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  It was hardly a reward now. Everyone knew the Hunters’ symbol. If the nonhumans ever saw the tattoo, she would be torn to shreds. Of course, now that she was one of the monsters, the Hunters only saw her as something fit to kill. Undeath was filled with interesting ironies.

  Talia pulled the sleeve down again. What was she? Hunter? Monster? Teacher?

  Prisoner.

  Talia blinked, tears of frustration and sadness misting the lights into a blurry wash. The pillow felt cool against her cheek. She’d been in that room, on that bed, almost long enough that it was starting to smell more like her than the hellhound.

  It smelled like grief.

  Then grow a spine, will ya? She took a long, shaky breath, fumbling for enough anger to push her into action. Half her instincts screamed to hop the first night bus heading out of town. The other half was crying out for vengeance.

  Either way, she had to get out of Lore’s bedroom. What would happen if he found out I was a Hunter? Ground vampire patties with extra ketchup, probably.

  No one was going to save her but herself. Heroes on white horses were a myth. I am not a victim. She rolled onto her back, scanning the room for escape possibilities.

  First, she needed a tool to get out of the cuffs. She wiggled toward the bedside table, stretching as far as the handcuffs would allow. There was just enough play to let her slide the drawer open and feel inside. Not much there—just a library book on how to fix kitchen appliances and a pack of spearmint gum. She pushed the drawer shut.

  On top of the nightstand were a bedside light, an alarm clock, and some tattered paperback books. She turned the spines of the books toward her. Lore’s reading tastes leaned toward Westerns of the lone-gunmansaves-the-town variety. It suited him.

  Despite her fear, she’d noticed a few choice details about her captor. The broad spread of his chest, the slim hips, the skin shades darker than her own, as if he’d labored outdoors in the hot sun. A working man.

  But not just a muscled body. Those dark eyes held an entire universe of sorrow. Lore was the sort of puzzle a woman could get lost in solving. She knew the type of guy. Just one more piece, and the picture—or his soul—would reveal itself.

  Yeah, right. The guy had chained her up. She was so out of there. She would not waste time dissecting his psyche.

  Instead, she was going to dismantle his alarm clock. Talia’s hand closed over it, feeling the vibration of its ticks. It was one of the old wind-up ones, the kind with a round face and twin bells on top. There should be something inside she could use to pick the lock of the handcuffs. She’d learned the whole Houdini skill set as a kid, along with every kind of combat drill going. Who needed summer camp when you had Dad and Uncle Yuri?

  She dragged the clock onto the bed and turned it over. It seemed a shame to break it, but oh well. She popped the brass case off its back and watched the gears tick for a moment. There was a pin at the top that connected the hammer that rang the alarm to a spring. It looked almost like a hairpin. It would do, as long as the metal was neither too soft nor too brittle.

  Holding the clock down as best she could with her cuffed hand, she dismantled the gears with the other. Once she had the pin out, she spent some time bending it so that it had a slight curve at the end, almost a hook. Holding it parallel to the cuff, she slid it just inside the lock, where there was a tiny notch in the keyhole. Applying even pressure to the pin, she levered it away from her. The lock gave a satisfying snick. She twisted her cuffed wrist at the same time, grinning with satisfaction as the mechanism gave way. She rubbed her wrists, glad to finally be free of the silver. The cuffs had scraped her skin raw.

  Talia rolled off the bed, crossing to the window and looking out. Cold air seeped through the glass, a rim of ice forming at the bottom of the pane. With no breath to fog the window, Talia was able to lean in, her vision unobstructed.

  Snow was falling at a brisk pace. That was going to add an interesting wrinkle to her escape. Before long, the roads would be clogged. She had to get moving.

  She didn’t want to ever see the place where she’d found her cousin’s body again, but there was no way around it. She would just have to figure out how to get past the cops. She wasn’t going anywhere without her weapons, cash, and decent boots. The dainty ankle boots she had on would be useless in this much snow.

  And if the dog got in her way, she’d send him to obedience school. No one caught Talia Rostova twice.

  Chapter 9

  Tuesday, December 28, 11:55 p.m.

  Downtown Fairview

  Darak had followed the evil to the fire, but there wasn’t a lot to see once he got there. Bystanders, police, a city pound’s worth of hellhounds were all doing what needed to be done—but none of that interested him.

  The fire itself was okay, but he’d seen better sorcery. This one was a little heavy on the whole melting-walls thing. Showy and dramatic, but a lot of energy wasted to get a simple job done.

  What got his attention was what the spell slinger had targeted. Campaign office—well, why not hit the most controversial location in town? But a medical clinic—that made Darak mad. It was always the ordinary folk who got it in the neck when the powerful began throwing their weight around.

  He paced the sidewalk beyond the perimeter set by the fire brigade. Smuts fell from the sky with the snow, looking as if the flakes themselves were burning. One fell on his cuff and he flicked it away, feeling a hot kiss of embers.

  There was no trace of the spell caster here. The sense of evil was dying from the scene along with the flames, burning down into a gray ash of wilted magic. By morning, it would be no more than a shiver up the spine.

