“That doesn’t matter. It’s what they believe that counts. That’s the hound tradition. Even if it doesn’t make sense to anyone else, that’s who you are. Turn away from that and you lose as surely as if Mavritte cut out your heart.”
He shook his head, beyond words.
“You know it’s true.”
“Talia, I love you!”
She clenched her teeth, trying to summon anger to get past the sadness robbing her strength. “Don’t be ridiculous. We barely know each other.” But I love you.
He reached for her, but then dropped his hand when she skirted around him. “If you doubt how much your people count on you, think about what Mavritte just did. She gave up everything so you could be the king.”
“Talia, damn you.” He grabbed her arm, pulling her close. “I’m not leaving my pack and I’m not letting you go. If the Prophets want me as Alpha, they’re going to have to fix this.”
“Lore, if I’ve learned one thing, we can’t change what we are.”
He kissed her face, starting with her eyes, her cheeks, her lips, wordlessly pleading with her. “I know you’re the one I have to have. I know your scent.”
“Lore,” Talia said, his name more a sob than a word.
He cupped her face, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Don’t tell me that you don’t love me. Don’t lie to me.”
“Pick someone else.”
“Don’t I have a say in any of this?”
The pain in his words ripped through her. She pulled away. “Not unless hellhound soul mates are reborn as vampires.”
He fell back a step. The movement was awkward, unsteady. Not like Lore at all. “You can walk away from here, Talia.”
“Don’t,” she said desperately, knowing exactly what was coming.
“You can walk away, but I’m not letting you go. I’m fighting for you.”
Talia pulled herself together, scrabbling for enough strength to go on. “You’re smarter than that.”
“I didn’t get my hounds out of the Castle by giving up.” A stubborn look she’d not seen before settled over his features. “This isn’t over.”
Talia swallowed, shoving her hands into her pockets so she wouldn’t reach out to him. He looked angry, but he also looked hurt. “Think about what you’re doing,” she said.
Then she walked away from him, the most gorgeous, half-naked man she was ever likely to meet, however immortal she was. And his beauty was the least of her loss. There would never be another Lore.
Cold tears streamed down her face.
But she’d done her bit to help the pack.
Chapter 36
Wednesday, January 19, 7:30 p.m., Election Day
101.5 FM
“This is the CSUP special news coverage of the municipal elections. Polls opened at eight o’clock this morning and will remain open until midnight to accommodate all voters. Exit polls favor vampire candidate Michael de Winter. If he wins, he will be the first nonhuman elected to public office—a landmark on the road to securing full civil and legal rights for supernatural citizens.
“Many attribute the rapid progress in this area to the hard work and political acumen of the vampire queen, Omara. If one considers that the existence of nonhumans was a mystery until the year 2000, this is indeed a remarkable achievement that opens a new chapter in the history of relations between human and nonhuman species.”
Wednesday, January 19, 8:00 p.m., full moon
Talia’s condo
Talia walked through Saint Andrew’s cemetery, her steps crunching on the last patches of snow. The cold snap had finally broken, and she could hear water rushing through the nearby storm drains. A heavy mist—something between rain and fog—dripped from the trees. It was night, but the moon gave an eerie glow to the veils of moisture cloaking the graveyard.
She stopped at Michelle’s grave. It was one of the ones nearest the water—small, with a modest granite plaque. Talia laid the bouquet of lilies she held on the grave. She’d been there nearly every night.
Hi, Michelle, I started packing up your things today. It’s not easy, and I don’t want to do it. Your mom’s letting me stay until I can find a place. I know you’re not there anymore, but leaving is going to feel like parting from you all over again.
Talia stopped, swallowing hard. A group was gathered around a spot a few yards away. A small figure broke from them and walked over.
“Talia Rostova?”
“Yes?” Talia took a moment to look up. The speaker was a female vampire, very beautiful and very regal.
“I am Queen Omara.”
Oh!
Talia sank into a curtsy. “Your Majesty.”
“Rise, child,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you for some time now. It will be a while before I need to join my candidate to hear the outcome of the election. Perhaps we can talk?” It wasn’t really a question.
Talia drew in a shaky breath. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
Omara began walking along one of the paths that wandered the cemetery. Talia fell into step beside her, nerves on high alert. Wind hushed through the cedar trees.
“There are three subjects I wanted to speak to you about,” said the queen. “First, you killed a vampire monarch. That is punishable by death.”
Stunned, Talia stopped dead in her tracks.
Omara gave a slight smile, as if she rather enjoyed Talia’s moment of fright. “However, it was Belenos, and he was after my life. The vampire council voted to consider the killing justifiable self-defense.”
Talia thought she would faint. The queen started walking again. Talia hurried to catch up.
“You were granted leniency by a margin of one vote,” Omara added. “In other words, count yourself lucky and don’t do it again.”
“He killed me, Your Majesty,” Talia said. They tried me without my knowledge. What would have happened if the vote had gone the other way?
