Frostbound

by Sharon Ashwood

  Instead, he pressed between her thighs, rubbing against her. She squirmed, feeling her readiness in the sweet ache teasing her core.

  “I burn for you,” he whispered, his lips intimate against her ear. “Let me lose myself inside you.”

  Talia was beyond putting words into sentences. “Okay.”

  He picked her up by the waist, holding her close to his body with no more than the strength of his arms, and delicately kissed her mouth. “I will take you.”

  The phrase sounded oddly formal, but it got lost in the chaos of sensations storming through her. He carried her to the bed, setting her down as carefully as if she were glass. Talia rolled over, crawling across its wide expanse, making room for him to join her.

  Without warning, he caught her by the back of the neck, one hand big enough to immobilize her. She was caught on her hands and knees, vulnerable and exposed. A moment later, she felt the rough stubble of his cheek along her backbone, stroking against the sensitive curve of her back. She trembled, a little spooked to be held so still, unable to see his face or what he would do next. It gave new meaning to feeling naked.

  His hand began to work her, stroking the soft, vulnerable places, questing inside to test her slickness. A shudder passed through her, and then again, and again. Automatically, she adjusted her knees, finding a better position to take more of him, to offer more of herself.

  And then she felt the tip of his sex at her opening, sliding inside, spreading her farther and farther. Oh, God! The position, the sheer size of him offered a whole new range of sensations. She thought she’d split apart at the same time she wanted more and more right there.

  “Lore,” she begged, feeling a trembling in her arms. She dug her fingers into the sheets, doing her best to steady herself. “I need you now.”

  The grip on the back of her neck tightened, and he thrust again, driving deeper. A cry tore from her, tears filling her eyes.

  He thrust again. Tension spiraled through her, pushing her toward orgasm. She tried to speak, to offer words, but they came out as strangled sounds. Tears slid out from beneath her eyelids. He was still moving inside her, sending her insides into explosions of bliss—again, and again. Sweat trickled down her ribs, slicked the places he was touching her. The moisture felt cool, another set of fingers tickling her in secret places.

  It was too much. Talia felt like she was going to melt, or smoke, or start sending out sparks of frantic energy. She twisted, trying to bite, but her teeth snapped on air. He held her harder, forcing her head still while he had his way.

  A mix of frustration and sheer animal pleasure rolled through her. He was picking up speed, pushing faster and faster. Each collision of their bodies drove Talia further from reason. Her mind blanked, losing contact with sight, sound, every sense but touch. Rapid shocks of pleasure pulsed through her. “Oh, God, Lore!”

  He thrust one last time, filling her with heat and wetness. Her body started to let go, but her teeth ached so hard, she thought they would crack. Suddenly she smelled him close, right in front of her. She opened her eyes, tears blurring her vision. He was offering his wrist. She grabbed it with one hand, pulling it to her mouth, and bit down.

  Hot tangy blood filled her mouth. Lore shuddered as her venom released, slowly, slowly collapsing to the mattress as if slain. She let him go, panting, her body still pinging with aftershocks of pleasure. After a long shudder, he stretched his massive body, bones cracking. Talia lay down beside him, running a hand over his chest, feeling a moment of intense possessiveness.

  He pulled her close, bringing her face so close to his, their noses touched. His eyes were hazed by the venom, his smile a little dreamy. “That was my way, now we do it yours.”

  “Wait,” she said, making herself face up to at least a little piece of the inevitable. “What are we doing?”

  “Do you want me to draw you a picture?”

  She shook her head. “I said that wrong.”

  He kissed her forehead, gently this time. “Don’t worry about the future. Hellhounds are loyal unto death, and they always return to their mates once they are reborn. I will always come back to you. Is that what you wanted to know?”

  Talia’s chest ached with his simple, certain words. “You’ve got this all figured out.” But what about the fact that I’m not one of you? What about the children?

  “I’ve thought about it.” Lore raised an eyebrow, nothing left of the venom stupor in his expression. “Would you wait for me? Hellhounds are long-lived, but the good part is you get a fresh new lover every century.”

