Frostbound tdf-4

by Sharon Ashwood

  “We’re only guessing that it’s him.”

  “That’s why I haven’t raised a general alarm. I want proof before I start a panic.” He looked up. “I got fresh blood. Will that hold you for an hour or two?”

  “Uh, great. Thanks. I’ll get some in a minute. And thank you for getting my stuff. You ran a risk to do that—I mean, it’s bad enough you’re hiding me, but you broke into a crime scene to get my toothbrush.”

  He looked up, clearly a little pleased with himself. “The biggest risk was going through your closet. I could have been killed by an avalanche of shoes.”

  “Yeah, well, a girl needs her footwear.” She sank onto the other end of the couch and looked at the TV. Scooby-Doo cartoons. “That your hero?”

  “I thought it might inspire my detective skills.”

  She couldn’t help a laugh. That earned her a grin. He had the best smile, all white teeth and mischief. Then she noticed how big he was, filling his end of the couch with long, muscled limbs.

  Her mouth went dry, her palms prickling with unfocused nerves. She curled up, tucking her feet under her. As always, she was a little cold.

  She could feel his body heat even with an arm’s span between them. “What sort of things does an Alpha do for his pack?”

  He made a dismissive gesture. “A lot of different things. I deal with the human world on the pack’s behalf. I represent the hounds on the council of nonhumans, so I’m the liaison with other species. We have a business that recycles things, like furniture and mechanical parts, and I run that. I settle disputes and oversee building projects—we’re renovating a lot of the houses we bought to bring them up to code. The pack does a lot of security work in Fairview, and I’m the deputy sheriff, except right now I’m the sheriff in charge.”

  No wonder he’s tired. But she could see he was proud, too. The hounds had come from nothing. Their success owed a lot to his drive. “What’s it like, being in a pack? Do your parents live here?”

  Leaning forward, he picked up a piece of the toaster and fiddled with it. “My parents died in the Castle.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He gave a slight shrug, universal guy-speak for something he couldn’t or didn’t want to talk about. “Being part of a pack is never being alone, even when you need to be. That’s why I have this place. I get a bit of peace and quiet.”

  “You have a lot of responsibilities.” Understatement of the decade.

  “An Alpha is father to his people.” He gave the words an ironic twist. “Seriously, they’re my family. Why wouldn’t I do what I could to help them?”

  Talia envied him with a swift, sharp pain. Even with everything his position demanded, it had to be worth it. He wasn’t alone. She looked down, staring at the tweedy pattern of the couch cover.

  He passed her a section of the paper. “Fashion column?”

  She took it automatically, not sure why he’d offered it. Then she realized it gave her something to hide behind, a safety screen. For a guy—for a demon-dog—Lore was surprisingly perceptive. Enough to make a girl self-conscious.

  She folded the section back to see the editorial. It was her first go-to spot in the paper, though she wasn’t sure how he’d known. Oh, wait. He’d seen her closet. She read the caption under a photo of a woman in a boxy dress. “Wow. The return of shoulder pads. Now, that’s real horror.”

  From the corner of her eye, she caught him watching her, his dark eyes intent. She understood that look. He liked what he saw. Oh, God.

  She lowered the paper, her face turning to him with infinite slowness. He was drawing her like a magnet. Like a flower following the sun she’d never see again.

  This is insane. Yet she was doing exactly what her body demanded down to her last cell. Her mind, on the other hand, was numb with shock. Their lips met with a bump, and she realized she’d leaned into the kiss with more hunger than she’d thought.

  I kissed him! Where the hell did that come from?

  But she knew. The moment had been building for the past couple of days. Curiosity. Attraction. A lingering wisp of anger. Oh, God, he tastes good. Savory. Spicy.

  What began as exploration deepened in seconds. She shifted her weight to her knees so she could get closer to that delicious heat, feel the hard wall of his chest against her body. She braced her arms on his shoulders, leaning in, teasing, tugging at his mouth. She took her time, as if the kiss held a lingering echo of some delectable treat.

