A good, quiet feeling settled over her. She’d been through hell that night, but she’d reclaimed huge pieces of herself. She never need fear Belenos again.
Even better, they’d caught the Hunters. Darak had personally delivered Maxim and Mikhail Rostov to Detective Baines. It had been Talia’s choice. He’d offered to tear off their heads. Just part of the service, he’d said.
Let the police have them. As bad as her emotional wounds were, the Hunters owed justice to many, many families. She would testify. But her moment of truth had come when she’d finally faced her father in the tunnels and helped put an end to his reign of terror. Maybe her brother would have a chance to heal now.
There was more adding to her contentment. She had friends who didn’t care what species she was. No one was forcing her to do anything against her will. She had something to fight for—she’d realized she cared for Fairview and the people in it. She had a job here. It was home.
Plus, she had Lore.
Talia’s mood dimmed. The question was how long she got to keep him. The pack was going to want him back.
Chapter 34
Lore kept talking with Connie and then again with Mac, who wanted to set up security arrangements in Fairview for the rest of the night. The hellhounds and werewolves were battle-weary. Omara was sending some of her personal guard to keep New Year’s Eve civilized in Spookytown.
It was important, but Talia couldn’t think straight anymore. She was happy to leave this one to the others.
With no signs of Lore’s conversation winding down, Talia retreated to run a bath and get the blood and everything else off her skin. The water was blessedly hot, the soap and shampoo standard brands that she could buy at any drugstore. She lay back in the tub, trying to keep her bandage dry, and let her eyelids drift shut.
Lore. Daydreams aside, did she have a future with him? Would he be forced to choose between her and the rest of his people? She couldn’t replace all the bonds that tied him to his pack, nor should she. A person was supposed to grow by falling in love, not lose by it.
Take her parents. Her father was a Hunter. Her mother wasn’t. They’d been miserable, her mom cut off from everything she’d ever loved. Taking Lore from his people wouldn’t be much different—even if she adored him.
She remembered Osan Mina’s words about the Alphas and their reincarnated mates: Strong hounds find them. The weak die alone. Alphas must be strong. Finding mate is test.
Talia hadn’t had a moment’s breathing space to dwell on what the old woman had said, but now the words bit hard. Did Lore have a soul mate? Shouldn’t he be looking for her?
Mina was insistent that Lore mate one of their own. Apparently their collective reproductive cycle depended on it. The Alpha had to get it on or the pack got another Alpha in a bloody, violent fight.
She refused to be the cause of that.
Talia got out of the bath, her heart heavy with unease. Giving him up might be ethical, but it would be awful.
She’d lost so many things in her life, most recently Michelle. Her death had taken away the only family who had welcomed her as a vampire. Talia had lost the last good connection to her old life.
But then Lore had made her feel like a person instead of a void. His simple kindness, the fact that he’d accepted her help, the fact that he’d introduced her to his friends—that had made her feel like herself again. She’d been crushed down to nothing, but Lore had shown her that she was worth finding and forgiving.
How could she not want to keep him?
She could be selfish for a little while longer, couldn’t she? After all, they had defeated evil that night. That had to buy some karmic credits.
She looked at herself in the mirror, pale and thin, her hair clinging in damp tendrils around her face, a big bandage on one arm. Not exactly centerfold material. She picked at the bandage, loosening the tape Lore had so carefully applied. Slowly, she peeled back the gauze pad.
Since she’d arrived at the Castle, her wound had tingled. Something in the place had neutralized the magic that had allowed the silver knife to wound her. Now her Undead healing abilities were at work. The wound had already scabbed over, days of healing done in a matter of hours. She patted the bandage back down, happy that at least her body was in one piece.
Her need for blood had also eased, apparently another benefit of the Castle.
If only her heart could be as easily cured.
She left the bathroom, drying her hair in a thick, thirsty towel as she went. The bedroom was empty. Lore’s absence gave her a twinge inside, part emptiness, part relief. If he wasn’t there, she wouldn’t feel guilty for loving him.
But then he came through the door wearing no more than a towel around his hips and a hungry look in his eyes. Obviously, he had gone next door to shower. She could only stare at him, stunned by a rush of desire.
“I want you,” she said. Even—especially—if there’s not going to be a lot of time for us.
Her body ached for him. It wasn’t that he was familiar—they hadn’t been together enough for that. It was the loss of never having the chance to know him, to learn all the things he liked. That took the luxury of hours for exploration. Hours they’d never have after he took a hellhound mate.
Lore was still damp from the shower, drops of water sliding down his biceps where the towel had missed. One little towel has to work hard to cover that much male. Talia delicately licked his skin, catching the drops with the tip of her tongue. She could taste the soap, a plain, simple brand.
I want you to come home every day, dirty from a hard day’s work, and shower with that soap. I want the taste of you in my mouth every night.
She took his mouth, teasing his lip with her teeth, being careful not to draw blood. There would be time enough for that later. She touched her tongue to his, fencing a little as he drew her into his mouth. He had used the same minty toothpaste as she had, his taste echoing hers.