  Talia spluttered with shocked laughter. “But you wouldn’t remember me!”

  “We do. We remember the scent of our loved ones.” He pulled her close, covering her with his warmth. “Now stop talking. Everything’s fine.”

  “Only every century?” she said petulantly.

  He chuckled. “I adore you.”

  And he proved it to her, one gentle touch at a time.

  Talia willfully ignored everything else.

  Chapter 35

  Saturday, January 1, 10:30 a.m.

  The Castle

  Lore left the Castle, heading toward Osan Mina’s. He’d talked to Caravelli on the phone, officially ending his term as acting sheriff. The nonhuman community was shaken, but still in one piece. He’d done his duty. Now he needed to debrief the hounds. With luck he’d be back in bed with Talia before she woke, but just in case he’d left word with Mac that he would be in Spookytown.

  His mood was half jubilant, half belligerent. He had been Alpha for seven years, and in that time, he’d freed his people, built a place for them in Fairview, raised their status among the nonhumans, and given them economic independence. He was ready to take a mate, and he had found her. He would have Talia, and no myth would stop him.

  He was going to prepare his pack to accept his bride.

  Or else.

  Maybe not the best attitude for the occasion, but it had been a hard few days. Lore felt pared down to essentials, with no spare energy to give an inch.

  The row housing along Spookytown’s streets looked almost pretty in the snow and sunlight. The houses where the hellhounds lived were well loved, the walks shoveled, pups playing in the yards. True, none had been born since his mother had passed, but could that not be coincidence? Could not all the wars and struggle they had suffered be the reason why the females had not come into season?

  Even if that were true, would the pack ever believe it? The Elders liked to have their way. Tradition to Lore was comfort and continuity. To them it was an end in itself.

  But he needed this one thing. He needed to break with custom this one time.

  He needed a miracle.

  “Madhyor!”

  Lore wheeled to see Helver sprinting down the street toward him, arms and legs pumping. A dozen yards behind him, Grash thundered in hot pursuit, clods of snow kicking up with every stride. Lore got the fleeting impression that something was wrong with Helver’s face.

  The young hound threw himself at Lore’s feet, prostrating himself on the ground. “Help me, Madhyor!”

  Grash skidded to a halt. Neither he nor Helver were wearing coats. Grash’s coveralls were coated in sawdust from his carpentry shop, as if they’d started the fight there and run into the street. “He drops my tools. He blunts them. He is careless and lazy!”

  Grash bent, grabbing Helver by the scruff of his collar and hauling him upright. It was then that Lore saw why Helver was begging for help. The youth’s face was pulp, one eye swollen, nose streaming with blood.

  Lore’s vision hazed white with anger, rage leaching color from the world. “What is this? I gave him to you to raise up in the pack. You are his trainer!”

  “He cannot be trained!” Grash growled. “And now he fawns on his Alpha like a pup begging for his mother’s teat. He will never earn the name of warrior.”

  Lore ripped Helver out of Grash’s hand, pushing the youth to one side. “If you cannot manage him, you have only to
send him back to me.”

  Grash spit in the snow. “Good luck to you. He has never been of use. He never will be.”

  Studying the big hound, Lore considered Grash’s speed, his weight, how fast he thought. This wasn’t the best time for it, but an opportunity had dropped into Lore’s hands to bring him under control. “What do you mean by never? How would you know? You’ve been training Helver only a few days.”

  Grash’s expression suddenly closed, a window slamming shut. Mavritte had asked Lore to give Helver to Grash, but had Grash already forced the young hound to obey in other ways?

  “What did you have Helver do for you before you were his trainer?” Lore growled.

  Grash was silent. Lore turned furious eyes on Helver. “What was it?”

  The youth was breathing through his mouth, blood still bubbling from his nose when he tried to speak. “The campaign office. Grash sent me there.”

  Damn his hide.

