Frostbound

by Sharon Ashwood

  Lore held that gaze. Hellhounds were safe from the Undead’s hypnotic powers, and he felt compelled to prove it. Maybe to her, maybe to himself. He wasn’t sure. He was too aware of her, and needed to control the situation. “You know Latin, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “There was a Latin word written on the wall. A symbol was painted over it in blood.”

  She looked startled. “Huh?”

  “Someone wrote on the wall in Latin.”

  “What for?” Bewilderment filled her features.

  “Could it have had anything to do with Michelle?”

  “No. Latin wasn’t her thing. I’m the geek.” Pinkish tears filled her eyes. She swallowed convulsively. “I can’t talk about her right now. Not if you want me to make sense.”

  She swallowed again. “What did the words say?”

  Lore’s hands twitched at his sides. He wanted to comfort her, but holding her against him would shut down his thought processes once and for all. The questioning would end, and the reign of the little brain would begin. That would be giving in—to her? To himself? All he knew was that if he started something, it would be hell to stop.

  “There was just one word. Vincire.”

  She shook her head. “Why that?”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “It’s in the imperative tense. It means ‘be bound.’ ”

  “Why would someone write that?”

  “I have no idea. It sounds creepy.” She seemed to be telling the truth.

  It might fit with his necromancy theory, but he wanted to talk to Perry before he said anything. Lore moved on. “What were you doing before you came home tonight?”

  “Shopping. What does it matter? Do you need an alibi? I have receipts.”

  A tear escaped, leaving a faintly pink track down her cheek. Before he could stop himself, he reached over and erased it with his thumb. Her skin was satin-soft, almost white against the deep tan of his skin. She looked up at him, eyes wide. She looked as vulnerable as one of those wild daisies that grew in the sidewalk cracks. There only by chance, and by chance as easily destroyed.

  He withdrew his hand, heart stumbling. No, don’t do this. Vampires seduced as easily as they breathed. His half-demon blood was good armor, but it wasn’t bulletproof. Pretty women didn’t necessarily need magic.

  He took a step back from her, hating that he did. “Why is your sire after you?”

  “Because I ran away. Isn’t that obvious?” He saw her gaze flicker away. A half-truth.

  “Where did you come from?”

  “A long way away.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, as if she were suddenly tired.

  “If you’re in the registry of rogues, it’s easy enough for me to find out who your sire is.”

  “If you ask the cops, they’ll want to know why. You’ll have to give me up.” She shot him a glance. “Are you really ready to do that?”

  Lore clenched his teeth. “Why did you come to Fairview? Why not go someplace else?”

  “Michelle was here. Plus, you have a big supernatural population.”

  “That makes it easier to hide.”

  “Yeah.”

  That much made sense. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

  Her mouth tightened. “Why do you care?”

  The need to touch her again itched through him. It made him impatient. “Think about it. If somebody wants to kill you, it would help to know why.”

  She held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “I don’t know! I’m just a schoolteacher. And you’re about as subtle an interrogator as a troll!”

  “Why did you run away from your sire?”

  The repeated question got a reaction this time. She jumped to her feet, her eyes flashing with a sudden bolt of fury that made Lore want to fall back—but this time he stood his ground.

  “My sire was pushy.” Talia’s words were quiet, almost inaudible. “Take a hint. It brings out the worst in people.”

  Lore gripped the bedpost, longing to press his lips against that flower-stem throat. Or maybe strangle her. He wasn’t supposed to want her, but she was driving him crazy. “Who turns a schoolteacher into a vampire?”

  Her mouth quivered. “Another vampire. There was nothing special about it.”

  That was a lie. He could smell it. “We’re not getting anywhere unless you’re honest.”

  She gave him an impassive stare with her golden hawk’s eyes. He had to hand it to her, she was as cool as the snow blanketing the world outside. She had lied to him and defied him and escaped from his custody. He was Alpha. No one had ever flouted his authority this way.

