“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!
In some ways it was a blessing the danger was here, in the supernatural ghetto called Spookytown. Its people knew how to fight. Some of the foes Lore had faced could pick off humans as if they were cheese puffs on an hors d’oeuvres tray.
Not that he knew a thing about fancy food, but the image fit.
Close, very close. He could nearly reach up and touch the edge of evil.
But between one pulse and the next, the night changed. The presence had been a veil, a mist. Now dread filled the air like a liquid, filling his lungs and mouth, pressing against his skin as if to force fear into his very pores. Lore skidded to a stop, his feet sliding on the slick ground. His puffing breath smoked the air, his heart hammering in an instant of mindless terror.
The street went dead quiet.
A hellhound’s deep bell sounded in the distance, howling a warning that something awful had brushed past. The dread was so palpable now, the rest of the pack had felt it. The cry was picked up by another baying awooooo, and another. Somewhere, a wolf joined. Then the common dogs, barking in backyards and alleys.
In every house and apartment window, lights flicked on.
Danger! Danger! Lore snapped back to himself, shoving the fear aside. Then a distant alarm began to whoop, coming from somewhere deep in Spookytown. Fire? Burglar? Had whatever it was gathered its strength and struck?
He couldn’t wait any longer. Their town was in danger. Tonight, he was the sheriff, in charge of keeping it safe. It was time to gather the pack.
Come! With his mind and will, Lore sent the call to his people.
The response was instant. The hounds poured from alleys and empty lots, running in twos and threes. They flickered just on the edge of sight, rarely seen but for the instant of the kill—but Lore knew them all. They were his creatures of nightmare, with eyes like the inside of a red-hot coal. Bulky and deep-chested, they stood nearly as tall as man, the long snout and upright ears like the Egyptian carvings of Anubis. Each fang was as long as Lore’s hand, each claw a killing scythe.
The few other pedestrians out on the streets vanished as if by sorcery.
Still in man-form, Lore ran at the head of the pack, his half-demon nature giving him speed. Following the sound of the alarm, they raced almost to the harbor, the cold, damp wind telling tales of kelp and the merciless deep. The rain needling through the glow of the streetlights was turning to sleet. Before long, it would be snow.
Ahead and to the left was the quay. Here and there, sailboats decked with Christmas lights shimmered above the black sea, reflections glittering like scattered jewels. Lore didn’t stop, but turned right into one of the alleys that cut deep into Spookytown.
Abruptly, the alarm shut off. Now there were sirens: fire, police, and ambulance sending up an eerie wail. Lore cursed under his breath, noticing an odd glow overhead. When Lore left the alley and stepped onto lower Fort Street, his eyes confirmed what his nose had been telling him for blocks.
Fire. Scrolls of smoke—a black paler than the night—billowed against the sky in roiling curls. Scraps of brilliant orange and yellow waved in the cold black night, snapping like flags in a stiff breeze.
Lore swore again, the houndish language giving the words extra edge. The building on fire was the South Fairview Medical Clinic, the one place in town the supernaturals could find a doctor willing to help them.
As loss hammered into him, the sense of evil retreated a step. It was as if whatever vile intelligence was behind it had relaxed to admire its work. In that instant, it became an individual. It wasn’t just a something but a someone.
Who are you? Lore demanded of the dark presence, but there was only silence. Did he detect smugness, or was he just imagining it? Anger ached in his jaw. Why did you do this? What do you want?
Lore scanned the scene. By sheer luck, the parking lot that wrapped around the clinic was empty. No cars, no garbage, nothing to burn between it and the buildings on either side. The fire hadn’t spread yet.
It was a miracle. The building seemed to sag into itself, the walls folding inward amidst veils of white and orange. Lore could feel the blaze from where he stood. He’d seen fires before, but this was hotter than he remembered. Even the roar of it seemed wrong, not a crackle but the whisper of a thousand tongues.
He shuddered, fighting the urge to strike out in rage. He had to think, let human reason do the work. He needed a proper target before he let the killer inside slip his leash.
Down, boy. Lore took a long, shuddering breath. Police and fire crews were already there, ladder trucks clogging the street. The firefighters were hanging back, pointing and arguing. They sensed something was different about the fire, too.
Evacuees of the nearby apartments milled at the perimeter tape, joined by the patrons of several neighborhood bars. Fort Street was a noisy, crowded scene, but beneath the chaos the taint of evil simmered like a bad memory.