  Crack! Lore’s fist connected with Grash’s face, and then he was on top of him, blinded with frustration over the Redbones, with Helver, and simply with being Alpha. His fist smacked into Grash three more times, re-creating the damage he’d seen on Helver.

  Lore caught his breath long enough to snarl. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing running our young into danger?”

  Grash bared his teeth. “There are drugs in the clinic we can sell. There was money there for the taking. I say why not? The hounds work to death while the bloodsuckers wear jewels.”

  “Because I say not!” Lore roared. “It’s not what hellhounds do!”

  He dragged Grash to his feet, and then sent him crashing back to the pavement with another blow. Lore’s hands hurt, his lungs sore from sucking in the ice-cold air, but the sheer physical brutality of the moment was necessary. Grash would respect it.

  He wasn’t the only one. Lore caught sight of Helver. The youth’s eyes were bugging out of his head, mesmerized by the show of dominance. Common sense had failed to turn him around. Maybe this would.

  On one level it disgusted Lore, but it was also part of being a hound. It would take decades in the human world to change the fundamental dynamics of the pack. Biology was involved. Just like when the Alpha has to choose a mate.

  Talia. He wouldn’t even consider not having her. She was part of him. Something had happened between them last night, as urgent and primal as this fight. She is my mate.

  Lore stepped back, watching Grash redden the snow with his blood. His fingers twitched, as if considering another pounding.

  Grash rolled onto his back, his eyes blazing with anger. “Damn you.”

  The words were muffled, barely token defiance. Lore felt a brief tingle of satisfaction. Time to drive the point home.

  He put his boot on Grash’s cheek, crushing the hound’s face into the snow.

  “Respect our young. Got it? Maybe you should repeat after me.”

  Saturday, January 1, 4:00 p.m.

  101.5 FM

  “Hello and a Happy New Year from your hostess Errata Jones, covering the afternoon and all night tonight on this special holiday show from CSUP.

  “It was a busy night last night in Spookytown, and we’ll have special coverage of all those events. But first, a special get-well wish to my dear friend Perry. If you’re listening, dude, why aren’t you in bed and asleep?

  “Second, a farewell to Darak and all your crazy clan, who are on a plane and going places. Thanks for dropping by and lending a hand. You guys know how to work hard, but you are scary when it comes to after-game playtime.”

  Saturday, January 1, 4:00 p.m.

  The Castle

  Talia woke to find the bed covered with flowers. They were the delicate six-petaled blooms she’d seen by the starlit pond, white and pink and scented like warm honey. They were a symbol of the rejuvenating Castle, a gift of life where there had been only darkness before.

  Though Lore was gone, he’d left this token of his affection behind. She lay beneath the floral carpet for a long minute, picking one of the blossoms off the comforter and twirling it in her fingers. If these can grow in constant night, in a place where nothing is supposed to live, maybe there’s hope for me yet.

  She felt so close to Lore, as if every beat of his heart somehow pushed blood to hers. It was pure romantic fancy, but she floated on it, enjoying the feeling of adoring and being adored. All her misgivings about the pack and their future were for that moment suspended.

  Lore had left word with Mac that Talia should find him at Osan Mina’s. After borrowing fresh clothes from Connie, Talia made her thanks and left. She slipped quickly through the streets, conscious that last time she’d walked into the hellhounds’ domain, Lore had been at her side. She took extra care, watching who was around her as she passed through Spookytown.

  When she reached Osan Mina’s door, the old woman responded before Talia had time to rap twice.

  Mina was bundled into a heavy dark coat. “You’re here. Good. We go now.”

  “Where?” Talia asked, stepping back so Mina could close the door of her town house behind her.

  “Mavritte has challenged Lore for rule of the pack.”

  Talia’s jaw dropped. “What? Now? They were in a huge battle last night.”

  Mina shrugged her coat closer around her bony shoulders. “It is past time he settled things with her. Pack business had been pushed aside too long.”

  “But—”

  “Lore punished Grash. Grash is Redbone. Mavritte will not accept him beating one of her people.” Osan Mina gave Talia a shrewd look. “Grash needed beating for Helver’s sake.”