  His tongue flicked across the bottom of her canine teeth, a quick tease. Her jaws tingled with the urge to bite, egged on by the feel of his broad hand sliding down her ribs, his thumb brushing the edge of her breast. She inhaled sharply, feeling his hand slide beneath her sweater, caressing her back.

  Two could play at that. She ran her lips down the angle of his jaw, her tongue flicking the pulse that beat there, hot and salty. At the same time, she worked her fingers underneath the bottom of his T-shirt and began to explore upward, letting her fingers find the hard ridges of muscle that flexed beneath her touch. All that hard work he did paid off. No gym membership required here.

  His fingers were playing with the edge of her bra, tracing the lace along the cups, giving feather-light strokes to her nipples. A burning low in her belly made her want to squirm in delicious ways, to explore the hardness beneath the zipper of his jeans. The urge to bite was growing into an ache. Her mouth was watering, already feeling the slide of flesh against her teeth.

  Talia pulled away before instinct took over. She whimpered in frustration, her lips still seeking his even as she moved to slide off his lap. Sex and biting were inextricably linked for vampires. Sex also meant undressing, and that meant uncovering her tattoo.

  Danger.

  Lore’s eyes met hers, the knowledge of her arousal in his dark gaze. It was a very male look: sure of himself and filled with anticipation. He had only to tighten his grip, and she was his. She felt his muscles flex, the calluses on his wide palms rasping against the soft flesh of her waist. His strength closed around her, pointedly keeping her in place. She could read it in the set of his lips: She would surrender and like it—whenever and as often as he chose.

  Talia’s mouth went dry, even as other parts of her grew wet in response to his challenge. Fear and desire were a potent brew, and with him she might enjoy the taste.

  Yet he released her, his fingers reluctant to let her go even as she drew away and straightened her sweater.

  “I can’t,” she said, her teeth near chattering with the repressed tension in those two words.

  The look in his eyes said she would and she could.

  “Not yet?” he replied after a long moment. “I’ll take a rain check.” His smile promised everything she’d just shied from—everything dark and dangerous and private.

  Rain check? Oh, God, let this drought end. But how could it? How could it ever?

  “I’m not the right kind of girl. You don’t know what you’re getting into,” Talia said, wishing that didn’t sound so clichéd. But it was true. My daddy will skin you alive. Right after he stakes me, that is.

  “I could have a nice hellhound girl if I wanted one.” Lore’s head tilted, and he gave her a mischievous look. “Maybe you’re my walk on the wild side.”

  Talia dropped her jaw. Her love life could have been summed up on the side of a cereal box. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “I am. A little.”

  The phone rang. Lore picked it up. “Hello?”

  Talia grabbed a couch cushion, thinking she might smother him with it, but then she heard Perry’s voice, sounding excited. Lore’s expression grew intent.

  “What?” he asked. “No, don’t worry. I’ll come to you.”

  He hung up the phone and stood up in one gesture.

  “What’s going on?” Talia demanded.

  When Lore looked down at her, she nearly ducked. Anger and triumph flared in his eyes.

  “Perry says he’s got proof that Belenos is here. More surveillance video.”


  “That was fast!”

  Lore gave a tight smile. “Perry was sure to point out that he knows all the best shortcuts. I’m going to go see what he’s got. Maybe there will be enough of a clue to catch the king.”

  Thursday, December 30, 6:00 p.m.

  University of Fairview

  Lore had to go to Perry because the werewolf was stuck at the university. In the midmorning, a power outage had made the pipes freeze and burst, flooding the downstairs computer lab. Plumbers had made it in, but Perry was called to assess the damage and do what he could to rescue his digital babies.

  Lore had been able to drive his truck as far as the university’s main parking lot, but going was slow even with chains. Driving in real winter conditions, he’d quickly learned, was a question of concentration and planning. That didn’t mean more than ten percent of Fairview’s residents concentrated or planned. With so many cars spinning out of control, telephone poles and mailboxes were becoming endangered species.

