“Another out of towner here for the election? Place is crawling with activists and looky-loos.”
For the first time, a vampire was standing for office in Fairview’s municipal election, and it was the first time nonhumans would be allowed to vote. Giving the monsters the vote was either Judgment Day or the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, depending on whom you asked.
Lore shrugged. “The vamp and I didn’t stop to chat.”
“What’s his name?”
Lore handed back the pen and clipboard. “I’ve no idea. You need anything else for your report?”
“Nope.”
“Have a good night,” Lore said.
The cop didn’t respond, but got in the passenger side. The van was in motion before the door closed. The cop was afraid, and the smell of it made Lore’s stomach cramp with hunger.
“Hey, there. Barking at the moon yet?”
Lore glanced in the direction of the voice. Perry Baker was ambling toward him from the direction of the corner store. The werewolf had a take-out coffee cup in one hand, mounded with whipping cream and chocolate shavings. Most shape-shifters had a sweet tooth. Something to do with the energy burn of changing forms.
“Hey,” Lore said as his friend came to a stop beside him. “What brings you here?”
The werewolf yawned, showing strong teeth. “I needed a break.”
“Feeling the need to get down and dirty on the streets?”
“The only thing I’m feeling right now is a slight sugar buzz.” Perry shrugged, slurping the elaborate coffee. Like Lore, he was in his late twenties, but where the hellhounds were tall and big-boned, built for brute strength, the wolves were lean and wiry. His young, intelligent face was drawn with fatigue. “And the onset of a migraine. I’ve been marking Comp Sci exams most of the day. Who knew a doctorate meant slow death by HB pencil?”
Lore took out his cell phone, checking messages. There were plenty from pack members, but no more reports of bar fights or break-ins. “Looks quiet.”
“Dinner?” Perry asked.
Lore still had the taste of the cop’s fear in his mouth. “Sure.”
By unspoken consent, they headed north toward Lore’s place. There was a good burger joint around the corner that served their meat extra-rare. They walked a few blocks in silence, Lore’s senses on alert.
“So,” Perry said. “How’s sheriff duty going?”
“There’s something evil in Fairview.”
Perry gave him a long look. “Uh, care to narrow that down?”
The wolf had a point. Fairview was supernatural central. Lore’s own people had escaped here through a portal from a prison dimension. A few short years ago, while Perry had been wondering what degree to take next, Lore had been fighting for survival in a demonfilled dungeon.
The memory of the Castle—the deaths, the deprivation and slavery of the hellhounds—pissed Lore off all over again. Wanting to bite something, he kicked the base of a lamppost instead. Tension sang in his muscles. “I felt something.”
“As in, an Alpha hellhound psychic gift kind of feeling?”
Lore frowned. It had been a premonition—the Alpha had the gift of prophetic dreams—but he could feel it too, just hovering on the edge of awareness. It was like a hair-raising charge of static. “I am the protector of my pack. Caravelli left me to guard the safety of the city. A large cloud of evil intent is floating around. I need to kill it.”
The werewolf raised an eyebrow. “You see, that’s why I hang out with you. Every time it’s like, wham, I’m in a Doctor Who episode.”
Lore grunted a reply. Now that he wasn’t working up a sweat fighting, his hands were starting to ache from the cold. He slid them into the pockets of his jacket. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Hey, you’re the premonition guy. You say there’s floaty badness, I believe you.” Perry slurped his drink again, but now he was watching the night, too, the set of his head and shoulders alert. Steam rose off the cup in filmy clouds, clogging the air with a syrupy-sweet smell.
Lore cast a glance at his friend. “Does floaty badness worry you?”
“I’m not sure yet. For me, magic is just another science.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t have your sixth sense. I like data.”
They were across the street from Lore’s condo building when a white and blue taxi pulled up at the building entrance. Both males watched as a young woman got out. The cabbie hauled a suitcase out of the trunk and held the door as she made her way into the lobby. She wore a navy blue uniform under a dark pea jacket. The short skirt left slim legs bare. Lore caught a glimpse of her face: long dark hair with bangs, high cheekbones, a pointed chin. Elfin more than beautiful.
