Frostbound tdf-4

by Sharon Ashwood

  Carefully, she turned around to face him. His mouth twitched, like he was fighting a laugh. “I think the tweed would have looked better on you.”

  His smile brought heat to her cheeks. Talia looked down at herself. She looked like she’d crawled out of a Dumpster. “I wasn’t sure I was coming back.”

  “So you took my coat?”

  “If you never saw it again, I’d be doing you a favor.”

  He chuckled. “Where would you go?”

  “A hotel.”

  “With the police on your tail? And maybe a necromancer?”

  “I’m the evil Undead. I have tricks up my sleeve, and about forty dollars in my pocket.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  Talia skittered on her heels. “I’m screwed, aren’t I?”

  Lore crossed the ice patch toward her, his heavy boots finding plenty of traction. “You seemed bothered by the conversation upstairs.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Errata found the name of your sire. King Belenos. You have some impressive enemies.” He caught her arm before she could fall. “You said you didn’t ask to be a vampire.”

  Her chest tightened. “I didn’t.”

  His look went deep into her. “How did it happen?”

  Talia pulled the coat closer around her throat. “I . . . it’s a long story. All you need to know is that Belenos is a few boards short of a coffin. And he hates Queen Omara.”

  “I know.” Lore shifted onto drier ground. The movement brought him closer. “He’s been here before. Last time he tangled with one of our slayers and she handed him over to the queen for punishment.”

  Talia nodded. “Queen Omara maimed him in ways that a vampire can’t fix. He can’t swing a sword anymore.”

  Lore gave her a sharp look. “You think it’s him, don’t you?”

  Talia swallowed. She’d lived in fear of revealing her sire’s name for two reasons. One, it made it more likely that Belenos would find her. Two, it brought anyone curious about her past closer to the fact that she’d been a Hunter. A prickle of anxiety skittered down her back.

  Now Lore and her friends knew about her sire. She was walking on a tightrope, Belenos on one side, all the rest of the nonhumans on the other. If there was a third side available, her family would be itching to kill her, too. It was hard to know which to worry about first.

  Don’t go there. If she did, she’d be paralyzed. She had to focus on the idea that Belenos had killed Michelle. My God, this means he must be in Fairview! She so had to get her weapons from Michelle’s condo.

  Talia took a shaking breath. “Belenos is a sorcerer. He hates the queen. Besides that, he likes a cat-andmouse game. If he found out I’m here, he’d kill Michelle for the simple reason that I loved her. He’d do it just to make me afraid.”

  “I believe that. Darak said your cousin’s spirit was worried that you were in danger, too. Is Belenos a necromancer?”

  “If it’s nasty magic, he’s probably done it. Frankly, the idea that he’s anywhere nearby is going to give me nightmares.”

  “There’s a report that you stole a lot of money from him.”

  Damn Errata! “He owed me a new life. After all, he stole my last one. I took enough to get away.” Okay, so maybe that was understating, but he owed her.

  “Blood money?”

  “I think of it as disability insurance.” Talia nearly spit the last words. “Stealing’s not what you’d call honorable, but it was my ticket out of his house of horrors.”

  She dropped her head, not wanting to meet Lore’s gaze. No one else would understand what she’d done. Not unless they’d been there. She could feel his interest like a gentle hand probing her, wondering who she was. I’m toast if you ever figure that out.

  Talia shivered, feeling like a child in the huge coat. The sleeves dangled past her hands, the hem almost to her knees. Lore put his arm around her, drawing her close to his body. The coat he was wearing was cleaner, but just as plain. He’d left it undone, leaving access to his body heat. Talia curled close.

  Wait a minute! It didn’t dawn on her until a second later what had just happened. He’d taken possession of her so casually, she hadn’t noticed. She twisted her neck to look up at him.

  He had a half-serious, half-amused look.

  “You’re presuming a lot, dog-boy—you know that?”

  “You looked cold.”

  She dropped her guard an inch. “How come you don’t have a nice hellhound girlfriend?”