  That didn’t do him a bit of good. Frustrated, Darak turned and stalked back along the sidewalk again. There should have been more. He wasn’t a magic user, but he knew something about it. A sorcerer didn’t just pull this kind of energy out of his ass. It had to come from somewhere: a sacred object, a ley line, or maybe a sacrifice.

  There was nothing here. Whoever had cast the spell had raised the energy someplace else and redirected it. Darak glared back at the fire and its halo of snow and ash.

  It was then he saw the woman. She was standing a few feet away, wearing nothing but a blouse and navy blue skirt. Her brown hair was neatly cut at shoulder length. She was shivering, clutching her arms because she had no coat.

  Oh, no. He had a bad feeling, but he walked over anyway.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She looked up at him, frowning the way some people did because they had to look up, and then up some more to find his face. “I’m not sure how I got here,” she said, her voice holding both fear and annoyance. “It’s snowing. It never snows here.”

  Darak took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “Here.”

  Its size drowned her, but she looked grateful. Pausing to look around again, she seemed to notice the fire. “Is that the clinic?”

  “Yeah. Too bad about that.” He was wearing a pullover, but the wind bit through the loose weave. The whole chivalry thing obviously came from warmer climates.

  “I hope the nurses don’t lose their jobs.” She looked confused. “You know, I think I need to go home.”

  He’d been expecting it. “Want me to walk you?”

  “Please. I’d like that.”

  He offered her his arm. He was the last thing from a gentleman and most of the time was barely polite, but there was a time and a place to show respect. “Where do you live?”

  She hesitated, searching the streets around them, then seemed to get her bearings. “Over this way.”

  Dread settled into his bones. He wondered how far it was, and how much time he had to talk to her. This sort of thing never got easier, no matter how many centuries rolled past.

  They set off in silence, taking shortcuts through an alley and a schoolyard. The chain-link fence around the playground sparkled with frost. Darak stayed close to her side, careful not to let her out of his sight for even a secon
d.

  “I just got home tonight,” the woman said.

  He noticed she was pretty in a fresh, simple way. In other circumstances, she would have been pleasant to look at for hours on end.

  “I was going to spend the night with my cousin,” she added.

  “Yeah?”

  “She’s like you.”

  “Like me?”

  “You know. A vampire.” She gave him a shy glance. “Sorry. I seem to be saying whatever pops into my head. I’m usually a better conversationalist than this.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He wasn’t much good at small talk at the best of times. “So your cousin’s a vampire?”

  “I was kind of afraid, but if no one ever gave Talia a break.. . . ” She trailed off, then stopped, turning to Darak. With a pleading gesture, she put one hand on his chest. “You’ve got to make sure she’s okay.”

  They always made a request. It usually came near the end, so they had to be close to where it had happened.

  He looked around. There were a lot of nice buildings, a few houses. Where would a woman like this live? Of course. Cop cars, over there. It looked like the kind of street that should have been quiet, but tonight it was jammed with ominous flashing lights and men with uniforms.

  She was still looking at him, her eyes dark with worry. She barely came up to his collar bone. It’s surprising how many ask to keep their loved ones safe.

  “Of course,” he said. “I’ll check on her. Talia, right?” One vampire shouldn’t be hard to find.

  “I’d really appreciate it.” She gave him a quick, uncertain smile. “My feet are so cold.”

  That would be because she was barefoot, but he didn’t point it out. “Is that your building over there?”

  “Y-yes. Wow, look at all the police. I wonder what’s going on. Think somebody had a break-in?”

  “Why don’t we go in the back way?”

  “Good idea.”

  Gently, he guided her to the corner, and they crossed with the lights. Nice and easy.

  As they went around to the parking lot, she started to become agitated, looking nervously around her. They were passing through the rows of cars, stepping over the concrete ribs that kept them in tidy lines. “Thank you for walking with me.”

  “No problem. What’s your name?”

  “Michelle.”

  The back door was still a fair distance away, its light making a pool on the gathering snow. A single cop stood outside, looking bored.

  She started violently, colliding with Darak in terror of something only she could see. His coat slid off her shoulders and fell into the snow. He caught her, wrapping his arm around her so that she was caged against his chest. He crouched down between a truck and an SUV, letting her sink safely to the ground. “Hey, take it easy. You’re not alone. I’m here.”

  “What’s happening?” Trembling like a fever victim, her slight weight began to fade.

  They weren’t going to make it through the door before her spirit fled the earth.

  “Tell me what happened, Michelle.”

  Clamping her hands around her head, she shrieked, a piercing wail that reverberated through his bones. He hushed her, cradling her against his body. “Sh. You’re safe.”

  Necromancy.

  The word burned hot in his gut. He knew this for what it was now. The spell caster had gotten his power from this woman’s murder. Now that the spell was winding down, she got to live through the horror all over again.

  She was panting, a sheen of sweat coating her fine features despite the cold. “He came for me. He said it was a warning to Talia that she was next. Watch out for her. Please. Please.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  Her eyes grew wide, seeing something or someone looming closer. She raised her hands, warding off an invisible blow.

