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The grandmother of the family opened the door.

  “Greetings, Osan Mina,” he said, giving her his best smile.

  Grandmother Mina had been littermate to his own osan, and was the closest he had now to family. She was dressed in a long skirt and apron, a white blouse, and a flowered kerchief that tied over her hair. She wasn’t a tiny woman, but years of hard work had rounded her spine. He bowed low, as befit one who was so much younger.

  “Madhyor,” she replied in the hound’s tongue. “Sit by the fire and let me serve you tea.”

  The fire in question was a steam radiator, but Lore didn’t argue. He pulled up a wooden chair to the tiny kitchen table. The family had painted the walls in a bright yellow, with trim in brilliant blues and reds. Geometric designs ran along the edges of the ceiling. It was the same pattern the women sewed on the hems of their skirts, symbolizing the endless return of souls to the pack, life after life.

  Grandmother Mina gave him tea in a mug emblazoned with the CSUP logo. Like so many in Spookytown, Grandmother Mina spent the day listening to the station. Then she put a plate of meat and bread on the table. The smell of it reminded Lore that he hadn’t eaten anything solid yet that day, and refusing refreshments was an insult.

  “Bevan wants to know what to do about the taxes for the warehouse,” Mina said. “He told me to ask you when you next came around.”

  “He has my phone number. He can call me anytime.” He turned the mug around, liking the fact it was warm against his chilled hands.

  “He knows if you stop by his house, that will make his mother happy. A family feels blessed when the Alpha steps through their doorway.” Mina patted his hand. “Osan Riva will have no one else fix her sink. She says you are the only one who can make the drains run right.”

  “Water flows downward no matter who fixes the drain.”

  “And Livrok wants advice on the batball team.”

  “Baseball.” He put a slab of chicken onto a thick slice of bread and bit into it.

  “That makes no sense. They don’t hit it with the base.”

  “I didn’t make up the name, Grandmother,” he said, taking another bite.

  “Why not? It would have made sense if you had done it. And don’t forget my sister wants to know what to do now that her grandson is old enough to work a full day. He needs an occupation.”

  Which was the main reason Lore lived a little distance away. With the pack turning to him for everything—especially since coming to the human world—a sanctuary was essential. And perhaps it is also a rebellion, along with the vampire in it?

  “Is Helver at home?” he asked. “I want to continue our discussion from last night.”

  “I know you do. I sent him to spend the afternoon with Erich and Breckan.” Those were younger cousins.

  Lore set his mug down on the table, irritated at her interference, but keeping his expression respectful. “Why, Osan Mina? He stole money from the vampires. Money I have to take back to them with an apology. He has brought dishonor on the pack.”

  “I want to talk to you alone. You can punish my grandson later.” She pursed her lips as she sat down across from him. Although her hair had gone white, she was still lean and clear-eyed. Unlike other half demons, hellhounds were mortal. They loved, labored, and bore children. Grandmother Mina bore the testimony of all that and more in the lines of her face.

  They were also the only species who had reproduced, aged, and died inside the Castle. Its strange magic had not affected them the same way as any other species. They were the worker bees of the nonhuman world, always in demand, never allowed the luxuries of the others.

  He meant to change their status in this land, where hard work and imagination could take the common man to the heights of power. Opportunity was all they had ever needed, and already he had made great strides. Lore had scored a victory when he won a seat at the table with the other leaders of the supernatural community, and now sat there as their equal—but he still felt like a young boy beneath Grandmother Mina’s dark gaze.

  His cell phone rang. It was Baines again. He switched the phone off.

  “What is more important than Helver’s welfare?” he asked.

  “He runs riot with the Redbone pack. They are not like us. They question your strength as Alpha.”

  “They’re wrong.”

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  “What should I say? That I will bite Mavritte on the nose?”

  “You have to show the Redbones your strength.”

  “If they challenge me, it will be to the death. Mavritte isn’t the type to stop at first blood.”

  “A fight isn’t what we need.”

  “Then what?”

  “You know the pack waits for the Alpha to choose a mate.”