The mundane detail made her throat ache with the anticipation of bereavement. Stop it! Stop it. You’re not there yet. She pushed it out of her mind, determined to not let sadness destroy the moment.
He used his size to crowd her against the wall, pressing her close. The roughness of the terry towel she wore rubbed against her nipples, her arousal amplifying the sensation to maddening heights.
“How do you want me?” he said, his voice little more than a growl.
“Sunny side up?”
He gave her a scathing look. “Are you never serious?”
“I’m very serious about this.” She slid her hand between their towels, teasing his hard length with the rough cloth.
He caught her wrist. “Don’t end this before it begins.”
With his other hand, he tugged at the knot she’d made to hold her towel closed. It came apart easily and he backed away just enough to pull the cloth away. It dragged across her thighs and backside, its roughness giving her a pleasant shiver.
“That’s better,” he said, running a possessive hand down her bare flank. “You’re so beautiful. Like the starlight.”
How can you say that?
A moment later, he dropped his own towel with an impatient flick. It pooled around their feet, warm from the heat of his body. He pressed close again, his enthusiasm fully evident. Cupping her face with his hands, he kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her ears, taking possession of her an inch at a time, marking all of her with his lips. Making her feel as beautiful as he claimed she was. Finally, he dropped his mouth to her breast, rolling the nipple with his tongue.
Talia made an inarticulate noise, burying her fingers in his thick, dark hair. He finally released her, his breath cool on the wet, swollen tip. Her teeth ached, yearning to bite, but she held back, fighting for control. He took her other breast, giving it the same treatment. Talia gasped, praying for strength. She wanted to pleasure him as a woman before she took him as a vampire, but he sure wasn’t making it easy.
“Bed,” she groaned.
Instead, he press
ed between her thighs, rubbing against her. She squirmed, feeling her readiness in the sweet ache teasing her core.
“I burn for you,” he whispered, his lips intimate against her ear. “Let me lose myself inside you.”
Talia was beyond putting words into sentences. “Okay.”
He picked her up by the waist, holding her close to his body with no more than the strength of his arms, and delicately kissed her mouth. “I will take you.”
The phrase sounded oddly formal, but it got lost in the chaos of sensations storming through her. He carried her to the bed, setting her down as carefully as if she were glass. Talia rolled over, crawling across its wide expanse, making room for him to join her.
Without warning, he caught her by the back of the neck, one hand big enough to immobilize her. She was caught on her hands and knees, vulnerable and exposed. A moment later, she felt the rough stubble of his cheek along her backbone, stroking against the sensitive curve of her back. She trembled, a little spooked to be held so still, unable to see his face or what he would do next. It gave new meaning to feeling naked.
His hand began to work her, stroking the soft, vulnerable places, questing inside to test her slickness. A shudder passed through her, and then again, and again. Automatically, she adjusted her knees, finding a better position to take more of him, to offer more of herself.
And then she felt the tip of his sex at her opening, sliding inside, spreading her farther and farther. Oh, God! The position, the sheer size of him offered a whole new range of sensations. She thought she’d split apart at the same time she wanted more and more right there.
“Lore,” she begged, feeling a trembling in her arms. She dug her fingers into the sheets, doing her best to steady herself. “I need you now.”
The grip on the back of her neck tightened, and he thrust again, driving deeper. A cry tore from her, tears filling her eyes.
He thrust again. Tension spiraled through her, pushing her toward orgasm. She tried to speak, to offer words, but they came out as strangled sounds. Tears slid out from beneath her eyelids. He was still moving inside her, sending her insides into explosions of bliss—again, and again. Sweat trickled down her ribs, slicked the places he was touching her. The moisture felt cool, another set of fingers tickling her in secret places.
It was too much. Talia felt like she was going to melt, or smoke, or start sending out sparks of frantic energy. She twisted, trying to bite, but her teeth snapped on air. He held her harder, forcing her head still while he had his way.
A mix of frustration and sheer animal pleasure rolled through her. He was picking up speed, pushing faster and faster. Each collision of their bodies drove Talia further from reason. Her mind blanked, losing contact with sight, sound, every sense but touch. Rapid shocks of pleasure pulsed through her. “Oh, God, Lore!”
He thrust one last time, filling her with heat and wetness. Her body started to let go, but her teeth ached so hard, she thought they would crack. Suddenly she smelled him close, right in front of her. She opened her eyes, tears blurring her vision. He was offering his wrist. She grabbed it with one hand, pulling it to her mouth, and bit down.
Hot tangy blood filled her mouth. Lore shuddered as her venom released, slowly, slowly collapsing to the mattress as if slain. She let him go, panting, her body still pinging with aftershocks of pleasure. After a long shudder, he stretched his massive body, bones cracking. Talia lay down beside him, running a hand over his chest, feeling a moment of intense possessiveness.
He pulled her close, bringing her face so close to his, their noses touched. His eyes were hazed by the venom, his smile a little dreamy. “That was my way, now we do it yours.”
“Wait,” she said, making herself face up to at least a little piece of the inevitable. “What are we doing?”
“Do you want me to draw you a picture?”