Close, but not quite the woman he’d hoped to see. Not the one who reminded his body that it was past time to choose a mate.
I don’t have time to watch women. Something is out there. But he couldn’t turn away, even from this pale ghost of the one he wanted.
Suddenly his pulse felt hot and thick.
“Who’s that?” Perry asked with avid interest. “I mean, impending evil and all, but look at those legs.”
Lore had. Repeatedly. “She lives in fifteen-twenty-four.”
So did another woman who might have been her sister—someone less observant might have mistaken them for twins. Lore had never figured those two out. This one wasn’t home much. The other—the beautiful one—was a vamp, with all the mysterious allure of the Undead female. They were never home at the same time, and never with anyone else.
Perry cut Lore a glance. “You know her suite number off the top of your head?”
“Guarding is in my genetics. I watch the building for intruders. I know who belongs where.”
“I suppose you know her name and phone number, too.”
He had spoken to this woman—the human—once. They’d exchanged the bland chitchat of strangers while they’d waited for the elevator. “I know the name on the mailbox.”
Perry looked amused. “You could go borrow a cup of sugar. One look at her and I want to make cookies.”
“And they call me a hound dog.”
“Ooh, ouch.” Perry tossed his empty coffee cup into the concrete garbage bin by the curb. It arced neatly and clattered inside.
The door closed, and the woman disappeared.
Perry let out a gust of breath. “So, what do you want to do about the situation?”
Which situation was that?
Hellhounds couldn’t lie. Lore struggled a moment against a compulsion to tell his friend the truth. I want to find the beautiful one and take her, even if she isn’t one of my kind. Even if it’s utterly against hellhound law. But he would rather stick his head in a ghoul’s nest than have that conversation.
Fortunately, there was another way to answer. “You know your way around a spell book as well as a mainframe. Help me find out what dark presence I’m sensing, and I’ll pay for dinner.”
The werewolf rolled his eyes, obviously catching Lore’s evasion. “Okay, Romeo. Just don’t get ketchup on my grimoire.”
Chapter 2
Tuesday, December 28, 7:45 p.m.
North Central Shopping Center
Nothing brings out the predators like a seventypercent-off sale.
Talia Rostova wheeled her Prius into the North Central Shopping Center for their After-Christmas Clearance Madness. The lot was jammed, vehicles crawling over the icy pavement in a slow-motion game of musical parking spaces. Exhaust clouded the cold air like the breath of dragons.
Talia thought of all those lovely bargains in the sales flyer, and felt a pang of unease. She’d been delayed at the nail salon, and now the door-crasher specials were in full swing. The mall was giving out half-price coupons for designer leather wear at eight o’clock sharp.
Unfortunately, it was now seven forty-five, and she still had to park.
Crum.
Aggression hung in the air, vibrating like a sour note above the rum
ble of engines and the crunch of tires on the frosty ground. Talia shivered, the mood rousing her own adrenaline. A vampire knew bloodlust when she sensed it. Bargain-hunters could be serious fiends, with or without pointy teeth.
Talia zipped into the last empty parking spot almost before she saw it. I may be dead, but I’m fast. Someone honked. Talia bared her fangs at the honker’s blinding headlights, and the noise stopped.
Talia locked the car door and trotted toward the entrance of Howard’s Department Store, the heels of her suede ankle boots slipping on the slick pavement. The temperature had been dropping all day, and the rain had frozen into treacherous patches of black ice. Vampire or not, she’d be flat on her designer-denim backside if she wasn’t careful.
Howard’s was still decked in Christmas splendor, all tinsel garlands and fairy lights. The glitter delighted her, pulling her through the doors like a fish on a line. Talia’s family hadn’t been into celebrating—that was Dad all over, every minute all about work even when she and her brother were little. Too bad she had to die to experience a little ho-ho-ho.