  The woman is pure chaos. A growl ripped out of Lore’s throat, filling the room. He felt her tense, and his hunting instinct went on alert. Fear. Prey. Her eyes flared wide, obviously aware of the danger he represented.

  He stalked closer to her, stopping when they were only inches apart. She didn’t back away as he expected she would. As she should have, a female yielding to a dominant male.

  This was bad. Nearness made him far too aware of her. He couldn’t risk getting any closer. The slightest movement, and their faces would have touched.

  One of them had to retreat.

  Instead, he touched his hands to her hips ever so lightly, barely brushing the fabric of her jeans. His palms tingled with the contact. She smelled so delicious. Her skin was inches away, petal-soft and pale as a lily. This close, he could see the faint spatter of freckles across her cheekbones, the texture of her lips. She was utterly still, too focused on his next move to take a breath. It was like looking at a statue. A beautiful statue.

  I’m on a slippery slope.

  They were at an impasse, both too stubborn to give way. I can force her. He meant that in a hundred ways: to yield, to answer his questions, to lie beneath him as he had his way. He was stronger. In the end, brute power would win, but it would never be a victory he would relish.

  He needed her to tell the whole truth.

  He had to surprise Talia into giving something away.

  Slippery slope!

  But how? She wasn’t responding to him like a normal female. Maybe vampires weren’t attracted to hellhounds. He knew he wasn’t supposed to want her. Never mind that every two seconds he had to remind himself of the fact.

  He had to grab control of the situation.

  Or not.

  Or maybe just grab her. Lore kissed Talia.

  A slight gasp of surprise escaped her, but otherwise she didn’t move a muscle. Only a slight trembling in her limbs told him she was even aware of his presence.

  Her hair slid along his cheek, sleek and soft. Her lips were cool, tasting of the cosmetics she wore. Beneath, he felt the press of teeth and the sharpness of fangs. Beware of those. Venom couldn’t addict a half demon, but a bite would send him into a narcotic haze.

  This was about as hazardous as kissing could get. That was a turn-on, too.

  He nipped one lip, then the other, the plump softness of her mouth everything he’d fantasized. Her hesitant response said how completely he’d taken her by surprise.

  Then he felt her hands sliding up his arms, so lightly they felt like the brush of a bird’s wing. Oh, she was sweet. The kiss was filled with discovery and recognition, as if somehow he’d known how good it would be.

  He didn’t press further, but stood his ground, releasing her only when he was finished with his moment of possession.

  As their lips parted, she took in a sharp breath, color flaring in her cheeks. “I thought you didn’t do dead people.”

  He backed away. Every nerve in his body was prickling with the shock of her taste. He wasn’t sure he hadn’t ingested her orgasm-inducing venom.

  Prophets spare me. She was delicious.

  He grinned. “That wasn’t doing. That was a peace offering.”

  “Huh?” Her fist clenched, as if she wanted to slug him.

  “A kiss instead of more argument.”

  Her eyes s
ized him up in a new way that brought heat to his skin. For an instant, he felt the pull of attraction between them like a physical tug, guessing that she felt it as much as he did.

  The moment didn’t last long. The corners of her mouth pulled down. “Do you think a kiss will make me confess everything?”

  Lore frowned, her accusation stinging all the more because it was true. “The cops want you for murder. Your sire wants you punished. I’m trying to help you. Throw me a bone here.”

  She gave him a look of contempt that seared him to the quick. “You handcuffed me. Now you want to be my friend?”

  “You felt that kiss as much as I did,” he growled.

  “As a human, I also felt food poisoning and root canals. We can’t always pick and choose physical sensation.”

  Lore growled.

  “Dog spit. Great.” Wiping her lips, Talia took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of the bed again. Lore remained standing. She swayed a little, looking exhausted, but then pulled herself tall, as if mustering her dignity. “Tonight, I’ve been through an After-Christmas Blowout sale, the murder of the only person who cared for me, imprisonment, escape, and imprisonment again. Please leave me alone.”

  She really did look like she might fall over. Sadly, he didn’t think kissing her again would get them any closer to a confession.