  He was almost pathetically grateful when he was able to park and make the rest of the way on four feet. Now he was making good time along the path to the Cambridge Building, taking the deep drifts in long bounds. Lore rounded the corner of the building, catching a blast of damp, bitter wind in the face.

  He hoped Perry’s evidence was good. Frankly, Lore was worried that the airports would be cleared and Omara would show up. The queen was overwhelming at the best of times, and Lore’s plate was more than full as it was. With Belenos, rogues, murder, the election and the Prophets knew what else running amok on his watch, a lesser hound would have been babbling by now. Lore was keeping it together, but he was starting to feel punch-drunk.

  The strain was clearly affecting his judgment, if he was spending couch time with Talia. What was he doing? He was supposed to be choosing a mate from the pack, not flirting with vampires. Especially vampires—if Errata’s sources were right—with possible slayer connections. He wasn’t going to jump to conclusions, but that would explain why she could fight like a professional and why she was so closed-mouth about her past. But whatever she’d been, things had changed. What the hell had happened to her?

  It would be easy, even smart, to distance himself from a woman who was not only the wrong species but most likely had been raised in the archenemy’s camp. But she was in trouble, and he couldn’t help himself. Her kiss was like nothing else. Once he’d tasted her, there was no going back.

  Was his attraction the appeal of forbidden fruit? Was it rebellion because he didn’t want Mavritte or one of the other she-hounds?

  No.

  Talia was beautiful and smart, and she was brave. He didn’t know all her story, but she was clearly a survivor. No one mourned as deeply as she did without knowing how to love. No one sat down to swap information with a roomful of shape-shifters unless she was prepared to meet them halfway. And to run away from Belenos and steal from him? That showed the kind of spirit Lore wanted guarding his back.

  The Alpha couple was a partnership. He’d led his people out of hell, and then gone back for the stragglers. He needed a mate who could do the same in a pinch. He needed someone who wasn’t afraid to kick down the bedroom door and come out swinging a baseball bat. To put it in terms his beast understood, she had to smell right.

  Talia was all that and more.

  He was spending that couch time for a very good reason. He intended to have her. Hellhound tradition be damned; he wasn’t going to pass up a woman like that before he even got to know her. It’s the twenty-first century, and we’re not in hell anymore. Get with the program.

  Lore ducked his head and forged on, finding his way by the occasional emergency lights over the building entrances. He’d just about zoned out, hypnotized by the rhythmic sound of his paws in the snow, when a doorway opened and Perry stuck his head out. “I’ve got hot coffee! Fido’s balls, you look like an Arctic troll!”

  Hot coffee! Hallelujah! Lore was about a hundred feet away. He shifted his gait to a higher gear.

  He almost felt the shot flick through the air before he heard the crack. It smacked into the doorframe inches from Perry’s head. He ducked back inside as Lore made a bound for the corner of the building.

  Sniper rifle, Lore thought, morphing back into human form. He dug for his sidearm through layers of coat and sweater. A gunshot was a big jump from beheading with a sword, but then Perry wasn’t a vampire. Lore would have bet his hind paw the rifle used silver bullets.

  Lore sighted down his firearm and searched the roofline of the building opposite the doorway. It was the most likely spot for a marksman to hide, but with no moon, all was inky shadows. Hellhound sight was good in the dark, but not good enough.

  He listened instead, trying to catch the sound of a boot scraping tile, a window sliding closed. He was far away, but sound carried oddly in the cold, dark silence. All he heard was the hiss of blowing snow and the rustle of his own clothes as he breathed.

  Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the door swing open again. No, stay inside!

  Perry threw something just as the rifle cracked once more. The object flew upward in an arc worthy of a professional pitcher, heading straight for where the gunman hid. It started small, no bigger than a baseball, but it grew as it spun through the air, blooming into a ball of light that drowned the campus in an eerie blue-green light. Lore shielded his eyes with his arm, squinting through the glare. He saw a man on the roof leap to his feet, falling back into the shadows. Lore squeezed off a shot, but the angle was bad. He got a glimpse of dark clothes, but nothing more.