A kid of about fourteen shoulder-checked her as he pushed past. Jerked out of her thoughts, Talia grabbed him by the collar, hauling him up until his high-tops barely touched the floor. Bad for the manicure—after all, the polish was barely dry—but oh so squirmydelicious. Her jaws began to ache, itching to bite. The kid’s blood would be hot and tasty.
“Mind your manners,” she said, showing a bit of teeth.
“Says who?”
“Says your nightmares. Y’know, I used to dream of doing this when I taught school. So how are you doing in English Lit?” She grinned wider.
The boy turned the color of Cream of Wheat, kicking against the iron strength in Talia’s thin wrist. After a moment, the disbelief in his eyes melted to terror. She let him go, giving just enough shove to make him skitter.
“Skinny vampire bitch! The law’s gonna stake your ass. Just you wait.” He dove into the crowd before she could catch him again.
Stupid brat. Talia drew a breath, squashing the urge to pursue the running prey. Inhaling only brought a wave of warm, blood-scented air. She sucked in her lower lip. Too many humans around. Shouldn’t have done that.
Calm, calm, calm. Close your eyes and think of coupons . Talia blinked, straightening her coat and scarf, swallowing down the saliva that suddenly filled her mouth. She’d been Turned for only three years. Her body still got ahead of her mind half the time. It made it hard to fit in.
Nope, shouldn’t have done that. It had been pure instinct. It had felt so good. You’re supposed to be under the radar, not making the headlines because you chomped on a mall rat. You’re as good as finally, totally dead if somebody back home sees your picture.
Her phone jingled “Material Girl.” Who had her number? She fished it out of her purse, her throat closing with panic. If anyone finds you . . .
It was suddenly too hot in the store. She turned around and headed back toward the entrance, the primitive part of her brain screaming that she had to flee. Her eyes skated over the caller ID the first time without reading it. The second time, she realized it was her own home phone number.
What the hell? Who was at her place? For a second, she froze, but curiosity won out.
She answered. “Hello?”
“Hey, girl, guess what.”
Oh, thank God, it was Michelle. Relief made Talia suddenly giddy. “What are you doing home? You’re not supposed to be there! I thought you were gone for weeks yet.”
“You make it sound like I’m back from outer space.” Her chuckle was dry.
“You might as well be.”
Michelle was a hostess on the Queen Anne cruises, gone for months at a time. Since she was rarely in Fairview, she’d given Talia use of her condo.
“Yeah, well, some of the vacationers certainly behave like they’re in orbit. So what are you doing?”
“Shopping. I came for a door-crasher special, but I think I missed out on the coupons.” I was busy sowing terror and dismay.
“Poor baby. I’d have thought you were bored with shopping. I mean, it was never your thing before, well, before.”
“Hey, if I’m going to live forever, I may as well look good.” Besides, it’s an excellent disguise. No one would look at me and see the old, plain Talia.
“I like your attitude.”
Talia listened to her cousin’s voice, a different kind of hunger flooding her. Michelle was the one person from Talia’s old life who’d risked helping a newbie vamp. She drank in the warm, laughing voice on the phone, an ache in her lifeless heart. She wanted so badly to hug Michelle, to show her all the gratitude she felt.
“Listen.” Michelle cleared her throat, a small, tight sound. “My schedule changed. I’m between cruises. I just got home.”
Talia jammed her hand through her hair, her rings catching in the long, dark strands. “I’ll get a hotel.”
“Why? We’ve got two bedrooms. We live at the same address, and I haven’t seen you in forever. It’s reunion time, sweetie.”
Talia realized she had wandered blindly into the dress department. Women milled around her with armfuls of clothes. They smelled warm and savory. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? We agreed I’d always leave when you came back. Just to play it safe.”
“I’m okay with you sleeping here if you’re comfortable with it. I mean, you’ve had time to adjust, right?”