  “If you answer one question.”

  “What?” She blinked at him. Fatigue pulled at every line of her body. Vampires were physically resilient, but they were subject to the same emotional storms as everyone else.

  “Why won’t you let me help you?”

  She gave a shallow sigh. “Because you’re like every man I’ve ever met. You’re not happy unless I’m under lock and key.”

  “Nice guilt trip. I can’t let you go.”

  “Because you don’t trust me.” She lay down on the bed, her arm shielding her eyes from the overhead light. “I can’t trust my jailer. It’s a matter of principle.”

  “Then we’re at a standoff.”

  “Lock me in on your way out. I’ll look forward to an exciting evening of counting carpet lint. You should try hanging some pictures. Do you know how boring your bedroom is?”

  Lore raised an eyebrow. “I’ll let that sleeping dog lie.”

  A beat passed. “Oh, great. Now I have to wash my brain out with soap.”

  Chapter 12

  Lore set wards on the bedroom window and door, using the power over entryways that came effortlessly to the hellhounds. The wards would keep Talia in and everyone else out. He feared a door-to-door search by the police, so he set more at the front entrance, but these were designed primarily to make someone pass by. It wouldn’t do to blow up the local cops.

  The downside of using magic was that other magic users could detect it. Handcuffs, while primitive, were a better choice for that reason. However, he couldn’t bring himself to put them back on Talia’s wrists. His doubts had shifted. Now he was less convinced that she was a murderer, but he was dead certain that she was in deep trouble—and had been for a long time. He’d seen that kind of grief in people’s eyes before. It didn’t come from a single tragedy. It came from circling the drain for years.

  There were people who had done extraordinary things to make his life better, and for no other reason than that they could: Constance Moore, Perry Baker, Alessandro Caravelli, and Mac, the fire demon who had helped to rescue the hounds from hell. Talia needed someone to be her champion, whether she trusted him or not. How could he let her go until he knew that she would be safe? Besides, wasn’t clearing the name of an innocent woman the sort of thing a deputy sheriff was supposed to do?

  The fact that he’d noticed Talia time and again in a very unsheriffly way had nothing to do with his protective instincts. Not at all. And nothing to do with the fact that the bow of her mouth drove him crazy.

  Twenty minutes later, Lore stamped his feet as he pushed open the heavy oak door of the Empire Hotel restaurant lounge. A blast of heat and babbling voices swirled against the wall of frozen air outside. He took a moment, blinking the snow from his eyelashes. Christmas lights ringed the room, and pine swags adorned the walls. Frost veiled the windows, reflecting the lights in sparkles of red and green. Lore brushed the last of the melting flakes from his coat and headed into the gloom.

  “Winter sucks. Can half demons get frostbite?” he asked the man behind the bar.

  “You tell me,” Joe replied. “It’s coming down like crazy. You got your truck on the road?”

  “Just. If this keeps up, the parking lot at the condo is going to be snowed in by morning.”

  Joe put a mug of black coffee on the bar and splashed some brandy into it. Lore hitched himself onto one of the barstools, resting his feet on the gleaming brass rail of the bar. He gratefully wrapped his hands around the steaming drink, inhaling the brandy-soaked fumes.

  “Snow sucks,” Lore said. “I thought it was supposed to be fun.”

  “This storm is nothing,” Joe replied. “You should see the Caucasus in January.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Mountains by the Black Sea. The most beautiful place in the world.”

  Lore shot Joe a glance. The bartender was slicing lemons, each cut quick and exact. They looked about the same age, but Joe—Josef—was a cursed immortal, part vampire, part werebeast, although he looked like a healthy human male in his early thirties and had no problem at all with sunlight. He’d been an inmate of the Castle, escaping a few years before Lore had.

  “Why did you not go back to your homeland?” Lore asked.

  Joe gave him a wry smile, the same one that advertised his doomed-but-definitely-available status to the human women who came into the Empire. They lapped up his charm like starving cats would a bucket of cream. Lore always wondered what Joe lapped up in return.