  Lore shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Perhaps that is a tradition that must fall by the wayside. Just because I haven’t . . .”

  Mina’s eyes snapped. “It’s not tradition. It’s fact. We’re neither human nor animal. Magic sometimes dictates how we live.”

  Lore stared stubbornly into his tea. The legend had it that until there was an Alpha pair, the females would not bear young. It was true that very few pups had arrived since his father’s death and none since his mother had passed away. But how much was fact and how much simply tradition? How much would he let an ancient legend rule his life in a world filled with refrigerators and wireless Internet?

  “Kirsta is willing. So is Zofia, Sasha’s daughter. What is wrong with them?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then get on with it!” She twisted her fingers through the bright strings of beads around her neck.

  “There is no hound I want to take to my bed. At least not permanently.”

  “No bonding means no young. No young means no future.”

  Lore was silent.

  Mina released the beads, and they fell with a clatter. “If you don’t do your duty, the pack will find an Alpha who will.”

  “I’m still young.”

  “Your father was younger. Why won’t you choose? Have the humans tempted you? Are we no longer good enough?”

  Lore pushed his tea away. “Forgive me, Osan, but you know me better. I walked back into the Castle time and again to rescue the last of our people, one by one. I am loyal to the pack.”

  “What about Mavritte?”

  Lore stood. “I have already told her no.”

  “The Elders favor her. It would unite the packs.”

  “But I am Alpha.” And I am ambushed. It was too much a coincidence that he was having this conversation twice in one day.

  Mina rose and took Lore’s hands. “Promise me you will think on this, Madhyor.”

  “I will ask for a prophecy.” It was a ritual answer, but a true one. He was going to need divine intervention to find his way through this mess.

  “The Elders seek prophecy on your mate, too. So far, all is darkness. The Eldest threw the bones of divination, but they turned up blank.”

  Thank all the gods. At least that bought him some time. Lore bowed over her hands. “I honor your concern.”

  “Don’t honor, act. Choose someone before the Elders choose for you.”

  Like hell they will!

  Lore changed the subject. “Tell Helver that Grash will be his trainer.”

  Grandmother Mina gave him a surprised look. “Grash?”

  He crossed the tiny kitchen toward the door. “It will make Mavritte happy.”

  “Are you certain this is wise?”

  Lore put his hand on the doorknob, then dropped it. He turned to face her, needing to make his point. “Either we trust the Redbones enough to mate with them, or we don’t. Merging the packs has to go beyond a mere pair bond. We need other bridges between us.”

  She pressed her lips into a dubious scowl. “I don’t like Grash.”

  “I don’t like any of them, but I sleep better knowing I am their Alpha. If they step out of line, I have the authority to take action.”

  “S
poken like an Alpha.”

  “Maybe, but our packs are small. We are still better off together. I will keep trying to make peace.”

  “You are your father’s son.”

  “Be well, Osan.”

  “Be well.”

  Lore left the house, feeling oddly alone when the door closed behind him. Would the Elders really force a mate on me? Choose a different Alpha? What would he do? Take a female he didn’t want or walk away from the pack, losing everything he’d ever known?

  The once-familiar street looked strange, smothered, and frozen.

  Trapped.

  Welcome to my future.

  Chapter 15

  Later, Lore stood at the foot of his bed, arms folded, watching Talia sleep. He could feel the sun setting, his demon sense tracking the moment twilight passed into night. Hellhounds belonged to that place between one state and other: doorways, dawn, the soft state between sleep and waking. Some believed that, once upon a time, the hounds had padded beside the souls of the deceased, guarding them on their journey to the Land of the Dead.

  That was why they could not lie—there was no room in that critical passage for anything but truth. And perhaps that’s why vampires fascinated him. Like him, they were caught on the road between life and death, never quite finding rest.

  He watched Talia and waited for the sinking sun to work its magic. It was like admiring a painting, her still form lovely but curiously vacant. Vampires didn’t die during the daylight hours, but their sleep was so deep it resembled a coma. The old ones could wake in the day, but not fledglings like Talia.