The words shocked Talia, and then her throat began to ache with emotion. Michelle’s level of trust was incredibly rare. One bite and a vampire’s venom enslaved a human with its erotic, fatally addictive high. Michelle knew she was taking a huge chance. Talia could hear the tension in her cousin’s voice.
And yet Michelle was willing to give her a chance to prove she wasn’t a killer.
“Let me think about it.” Talia disconnected, suddenly losing her nerve. I can’t do this. Too much risk.
Outside in the stark, black night beyond the tinseled doors, Talia saw a swirl of snowflakes. It never snowed in Fairview. The universe was going crazy.
No one ever invited a vampire to sleep over.
As kids, they’d had pajama parties at Michelle’s house. Junk food, movies, secrets, the works. They’d steal Michelle’s mom’s cosmetics to play dress-up because Talia’s mom never wore makeup—Dad’s rules.
Michelle had always been her window into the normal world. Talia felt like a puppy shivering to death in a filthy alley, aching to get into that golden world of loving hands and warm fires.
On the other hand, a bad vampire joke went that family members were like potato chips. Can’t stop snacking once you start. And she knew from gruesome experience that it was absolutely true.
Never trust a bloodsucker. Her dad had been right.
Michelle didn’t have all the facts.
Talia clutched her phone, thinking of the warm voice still echoing in her mind.
Chapter 3
Tuesday, December 28, 9:15 p.m.
101.5 FM
“And why is it, dear listeners, that we compare love to a flame? Because it warms us or destroys us? A poet would say both, and write another sonnet. That’s a human response. A beast knows to be afraid of the flame. There’s a reason the rabble carry pitchforks and torches, because when we love one of theirs, the building is sure to burn around us.”
Tuesday, December 28, 9:30 p.m.
Downtown Fairview
There’s a bad moon rising.
No—that was just one of those strange, human turns of phrase. The moon was as it should be, past full and mostly hidden by thick, moisture-laden clouds. But there was a psychic foulness in the air, as if a poisonous veil drifted down from the mottled sky and coated the city in a slick of curses.
It’s back.
Lore was on patrol, walking the streets of the downtown. He could sense the vibe, smell it, almost hear it in the hiss of tires on wet pavement. Since arriving in Fairview, he’d adapted to the urban landscape and come to
know its moods. Now he could feel darkness creeping into its energy.
It was what he had attempted to describe to his friend earlier that night. Perry would try to find it in a book, bring his vast knowledge of the arcane to bear. But the evil was here, and Lore had to act now. That was his nature, both man and beast.
Must find it. The urge to track was building like a pressure in his chest.
Must kill it.
Long ago, that’s what hellhounds like him had been bred for: to search out and destroy a threat before it struck. Half demons themselves, they’d taken out the supernatural trash long before Armani suits and smart phones ruled the courts of law. There had been no appeals, just the munching of bones.
And for now he was sheriff. That gave the blessing of law to the urges nature had already provided.
Find. Stop.
Despite the fact that his belly was full from dinner with Perry, the urge to hunt crawled over Lore’s skin like an electric current. As hellhound Alpha, he was both psychically gifted and a superior tracker. The other hounds hadn’t sensed the evil. Not yet. He would call the pack once he knew what they faced. A good leader always took the first risk himself.
Kept the taste of first blood for himself.
Even as that thought formed, the dark miasma that screamed along his nerves was getting thicker, gathering to the north.
He began to run, still in human form, but beast-quick. Long legs carried him through the empty streets, where old false-front buildings huddled between newer stores, diamonds of ice on their wrought-iron railings. It was bitterly cold. Few people were out. The sidewalks were slick under his boots, glittering with frost.
Lore dodged around a lamppost and raced past the Victorian facade of the Empire Hotel. Christmas lights still rimmed the paned windows. Down a block, music grumbled from a dance club where neon signs winked in the night, the cold turning their colors sharp.
The chill air bit as he sucked it down, but he barely noticed. A sense of danger beat in his ears like a rushing pulse. Go faster!
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