  A pained expression crossed his face. “Who says I don’t?”

  “I’d lay good money that none of you three canines are taken.”

  “Are you?”

  Talia looked down, her mind sliding over unwelcome memories. “No. I was engaged, but I broke it off.” Talia pulled away from him, suddenly not wanting a male touch.

  “Whatever he was like, I’m not that guy,” Lore said softly, the tug of his fingers protesting her movement. “Just so you know.”

  What was he saying? Was this some sort of flirtation? Talia nearly stammered. “No, you’re the guy who chained me up.”

  “I had my reasons.”

  “You kissed me.” It was an accusation.

  Without his body next to hers, the cold air wrapped around her.

  He gave a low laugh. “Was it a bad kiss?”

  He moved forward, as if he might kiss her again, but she planted a hand on his chest and used her vampire strength to hold him back.

  Talia frowned up at him. He was backlit by the light over the door, his features blurred by shadow. Above, there was a break in the clouds where the stars glittered like chips of ice. She was balanced on the point of decision: go or stay, trust him or run like hell. She couldn’t think past the memory of his lips on hers.

  How can I be breathless when I don’t breathe? Irritation and an unwanted desire chased each other in an annoying loop.

  “What do you expect from me?” she said, her voice a mere whisper.

  Lore gave a smile that was at once sad and amused. “I don’t expect anything. I want you to come back inside and help me find Belenos.”

  He held out his hand.

  She dropped her arm, no longer pushing him away. He didn’t try to close the gap, but stood there, waiting.

  Talia felt the night closing in on her. A few flakes fell out of the darkness, catching on her sleeve. Running from Belenos had worked for a while. She’d built a life that wasn’t ideal, but she’d been able to teach and no one, especially no man, had interfered. Yet now her freedom was withering away again, bit by bit.

  “The snow isn’t going to let me get away, is it? I bet all the roads out of town are blocked.”

  Gently, Lore reached out and caught her hand. His was warm, engulfing hers in welcome heat. “Come inside. I’ll put on a fire.”

  She followed him inside, wondering how much she dared trust the moment.

  Chapter 18

  Thursday, December 30, 4:30 p.m.

  101.5 FM

  “This is Errata Jones taking the early shift on CSUP for Oscar Ottwell, who will be returning to us next Monday. Happy holidays, Oscar. I hope Santa Claws filled your stocking to the brim.

  “To resume our coverage of current affairs in Fairview: Rumors are everywhere about who’s in town for the election. We’ve heard about everyone from the Headless Horseman to Elvis checking in to our Spookytown hotels, but what’s fact and what’s fiction? Well, I’ll give you one clue, my nighttime faithful. Not everyone is friendly.

  “We’ve not been able to confirm this report, but word has it Hunters are in town. Lock your doors, my furry friends. The bogeymen are out and about and just to freshen up your sense of dismay, I’ve put my pretty paws on a few of their how-to manuals. If I ever decide to skin myself, now I know the drill. Stay tuned for choice excerpts—and I warn you these may not be suitable for all listeners.”

  Thursday, December 30, 5:00 p.m.

  Lore’s condo

  When Talia woke up,
she was free.

  She was still using Lore’s wide bed, but this time she was between the sheets, curled up in the bliss of soft pillows and a thick comforter.

  Lore had taken her out of the cold and back to the meeting. The gesture had felt oddly symbolic, especially after that first wave of fright she’d felt when meeting the others. Yes, she’d been isolated too long. Rejoining the group in the living room had been an emotional victory.

  She’d take her triumphs where she could. Talia rolled over, feeling a slowness in her limbs that said she hadn’t eaten enough yesterday. It was the same lassitude she’d felt after a bout of the flu. Not really sick anymore, but not really well, either. How long am I going to remember details like that? In ten years, was she going to remember the taste of apples? The glitter of sun on a swimming pool?

  She stared at the window, tucking the comforter under her chin. There was still ice on the glass, and the snow was blowing in veils across the sky. Hard to tell if it was still falling, or just swirling around.