  The barkeeper swept the lemon slices into a metal bowl. “They have not forgotten my old mistress in Trencsén. If they figured out I’d been part of her household, I’d either become a tourist attraction or a throw rug.”

  Lore had heard the stories of the Hungarian princess Joe called ecsedi Báthory Erzsébet. Elizabeth Bathory, the Blood Countess. She’d been rumored to bathe in the blood of virgins. That was likely more hysteria than fact. She’d probably just snacked on them.

  “Besides.” Joe shrugged. “I have friends here. Opportunities. I’m an entrepreneur now.”

  Lore followed Joe’s gaze around the lounge. The place was filled with dark paneling and upholstery. The heavily carved bar ran the length of one wall, the elaborate mirrored cabinetry behind it a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Lore knew every inch of that antique oak shelving. He’d restored it himself.

  “Business must be good,” Lore said. “Only a few tables are empty.”

  “I’m open. The snowstorm’s closed a lot of places.” Joe refilled Lore’s coffee. “What brings you here?”

  “I’m meeting someone.” He’d made some phone calls on the way over. By human standards, it was an odd hour for an appointment, but some people were only available in the middle of the night.

  “Better grab a table, then.”

  Joe turned away to serve a couple of werebears that had lumbered in for a beer. Lore slipped off the stool and walked toward an empty table in the back corner. The clientele was mixed, some humans, some supernaturals. Since Joe had taken over the place, he’d tried to appeal to a more upscale crowd. It seemed to be working.

  Lore wondered where he’d gotten the money. He’d started as a penniless waiter only a few years ago. Another thing about Joe that inspired question marks.

  Halfway across the lounge, Lore picked up a familiar scent. He stopped so suddenly, the hot coffee sloshed in his cup, burning his hand. He ignored the pain as he swung around, searching for the male vampire that had been prowling the stairway of Lore’s condo.

  He spotted him at once. Three figures were sprawled around a wooden table, two men and a female whose skin was so dark it was almost truly black. All w
ere warriors—even more than their impressive muscles, Lore could see it in the alert carriage of their bodies. Weapons were out of sight, but their hands lingered close to belts, boots, and arm braces, all places Lore typically stashed his knives. These three were potential trouble.

  They were also vampires.

  His nose identified the larger male as the one who had been to the condo. He was big, hard-faced, and threw off a vibe that warned away other males. His hair was very short, elaborate designs shaved into the thick, dark stubble. His most striking feature was his eyes, an ice blue that contrasted sharply with an olive complexion. A scar ran along his jaw Lore would have sworn had been made by a cat’s claw. A very, very big cat.

  At his feet lay the ugliest dog Lore had ever seen. The scarred bitch looked like a cross between a pit bull and a dozen other bad-ass breeds. Bandages wound around one leg and an ear was missing, the stump still pink. Dog fights.

  Lore’s hackles rose. Sensing his anger, the bitch got to her feet, putting herself between the hellhound and her master.

  “Easy, Daisy.” The big vampire patted the dog’s flank gently; then those ice-blue eyes searched Lore’s face. “You have a problem?”

  Mostly Lore itched to rid the place of this vampire and his friends. The Alpha in him wanted to thin the testosterone haze hanging over the table. “Your dog is injured.”

  “I found her in an alley behind a dive in Northern Cal. She’d lost her last match and whoever owned her didn’t waste a bullet to put her down.” His massive hand engulfed her head, rubbing her remaining ear. His voice was rough, as if someone had crushed his voice box. “Old fighters have to stick together, eh?”

  The dog tried to lean in to his hand and lick it at the same time. Lore relaxed, sensing the bitch’s trust in the huge vampire. It was the best character witness possible.

  Encouraged, Lore pulled up a wooden chair and sat down. The vampires gave him a hard look, lips lifting to reveal the tips of fangs. His blood rose, urging him to snarl back, but he didn’t answer the challenge. His goal was to get information, not fight.