  The ball exploded, fountaining sparks like a Roman candle. The campus fluttered with plumes of blue-green light, the falling stars hissing as they hit the snow. Sorcery or chemistry? Lore wasn’t sure—Perry was adept at both—but it had bought him a glimpse of the suspect.

  He blinked away the last afterimages from the exploding ball. Scanning the building again, he saw nothing—no shooter, no sign of movement. Crouching low, Lore crossed the distance to the other building. A bullet whined past his ear. He ducked and rolled, floundering a little in the heavy snow, but came up close to the building wall.

  That shot had come from a different angle. The shooter was on the move. He got to the end of the building and, gun at the ready, rounded the corner. There was a door, open just a little because the heavy, wet snow had jammed it.

  Lore slipped inside. With the power out, it was dark. The door led straight to a large spiral staircase that wound around a huge, hanging metal sculpture. A mental calculation said the last shot had probably come from the third floor. Lore started up the stairs, hoping the shooter wasn’t simultaneously descending somewhere else in the building. It was the best he could do. There were too many exits to cover, so a fighting chance was all he had.

  Just enough light came in the stairwell windows to find his way. Stopping at the second floor, he strained to catch any sound of movement. A cold breeze stirred the metal shards of the sculpture, making them turn on their long, thin chains. Nerves chattered at the edge of Lore’s mind, but he tuned them out.

  Instead, he started up the stairs again. He’d gone three steps when he heard a single scuff. He froze. Overhead, two of the metal shapes bumped together in the air currents with a sepulchral clang.

  Lore backed down the stairs, gun aimed at the second-floor landing. An electricity-deprived soft drink machine dripped softly, ice giving up the ghost. Lore peered down the hallway leading from the stairwell to the classrooms. A shadow flickered across the far window so fast it seemed a trick of the eye. A ping of grim satisfaction ran through him.

  Quarry spotted. Now the real work began.

  He slipped out of the stairwell, picking up speed. When he reached the window where he’d seen the figure, a wet footprint glistened on the tile floor, just visible in the light from the window. Lore crouched, squinting at the mark. He could tell it was the right size for an adult human male, but not much else. He followed the direction of the print, heading for
the south side of the building.

  There were fewer windows there. There seemed to be no emergency lights in that part the building, or else something had malfunctioned. All Lore could see was the outline of an intersecting hallway ahead. He moved cautiously, aware he could easily run into an open door or bit of wall. He’d survive that, but perhaps not the noise he’d make.

  But then he noticed light creeping along the floor. It was coming from the left, up ahead, where he guessed the shooter had gone. As he drew nearer, Lore raised his weapon, focused on the south corridor as it slowly came into view.

  He stopped midstride. The shooter was walking casually down the hall, his rifle—a box-type semiautomatic—slung over one shoulder. He had a flashlight in the other hand. Lore got an impression of someone fit and tall with collar-length hair—but not Belenos. Lore remembered the vampire king as a bigger man. Who was this guy? Lore took aim.

  “On your knees! Now!” he roared.

  The light vanished. The figure didn’t turn or even flinch, but bolted like a flushed rabbit. Lore fired, hoping to scare the guy into stopping, but no such luck. Lore ran after him, afraid to stop and change to his hound form. The seconds it would take would be enough to lose his prey.

  He’d gone about fifty steps when he lost sight of his quarry. He stopped, listening, but there was nothing to hear. Instinct made him fall to the ground a second before another bullet zinged through the air. Lore saw the muzzle flash. The guy was using a classroom door for cover. Lore returned fire, the bullet striking sparks off the door handle.

  The guy dove for the emergency exit a few feet away. They had traveled a nearly complete loop back to the main stairwell. Lore cut down a side hall and aimed for that instead, hoping to head the shooter off when they reached the main-floor landing. Firefights in a stairwell weren’t pretty, and he’d as soon have the element of surprise on his side.

  He galloped down the stairs and jumped the last steps, dashing to the fire exit door across the building foyer and ripping it open. He was late. The shooter was already two flights below, heading for the basement. Thankfully, the emergency lights were working here. Lore charged after him, stripping off his suffocating coat along the way.