  It had been a night like this when she’d tried to go home again. Christmastime, but her family didn’t celebrate much of anything. She’d slipped out of her sire’s house and walked for miles through the snow wearing nothing but bedroom slippers. Thinking clearly wasn’t easy during that first year as a fledgling.

  She’d come toward her father’s house from the back, where there was a rising slope dotted with pine trees. Making her way down the dark, cold incline toward the familiar back gate, she’d slid from tree to tree, her hands scraping over the rough bark, her head reeling with the tingling scent of pine. The kitchen window had glowed softly, giving a certain grace to the tiny, hard-used house.

  Through the window she could see the Arborite table with the silver legs, the padded chairs with tape over the rips in the vinyl. She’d eaten all her meals and done all her homework at that table. It was the one place her family came together twice a day, morning and night.

  Until her mother went away, running back to her own people. Afterward, her father had taken away Mom’s chair and put it in the garage. With that one gesture, he’d obliterated her place, erased her from the family home. Her father wasn’t a learned man, but he understood symbolism.

  The memory had penetrated Talia’s addled brain enough to be cautious as she’d approached the house. With the instinct of a wounded dog, she’d come home to beg for help. If anyone knew how to reverse a vampire’s curse, it would be her father and his cronies—but she remembered the chair. Her father worked in a world of absolutes.

  When she’d gathered her courage and crept close enough to see in the kitchen window, her father and her uncle were eating dinner. Steam rose off the bowls of stew, reminding her that her feet were blocks of ice, and hunger—though not for stew—cramped her belly.

  But now her seat was gone from the circle of chairs around the table. Gone the way of Mom’s, vanishing from the family circle. She was no more to them now than a monster with a familiar face.

  Talia had turned away, creeping back to the sire who had sucked the life from her body. Just as well. If she’d gone into the kitchen, someone would have died. They had always eaten with guns on the table, ready in case of attack. It was the Hunter way.

  She’d been captured and Turned by the vampires out of vengeance. What a knee-slapper, to change the Hunter girl into the thing her family hated. Perhaps they thought her father would feel a pang, slicing off his daughter’s head.

  Now, there was a joke. He’d do his duty without a flicker of doubt. That was how they’d all been trained. Talia. Her brother. Ready to die or kill. The man who had been her fiancé, Tom, had died when she had, but oh so differently.

  She couldn’t think about Tom. They’d never really loved each other. Her father’s choice for son-in-law, Tom had wanted the traditional Hunter home, and children to raise in the tribe. Talia wanted to please her dad, but not that much. She’d split up with Tom, but that didn’t make what had happened any less horrific. And then there had been Max . . .

  Talia rolled out of the bed, memories making her restless. If those nice monsters in the living room last night knew what she’d done over the years, the nonhuman lives she’d taken, they would have turned on her. Might still. She had to accept that truth.

  But I can’t run away. Michelle was murdered. I have to settle that score, no matter where that leads.

  And she’d made progress. Now she knew it was Belenos she was hunting, and now she had her freedom. As long as things suck less today than yesterday, I’m on a roll.

  She realized Lore had rehung the bedroom door while she’d been sunk in the deep sleep of the Undead—but he’d left it ajar. The dresser was piled with some of her personal belongings: clothes, toiletries, and her courier bag. Surprise stopped her in her tracks. Wouldn’t a crime scene be locked up for a while? Had Lore used his talent with locks to get inside?

  She grabbed the courier bag and laid it on the bed. When she unzipped it, the contents looked undisturbed: papers she was supposed to mark, library books, and the usual litter of pens and sticky notes. Beneath the papers, her netbook nestled in a side pocket. She grabbed it, caressing the smooth black surface. Police usually seized computers, didn’t they? They would have taken her laptop for sure. Someone had made a mistake by leaving the netbook behind.

  Flipping it open, she booted it up and went immediately to her e-mail account. There were three new messages in among the spam; all were from students. Just to be on the safe side, she left all of them unopened. She’d just been curious to see if anyone had noticed she was missing. Apparently not. If she’d still been part of the Hunter community, they’d have been over at her place the next day to see if she was sick. Even if the community was toxic, it had been a home.

