing to look around again, she seemed to notice the fire. “Is that the clinic?”

“Yeah. Too bad about that.” He was wearing a pullover, but the wind bit through the loose weave. The whole chivalry thing obviously came from warmer climates.

“I hope the nurses don’t lose their jobs.” She looked confused. “You know, I think I need to go home.”

He’d been expecting it. “Want me to walk you?”

“Please. I’d like that.”

He offered her his arm. He was the last thing from a gentleman and most of the time was barely polite, but there was a time and a place to show respect. “Where do you live?”

She hesitated, searching the streets around them, then seemed to get her bearings. “Over this way.”

Dread settled into his bones. He wondered how far it was, and how much time he had to talk to her. This sort of thing never got easier, no matter how many centuries rolled past.

They set off in silence, taking shortcuts through an alley and a schoolyard. The chain-link fence around the playground sparkled with frost. Darak stayed close to her side, careful not to let her out of his sight for even a second.

“I just got home tonight,” the woman said.

He noticed she was pretty in a fresh, simple way. In other circumstances, she would have been pleasant to look at for hours on end.

“I was going to spend the night with my cousin,” she added.

“Yeah?”

“She’s like you.”

“Like me?”

“You know. A vampire.” She gave him a shy glance. “Sorry. I seem to be saying whatever pops into my head. I’m usually a better conversationalist than this.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He wasn’t much good at small talk at the best of times. “So your cousin’s a vampire?”

“I was kind of afraid, but if no one ever gave Talia a break.. . . ” She trailed off, then stopped, turning to Darak. With a pleading gesture, she put one hand on his chest. “You’ve got to make sure she’s okay.”

They always made a request. It usually came near the end, so they had to be close to where it had happened.

He looked around. There were a lot of nice buildings, a few houses. Where would a woman like this live? Of course. Cop cars, over there. It looked like the kind of street that should have been quiet, but tonight it was jammed with ominous flashing lights and men with uniforms.

She was still looking at him, her eyes dark with worry. She barely came up to his collar bone.
It’s surprising how many ask to keep their loved ones safe
.

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll check on her. Talia, right?” One vampire shouldn’t be hard to find.

“I’d really appreciate it.” She gave him a quick, uncertain smile. “My feet are so cold.”

That would be because she was barefoot, but he didn’t point it out. “Is that your building over there?”

“Y-yes. Wow, look at all the police. I wonder what’s going on. Think somebody had a break-in?”

“Why don’t we go in the back way?”

“Good idea.”

Gently, he guided her to the corner, and they crossed with the lights. Nice and easy.

As they went around to the parking lot, she started to become agitated, looking nervously around her. They were passing through the rows of cars, stepping over the concrete ribs that kept them in tidy lines. “Thank you for walking with me.”

“No problem. What’s your name?”

“Michelle.”

The back door was still a fair distance away, its light making a pool on the gathering snow. A single cop stood outside, looking bored.

She started violently, colliding with Darak in terror of something only she could see. His coat slid off her shoulders and fell into the snow. He caught her, wrapping his arm around her so that she was caged against his chest. He crouched down between a truck and an SUV, letting her sink safely to the ground. “Hey, take it easy. You’re not alone. I’m here.”

“What’s happening?” Trembling like a fever victim, her slight weight began to fade.

They weren’t going to make it through the door before her spirit fled the earth.

“Tell me what happened, Michelle.”

Clamping her hands around her head, she shrieked, a piercing wail that reverberated through his bones. He hushed her, cradling her against his body. “Sh. You’re safe.”

Necromancy
.

The word burned hot in his gut. He knew this for what it was now. The spell caster had gotten his power from this woman’s murder. Now that the spell was winding down, she got to live through the horror all over again.

She was panting, a sheen of sweat coating her fine features despite the cold. “He came for me. He said it was a warning to Talia that she was next. Watch out for her. Please. Please.”

“I will. I promise.”

Her eyes grew wide, seeing something or someone looming closer. She raised her hands, warding off an invisible blow.

“Michelle—”

Stripes of blood blossomed on her hands.

“No!” He shielded her with both his arms, using his size and bulk to ward off the horror that only she could see.

She screamed again, so loudly that Darak squeezed his eyes shut.

In that split second, she was gone. He crouched in the parking lot, his skull still splitting from the noise.

The cop didn’t come running. He hadn’t heard a thing. It was Darak’s special curse to see and hear the dead. One he loathed violently each and every day.

He picked up his jacket and stuffed his arms through the sleeves, sending the buckles and zippers jangling. Darak turned toward the back door with its single guard. It would be easy enough to hypnotize the human into letting him have a quiet look through the building. Odds were there would be no clues to the necromancer’s identity, but he had to look.

Slowly, he got to his feet, swallowing hard as if he were choking something down. He rested his hand for a moment on the hood of the truck, taking a long breath of the icy air.

Pluto’s balls, he hated these encounters. A hard ache lurked where his heart should have beaten. This jackass with a spell book had ruined Darak’s evening. He had completely messed with Michelle’s.

The jackass had to die.