The pack had gathered behind Lore. He glanced over his shoulder, feeling their presence like a weight on his back. Their shaggy, black outlines seemed to merge, creating one massive beast with two dozen pairs of glowing yellow eyes. They were waiting for their Alpha to give orders.
Nothing worked in a vacuum, especially not magic. Sorcery left stink and mess. Lore turned to the pack and raised his voice. “Mix with the neighbors. Ask what they saw, smelled, heard, anything. Find out everything you can.”
Although it was too dark to pick out details, Lore had the impression of pricking ears, the wag of tails. Then the many-eyed shadow dissolved into a mist. Moments later, the dogs were replaced by a group of young men and women, dark-haired and big-boned like Lore. Unlike werebeasts, half demons didn’t have to get naked to change form. They rematerialized dressed like humans, but in ripped jeans and motorcycle boots, leather bracelets and knives that glinted like teeth.
The shaggy, wild aura around the hounds didn’t vanish with their fur. It lurked in the strength of their hands and the fluid glide of their walk. Silently, they melted into the crowd.
He turned and began pacing the perimeter of the fire scene, silently wishing his pack good hunting. Residue from the evil presence hung in the air, drifting around them with the ash. To someone with his gifts, it had a smell and taste. Bitter as poison.
And then a shadow flickered in the darkness to the left of the burning building.
Chapter 4
Prey!
Lore launched himself after it, his body responding before his mind had time to consider. The shadow was a figure, darting toward the mouth of a lane on the far side of the parking lot. Beyond was a jumble of byways and Dumpsters with myriad hiding places. Once in there, a fugitive would be difficult to find.
The figure was supernaturally fast, and only guilt made someone bolt like that. Lore poured on the speed, not daring to take the time to change to hound form. Other pack members were breaking from the crowd to help, but they were far behind.
His quarry was only a stone’s throw ahead now, dark clothing a blur against the night. Lore lengthened his stride as far as he could, lungs straining against the chill air. The pavement was slick with frost, the sound of pounding feet magnified by the cold. He lunged forward, snagging the rough wool of the runner’s sleeve.
The figure jerked away, springing forward with a desperate burst of energy. Lore bounded, using both hands this time to grab the coat. The runner crumpled to the ground with a frightened cry, Lore pinning him with his weight.
They both grunted as they hit the ground. Lore rolled the figure over, smelling the sharp tang of smoke on his clothes.
“Madhyor!” cried his captive. Master.
With a wrench, Lore saw the runner was one of his own people.
“Helver!” he snarled, putting an extra sting in the young hound’s name. He dropped into the hounds’ own language. “What are you doing?”
Lore fought the urge to howl with frustration. He was supposed to be chasing his invisible enemy! Instead, he’d caught a whelp pulling some kind of prank.
“Forgive me! ” Helver blocked his face with his hands, as if expecting a blow. “The building was closed and empty. I went to see what I could take.”
It was an easy enough thing to do. Locks were no problem for a half-demon hellhound—but that only made respecting property all the more important. It was a pup’s first lesson.
“You stole from the clinic?” Furious, Lore ran his hands over Helver’s coat, finding the pockets. There are police everywhere. Humans were quick to judge their supernatural neighbors, and harsh with their retribution. The whole pack would suffer for Helver’s stupidity. Lore couldn’t let that happen.
He expected pill bottles, but he found money instead. He froze, staring at the double fistful of fifties and hundreds. “Where did you get this?”
“The campaign office. They keep the donations in the safe.”
For a heartbeat, Lore was stunned. Of course. The municipal election. The vampire candidate’s headquarters occupied two rooms on the building’s east side. Lore had been so focused on the loss of the medical facility, he’d momentarily forgotten.
He shouldn’t have. The election added a whole new layer to everything that had happened that night—political angst galore—but he would have to think about that once he’d dealt with Helver.
The other hounds were catching up. He held up a hand, keeping them back. They gathered, standing at a distance with arms crossed and hips cocked.
Lore put on his Angry Alpha face. It wasn’t hard. “How dare you touch what does not belong to you? Do you want to ruin the rest of your life? Bring dishonor on your elders?”
Helver lifted his face from his hands, eyes stricken with shame and fright. His cheeks were still rounded, not the hard angles and planes of the adult hellhound male. Lore’s gut twisted with anger and fear for the youth. He wasn’t a bad whelp, but not the smartest, and this new world they lived in was crammed with temptation. The hell they’d left had been brutal, but much, much simpler.
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