  She closed that browser window and opened another, tapping in the URL for a private site she’d discovered a few months ago. She keyed in a password—it had taken her some effort to figure it out, but not all that long, considering—and waited while the site let her in.

  It was Hunter central, pulling in info from the European tribes as well as her own. The main component was message boards, a lot of them in languages other than English. She clicked open the one marked “North America” and scanned the new entries.

  There he was. Max, her brother. She looked at the name with longing, wishing there was some way in hell she could let him know she was still here, still anxious to hear that he was all right. It was an itch as strong as any drug addiction, and just as hard to shake.

  She read the message he had posted: “Following Big Red. Back later.”

  Big red was Hunter slang for vampires. Red for blood. Max was on a hunt. Or had been. The message was almost two weeks old. Worry clamped around her heart, squeezing painfully. Why hasn’t he posted since?

  A feeling of angst cramped her gut. Some of Belenos’s clan had tried to be nice to her, even if she’d been nothing short of hostile. Slowly, reluctantly, she’d begun to see them as people. Who were you going after, Max? Did they really deserve it?

  It wasn’t the first time she’d had the thought, but it was the clearest. It made her stomach cramp with anxiety. Don’t kill anyone I know, okay?

  She logged out and closed the netbook, letting her hands linger on the cover. Afraid of detection, she never lingered on the site long. It was the only link she had to home, and she wasn’t going to risk losing it—no matter how queasy news from her old life made her feel.

  Sliding the netbook back into her bag, she went back to the pile of her belongings on the dresser. No ID, no guns, no money. The police had probably taken the first two, and Lore didn’t know about the cash hidden under her bedroom floorboards. She might have to wait a while before she could safely retrieve it, but there was no question that she’d do it. She’d need money to make a fresh start someplace else.

  Talia searched through the clothes, trying to find a complete outfit. It was a man’s selection. Half were practical things—sturdy socks and plain T-shirts, her c
oat and sturdy boots—and the rest were filmy excerpts from the realm of male fantasy. How embarrassing. He’d obviously found her lingerie drawer. In the end, she settled on jeans and a sweater, and headed for the shower.

  When she walked out of the bathroom, she heard a rustle and the low murmur of the television. She padded barefoot into the living room. A newspaper scattered the floor. Something that looked like a disemboweled toaster littered the coffee table, half-repaired.

  Lore was leaning back on the couch, eyes closed. He looked utterly exhausted. His breath was coming on a slight snore.

  Talia’s approach hadn’t wakened him. That wasn’t a surprise. All vampires moved with near silence.

  And she was lost in his good looks. He wasn’t pretty, like Joe, but his features were cut cleanly, the bones broad and strong. It was the kind of face that would only improve with age. She wondered who he looked like, his mother or father. Which one had given him the slight cleft in the chin? Which one had passed on that sweep of dark eyelashes?

  Where had he gotten that sense of fair play that made him protect a wanted vampire, just in case she was innocent? Yes, he’d held her prisoner, but he hadn’t hurt her, and he’d let her go. Talia was well aware that it could have gone so very differently.

  She took a silent step closer to the couch. Whatever sixth sense that made hellhounds good guardians kicked in. Lore started awake, bolting to his feet before he was fully conscious.

  Talia held up her hands, palms out. “Easy. It’s just me.”

  He relaxed, letting out a huge breath. “Sorry. I dozed off. I’ve been with the pack during the day and up most of the night.”

  “Pulling double shifts?”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed his eyes, sinking back onto the couch. “I dropped by to check on things here.”

  Check on me. Talia felt unaccountably warmed by the idea.

  Lore scrubbed his face, as if to wake himself up. “I’ve got my best hounds looking for Belenos, but so far no joy. Last time he came, he hid right under our noses in the Castle. I don’t think he’ll try that one again, but he’ll come up with something equally clever.”