  “Michelle—”

  Stripes of blood blossomed on her hands.

  “No!” He shielded her with both his arms, using his size and bulk to ward off the horror that only she could see.

  She screamed again, so loudly that Darak squeezed his eyes shut.

  In that split second, she was gone. He crouched in the parking lot, his skull still splitting from the noise.

  The cop didn’t come running. He hadn’t heard a thing. It was Darak’s special curse to see and hear the dead. One he loathed violently each and every day.

  He picked up his jacket and stuffed his arms through the sleeves, sending the buckles and zippers jangling. Darak turned toward the back door with its single guard. It would be easy enough to hypnotize the human into letting him have a quiet look through the building. Odds were there would be no clues to the necromancer’s identity, but he had to look.

  Slowly, he got to his feet, swallowing hard as if he were choking something down. He rested his hand for a moment on the hood of the truck, taking a long breath of the icy air.

  Pluto’s balls, he hated these encounters. A hard ache lurked where his heart should have beaten. This jackass with a spell book had ruined Darak’s evening. He had completely messed with Michelle’s.

  The jackass had to die.

  Wednesday, December 29, 12:05 p.m.

  Lore’s condo

  Once he was through scoping out the crime scene, Lore left the building, walking into the steadily falling snow. He’d learned a few things, including how the police intended to proceed. They were looking for evidence of who came and went from the building and when. They were looking for witnesses. They wanted to know about Michelle’s and Talia’s lives, whom they associated with, and why anyone would wish them harm. Mostly, they were looking for Talia.

  Lore already had a head start on the last item. He needed to catch up on the rest, now that he had a road map to follow. It would have been more efficient to share information with Baines—the man was obviously no fool—but the hellhounds hadn’t survived by trusting anyone else. He wanted solid proof of Talia’s guilt before he left her to the mercy of the human cops.

  He crossed the street, fascinated by the dizzying, swirling snow. It left cold kisses on his skin, chill and ephemeral as a ghost. Or a vampire.

  Not that their flesh was that cold. It was cool and smooth as silk, enticing as half-forgotten wishes. No, it wasn’t the temperature, but the odd, hushed melancholy of the snow that made him think of the Undead.

  Or perhaps it was the silence. Talia was too new to have that eerie calm. Instead, the chill, pure air reminded him of another Undead beauty.

  Constance Moore and her son had lived in the Castle, the prison where Lore had grown up. Because Lore was a friend to her boy, almost a big brother, she’d included him in their daily lessons. She had taught Lore to read and write—rare skills for a lowly hellhound. His people had been little better than slaves, but Constance had never been anything but kind. Now her gift of knowledge gave him an edge for survival in the human world.

  Perhaps it was the memory of Constance that made him protective of Talia. Foolish. They were entirely different people. More than that, he was a different person now, a grown Alpha with no time for sentimentality. Which was why he was standing in the snow with his cell phone, running interference for a pretty vampire he had no business helping.

  Nah, he’d been suckered since the moment she’d tried to kick him in the head. He had a weakness for girls with some spirit. Idiot.

  Lore began punching in a number. He’d gone outside because he was too wary to risk being overheard by the cops. Now he began pacing, impatient to get answers.

  Fortunately, Perry was still up.

  “Miss me?” the werewolf said dryly. “Or do you think I’m such a crack researcher I’ve found your answer to the floaty evil already?”

  “Have you?”

  “No.”

  “Too bad. Something else has happened.”

  “I heard about the clinic building burning. The vamps have gone bat-shit crazy about the campaign office.”

  Lore ignored the not-so-subtle bat joke. His mind was on a straight
road that he hoped led to confirming Talia’s innocence. “There was a murder in my condo building.”

  After a stunned silence, Perry made a noise that wasn’t quite a laugh. “What?”

  “I’m not making this up.”

  The wolf swore. “What the hell is going on tonight?”

  Lore looked up and down the street, his eyes searching the front of each neighboring building. The dusting of snow made everything look deceptively charming, like one of the humans’ greeting cards. “My building doesn’t have security cameras covering the entrances. Are there any around here that you can hack into?”

  “I dunno. Depends on their setup. Are you trying to get me arrested?”

  “You’re too good for that.”

  “Says you. What’s nearby?”

  Lore named the businesses.

  “Hm. The bank and the corner market are good bets. There’s probably a traffic cam around there, too. Are we looking for anyone in particular?”

  “The killer.”

  “We need more words than that, dog-boy.”

  “I don’t have a description,” Lore said, irritated. “Possibly two people—one to control and one to strike. Or else someone strong enough to hack off a head on his or her own.”

  There was silence at the other end of the line. “They took the head? That’s an execution. Who died?”

  “The woman we saw walk into the building tonight. The one who made you want to bake cookies.”

  He heard Perry’s breathing quicken with anger. “I’ll get back to you when I have something.”

  “Good luck.” A puff of steamy breath followed the last words like a prayer.

  Lore snapped the phone shut and considered his next move. First, he wanted to ask Talia about the Latin word on the wall. Maybe it meant something to her. Would she admit it if it did?