  The names flew by Talia in a meaningless rush. “Can’t Lore refuse?”

  “Pack law says Alpha must fight if she demands. She demands.”

  That Talia could believe. She remembered Mavritte threatening to challenge Lore when they were at the Empire Hotel. Lore had seemed confident that he could refuse, but maybe whatever happened with this Grash guy had changed that.

  Mina led her down the street to a small playground.Talia trailed after, having a flashback to her high school days when the tough kids would scrap behind the school—a spectator event for every teen from a mile around. Here, hounds crowded around the site, but were oddly quiet. No one seemed happy about what was going on.

  The fight seemed so bizarre after the huge battle to protect Fairview and Omara from Belenos. In numbers it was insignificant, and yet in many ways it was more crucial to her happiness. A vampire monarch had fallen last night—she’d killed him—but the fate of this tiny hellhound pack mattered more, because she loved Lore.

  The playground was lit by streetlights that threw the onlookers’ shadows across the frozen grass. The area had been cleared of snow, the picnic tables pulled to one side. They’d prepared for the fight, an added sign that it was important to the pack. A low, worried murmur buzzed around the crowd, which had split into two halves. One was more numerous. The other was smaller, but looked meaner. Those had to be Mavritte’s Redbones.

  Osan Mina led her to the larger half of the crowd. It parted, letting them through so they had a good view of the playground. Many of the bystanders bowed to Mina. Even more gave Talia curious looks—not hostile, but not really friendly, either.

  “Lore asked me to explain.” Mina folded her arms and snorted. “Explain pack business to a vampire. Ha!”

  Talia rubbed her hands together, wishing Lore were next to her. He was always warm. “So, what’s going to happen?”

  Osan Mina shrugged, but the strain on her face was obvious. Hellhounds usually hid their emotions from outsiders, which meant Mina was truly worried. “They fight. One dies. The other is Alpha.”

  “Dies!” Talia knew that much already, but the words still jolted her. Before, a challenge to the death had been talk. Now it was staring her in the face. “Does anyone ever not die?”

  “Only if they swear forfeit.”

  “What does that mean?” Talia looked at the empty space in the middle of the p
layground. The volume of the crowd’s murmurs had gone up a notch, but she couldn’t see anything yet.

  “Their life belongs to the victor,” Mina said. “The winner can ask for it whenever they choose. To swear forfeit is the act of a coward.”

  “Neither of these two is going to do that.”

  “No. If you have sworn forfeit, you cannot mate. Your life is not yours to give anymore.”

  Talia had a sudden, horrible feeling. Was that how Lore was going to get out of taking a mate in the pack? But that would mean losing, and Mavritte being Alpha. Lore would be honor bound to die for her whenever she chose.

  Well, that won’t work. “Have you tried voting for an Alpha?”

  “We like someone. That is one thing. We trust someone to protect the pack. That is another.” Mina’s eyes turned hard. “In Lore, we have both. He needs a mate. It must be one of his own people.”

  Talia felt anger rise in a hot prickle. It just wasn’t fair. It was surreal and stupid. “There’s something I don’t understand. If hellhound souls are born again and again, how come there are fewer hounds now? You said a lot died in the Castle, but shouldn’t they be reborn?”

  The surrounding babble got louder. “Magic can kill a soul,” Mina answered, and then turned her attention to the empty ground ahead.

  Talia stared at Mavritte as the she-hound strutted into the middle of the playground. It might as well have been a boxing ring. Lore’s side stayed silent, but hers gave a ragged cheer, pumping their arms in the air. The sound brought gooseflesh to Talia’s arms.

  For once, Mavritte wasn’t bristling with weapons. All she wore was a loose T-shirt and yoga pants.

  “How do they fight?” Talia asked.

  “No weapons. The beast form cannot be hurt, but the two-legged can.”

  Talia thought of her bullets passing through Mavritte in the Empire. As canines, they did seem to be invincible—except for quicksilver bullets and demon fire. “Why not just stay in hound form?”