She shook her head. “I said that wrong.”
He kissed her forehead, gently this time. “Don’t worry about the future. Hellhounds are loyal unto death, and they always return to their mates once they are reborn. I will always come back to you. Is that what you wanted to know?”
Talia’s chest ached with his simple, certain words. “You’ve got this all figured out.” But what about the fact that I’m not one of you? What about the children?
“I’ve thought about it.” Lore raised an eyebrow, nothing left of the venom stupor in his expression. “Would you wait for me? Hellhounds are long-lived, but the good part is you get a fresh new lover every century.”
Talia spluttered with shocked laughter. “But you wouldn’t remember me!”
“We do. We remember the scent of our loved ones.” He pulled her close, covering her with his warmth. “Now stop talking. Everything’s fine.”
“Only every century?” she said petulantly.
He chuckled. “I adore you.”
And he proved it to her, one gentle touch at a time.
Talia willfully ignored everything else.
Chapter 35
Saturday, January 1, 10:30 a.m.
The Castle
Lore left the Castle, heading toward Osan Mina’s. He’d talked to Caravelli on the phone, officially ending his term as acting sheriff. The nonhuman community was shaken, but still in one piece. He’d done his duty. Now he needed to debrief the hounds. With luck he’d be back in bed with Talia before she woke, but just in case he’d left word with Mac that he would be in Spookytown.
His mood was half jubilant, half belligerent. He had been Alpha for seven years, and in that time, he’d freed his people, built a place for them in Fairview, raised their status among the nonhumans, and given them economic independence. He was ready to take a mate, and he had found her. He would have Talia, and no myth would stop him.
He was going to prepare his pack to accept his bride.
Or else.
Maybe not the best attitude for the occasion, but it had been a hard few days. Lore felt pared down to essentials, with no spare energy to give an inch.
The row housing along Spookytown’s streets looked almost pretty in the snow and sunlight. The houses where the hellhounds lived were well loved, the walks shoveled, pups playing in the yards. True, none had been born since his mother had passed, but could that not be coincidence? Could not all the wars and struggle they had suffered be the reason why the females had not come into season?
Even if that were true, would the pack ever believe it? The Elders liked to have their way. Tradition to Lore was comfort and continuity. To them it was an end in itself.
But he needed this one thing. He needed to break with custom this one time.
He needed a miracle.
“Madhyor!”
Lore wheeled to see Helver sprinting down the street toward him, arms and legs pumping. A dozen yards behind him, Grash thundered in hot pursuit, clods of snow kicking up with every stride. Lore got the fleeting impression that something was wrong with Helver’s face.
The young hound threw himself at Lore’s feet, prostrating himself on the ground. “Help me, Madhyor!”
Grash skidded to a halt. Neither he nor Helver were wearing coats. Grash’s coveralls were coated in sawdust from his carpentry shop, as if they’d started the fight there and run into the street. “He drops my tools. He blunts them. He is careless and lazy!”
Grash bent, grabbing Helver by the scruff of his collar and hauling him upright. It was then that Lore saw why Helver was begging for help. The youth’s face was pulp, one eye swollen, nose streaming with blood.
Lore’s vision hazed white with anger, rage leaching color from the world. “What is this? I gave him to you to raise up in the pack. You are his trainer!”
“He cannot be trained!” Grash growled. “And now he fawns on his Alpha like a pup begging for his mother’s teat. He will never earn the name of warrior.”
Lore ripped Helver out of Grash’s hand, pushing the youth to one side. “If you cannot manage him, you have only to send him back to me.”
&
nbsp; Grash spit in the snow. “Good luck to you. He has never been of use. He never will be.”
Studying the big hound, Lore considered Grash’s speed, his weight, how fast he thought. This wasn’t the best time for it, but an opportunity had dropped into Lore’s hands to bring him under control. “What do you mean by never? How would you know? You’ve been training Helver only a few days.”
Grash’s expression suddenly closed, a window slamming shut. Mavritte had asked Lore to give Helver to Grash, but had Grash already forced the young hound to obey in other ways?
“What did you have Helver do for you before you were his trainer?” Lore growled.
Grash was silent. Lore turned furious eyes on Helver. “What was it?”
The youth was breathing through his mouth, blood still bubbling from his nose when he tried to speak. “The campaign office. Grash sent me there.”
Damn his hide.
Crack! Lore’s fist connected with Grash’s face, and then he was on top of him, blinded with frustration over the Redbones, with Helver, and simply with being Alpha. His fist smacked into Grash three more times, re-creating the damage he’d seen on Helver.
Lore caught his breath long enough to snarl. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing running our young into danger?”
Grash bared his teeth. “There are drugs in the clinic we can sell. There was money there for the taking. I say why not? The hounds work to death while the bloodsuckers wear jewels.”
“Because I say not!” Lore roared. “It’s not what hellhounds do!”
He dragged Grash to his feet, and then sent him crashing back to the pavement with another blow. Lore’s hands hurt, his lungs sore from sucking in the ice-cold air, but the sheer physical brutality of the moment was necessary. Grash would respect it.
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