  Even Lore could tell she was newly Turned. Awake, she was in perpetual motion, energy sparking every moment. She didn’t have the stillness of the long-dead. Now she was an empty container.

  What is her story? How did she end up like this?

  Lore felt the horizon snuff out the last of the sun’s glow. Talia’s eyes flickered open. They reflected the dim light of the room like a cat, a sudden flash of yellow.

  Lore knew enough to wait before approaching the bed. There was a moment when a vampire woke when the body was active, but the mind still asleep. For those first few seconds, the newly made were unpredictable.

  Sure enough, she launched herself across the bed toward him. A trapped animal. Nothing but rage, fear, and hunger.

  Lore grabbed her shoulders. “Talia!”

  She froze, and the silence was potent. He could almost hear her mind booting up like a balky computer. Then he saw personality flooding back, filling up her face.

  “You.” The word was filled with meaning—disgust, relief, regret, and a touch of desire. Then he saw pain. “Last night . . . it all really happened.”

  “Yes.”

  “Of course it did.” She sank back on the bed, jamming her hands through her hair. “Oh, God.”

  Lore picked up a glass from the dresser top. “I brought you blood.”

  “Get serious.” Hunger and revulsion collided in her face. “Whose is that?”

  “I keep refreshments in the fridge. Beer, cola . . . and this. For friends. The hospital supplies it, if you know the right people.”

  “Bagged blood is—it doesn’t work. We can’t live on it. And it’s disgusting.”

  She was right. Vampires needed the life essence of their victims as much as the protein from their blood, but the O Neg alone could keep them going for a few days. “I’m told it’s best cut liberally with vodka. I can make it into a cocktail, if you prefer.”

  “I’d be hosed by six o’clock.”

  “You’d stop complaining.”

  “I’ll stay sober, thanks.” She eyed the glass, hunger obviously getting the upper hand. “Any chance of going out for a bite?”

  “You’re safer here, where I can protect you.”

  “Who elected you my bodyguard?”

  “I’m a hellhound.” He handed her the glass, careful not to let their skin touch. He would not visit that slippery slope again. “Guarding is what we do.”

  “Don’t I get a say in the matter?” She glanced up at him. “Don’t watch me.”

  New vampires were squeamish about drinking blood, but he couldn’t afford to make a mistake. “I’m not turning my back on you. You’d figure out a way to hit me over the head.”

  “Mangy beast.” She took a sip of the blood and made a face. “Omigod is that awful!”

  “It’s a bit old.”

  “Ugh!”

  He moved to take it away, but she waved him off. Closing her eyes, she chugged the blood, draining it to the last drop. Then she held out the glass, eyes still screwed shut. When he took it, she clamped her hand over her mouth, her throat working. For a moment, Lore wondered if she was going to throw up. A thread of guilt wormed through him. “I’ll try and find a volunteer next time.”

  She drew a long, shuddering breath. “Next time I’ll just bite you.”

  The rest must have done her good, if she was up to slinging insults. “I’ve been told demon blood is low in nutrients.”

  The look she gave him would have made a lesser hound grovel. Lore grinned. “You have to keep up your strength.”

  “You’re a monster!”

  “So are you.”

  She hiccupped. He wondered again if she was going to be sick but, to his complete astonishment, she started to weep, little mewing sobs.

  This was too much. He abandoned the dirty glass on the nightstand and sat down on the bed next to her. He laid a hand on her head, feeling the smooth silk of her dark hair. Stiffening, she folded her free arm across her stomach, clutching herself.

  “I didn’t ask for this!” she muttered under her breath.

  “I’m sorry.” Lore stroked her hair, rattled by her silent, angry sobbing. These were tears of rage as much as sorrow, her teeth clenched against her grief. “I’m working as fast as I can to find out who killed your cousin.”

  When she didn’t pull away, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Talia was small by hellhound standards, but that made her fit neatly into the circle of his arm. She was so slender, he could feel her bones move as she wept. The utter, aching sadness of it stirred memories of his own. Species didn’t matter when it came to the kinship of sorrow.

  Slowly, very slowly, Talia quieted. “You’re warm,” she murmured.

  He pulled her closer. Vampires were always cold, and he had heat to spare. The perfumes she had been wearing had faded, and now he could smell her clearly, her unique musk imprinting on his memory. It smelled familiar, like a sweet tune he’d forgotten only to hear it in the most unexpected setting. He closed his eyes, memorizing the feel of her body against his. It felt so right.

  This was wrong. He was the Alpha of his pack, and he shouldn’t be holding a strange female. He could feel his motivations turning murkier by the second, the desire to see justice done mixing with desire of another kind. So this is forbidden fruit.

  “What happened to you?” Lore asked. “How did you end up in this mess?”

  She closed her eyes. He studied her finely veined eyelids, delicate as a moth’s wing. “The answer depends on where you want to start.”

  “The beginning.”

  “When my brother turned thirteen, my father hung a picture over Max’s bed so that it was the last thing he saw at night. It was of a succubus devouring the flesh of her lover. It gave him nightmares. As long as I knew him, Max never bedded a woman more than once.”

  Lore’s stomach rolled over. “Disturbing, but how did that get you here?”

  “It says everything you need to know about where I came from. The rest was all me trying to make sense of everything my father did to us. I try to tell myself I’m not a victim, but it’s hard to believe sometimes. Home was like a prison, only stranger.”

  She fell silent, as if talking had exhausted her. Lore kept his arm around her, feeling the tension in her muscles. She might be slumped against him, but she was wound to the breaking point. In the quiet, Lore could hear some optimist trying to start his frozen ca
r.

  “I know what it’s like to grow up in a prison,” he said.

  “How did you get out?”

  “One day, by pure chance, a doorway opened and a few of us escaped. It took a while before we could figure out the place we’d come to. Your world is so different. I’d never seen the sky or growing things.”

  Talia put her hand on his forearm. It was a commonplace gesture, but it was the first time she’d made the first move to touch him. It made him feel humble and yet twice his size.

  “As soon as I could, I went back for the rest. Many were held as slaves by the Castle warlords. We are stronger than many species, so the others kept children and wives as a guarantee that we would not turn on them. Many hounds would not leave their captive families behind. So I smuggled in goods that were scarce in there but plentiful here and bargained for every hound I could. Cloth. Books. Tools. Three pairs of shoes would buy a houndish child out of slavery. One by one, I got them out. Finally, I convinced the other species to help me rescue the rest of the pack who were still hiding in the dungeon corridors. It was a fierce battle, with many casualties. But no one was left behind as a prisoner.”

  Talia blinked. “No one?”

  “No.”

  “You had nothing, and you got your people to safety. So why did this happen to me?” she whispered.

  “No one asks to be the target of a killer.”

  She seemed to choke for a moment. He saw tears leak from beneath her long, dark eyelashes. They trailed down her cheeks, glistening with a faint pink sheen. “That’s not it. I didn’t ask to be Turned.”

  Lore stiffened, and she looked up. The stricken look in her eyes made her meaning clear. Few vampires were made, especially in these times when human law held sway. None were Turned without begging for it.

  Unless Talia had already been murdered once before.

  A cold, cold horror began to fill his chest. Beneath that, rage.

  Chapter 16

  Wednesday, December 29, 8:00 p.m.

  101.5 FM

  “Good evening, this is the CSUP news on 101.5 FM in Fairview. At the top of our headlines tonight is the fire that destroyed the South Fairview Medical Clinic and the campaign office of Michael de Winter, the first nonhuman to stand for election to city council. Although preliminary investigations do not reveal traces of an accelerant, according to Fairview Police Detective Derek Baines arson is indeed suspected. The news has rocked all of Fairview. Already, accusations of a hate crime are finding their way into the national media. Queen Omara, sponsor of de Winter’s candidacy, is rearranging her plans and will arrive in Fairview as soon as the weather permits.”