“I know,” Omara replied. “That was taken into account. The council is sorry that you were Turned unwillingly. This is not an easy existence, especially if you did not choose it.”
Talia took a breath. “May I speak, ma’am?”
“Of course.”
“I was raised to hate monsters. Becoming one should have driven me mad, or made me destroy myself, or made me turn evil.”
“But?” the queen prompted.
“Instead, it made me look at things and at myself in a different way. I’m not going to say I’d be a vampire if I had a choice, but I am stronger now, and not just physically. It made me start over and think about what I really believed. It made me break old patterns. I’m more Talia than I was when I was a living woman.”
“I congratulate you. Not everyone could manage to transform themselves that way.”
Talia hesitated. She could hear the ocean rushing against the shore. “Most people would be starting from a better place.”
“Do you still hate monsters?” The queen started walking again.
“Some of my best friends are monsters.”
“What about your father and brother? Where do they fit in this new worldview of yours?”
“There’s a chance my brother may come around someday. He’s written to me. He’s agreed to be a witness for the prosecution. He’ll still do time, but a lot less.”
She slid her hand into her coat pocket. She’d carried Max’s letter with her since she’d received it. It was a connection to her brother that was real and honest—not spying on him from an Internet bulletin board.
It was an awkward note, but it was a start. The best news was that Max was getting some counseling. Ironically, prison might be the salvation he needed.
Omara made a considering noise. “I understand the biggest problem with the trial of the Hunters is the complexity of it. Where does one crime end and the next begin? Perhaps it is good some of us involved are immortal. The case could go on for a while.”
Talia was silent. The mere mention of the trial wrapped her in a blanket
of confusion. It was impossible to see how it would end, though no one believed Mikhail Rostov would walk a free man ever again. That made her feel both sad and safer.
Omara was watching her expression. “I know it was not your direct intention, but you have done me and the community as a whole great service in these matters.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” She’d just been trying to survive.
“In light of that service, consider yourself my subject. There is no reason to carry on as a rogue.” Omara gave her a smile that said no was not an option.
Talia felt a bittersweet relief. “I’m greatly honored. There is something I’d like to offer in exchange.”
The queen showed a moment of surprise, then smoothed it over. “What’s that?”
Talia held in the words for a moment, but then let them go in a rush. “I stole a great deal of money from King Belenos. I spent some of it, but I’d like to offer the rest to replace the medical clinic. I really don’t want any reminders of him, even in my bank account.”
For a moment, the night was heavy with surprise. Then Omara laughed, and it was an unexpectedly rich sound. “I like you, Talia Rostova.”
“I’m not a good thief.” She’d felt entitled to taking the money, but not spending it. It was useless to her, except as insulation under the floor.
Omara gave her a knowing look. “Lore of the hellhounds returned money one of his whelps stole from the campaign office. He offered free labor for replacing the clinic and campaign office as an apology for the theft. Between the two of you, we can have a very fine new building.”
At the mention of Lore’s name, Talia looked away. Her longing for him hadn’t dulled one bit, but she hadn’t wavered from her decision. He would get over her. Someday, he would thank her.
Again, Omara watched her carefully. “That brings me to my last topic. I am a sorceress, Talia, and I have been alive since Babylon was a great power. No one would accuse me of being a warm and fuzzy romantic, but—I dislike unnecessary grief.”
Talia inwardly cringed. A lot of people had tried to give her advice about Lore—Perry, Errata, and Joe included—and now the queen was throwing in her two cents. None of them had seen the fight between Mavritte and Lore. None had seen the faces of the pack, hoping she would release their Alpha to choose a proper mate.
Omara tucked her hands into her coat sleeves. The wind from the ocean was cold, biting deep into uncovered flesh. “I walked the earth before the hounds were sent to the Castle. They were made from men and demons and the great temple dogs of the Egyptian sands. I know their magic. I would be patient with it, if I were you, and see what happens with the pack.”
Despite herself, Talia was curious. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t underestimate your young hound’s willpower. One way or the other, magic is all about manipulating the energy of desire. He has plenty of that, I can tell. And don’t underestimate the time you spent in the Castle. It has been known to have a transformative effect.”
Talia flushed, wondering exactly how much the queen knew about the night she and Lore had spent there.
They had come in a full circle back to Michelle’s grave. The queen stopped, signaling in some invisible way that the conversation was done. “Good night, Talia Rostova. I wish you well.”
Without waiting for a reply, Omara turned and walked away, pausing only to call over her shoulder, “Don’t forget to vote! You’re not a rogue anymore!”
An hour later, Talia unlocked her condo door. She had voted, and she’d cast her ballot for de Winter. She was curious to see how a nonhuman would do. Plus, she’d never voted before. Exercising her opinion felt good. She was finally, ultimately her own woman.
She crossed to the balcony door, passing between the stacks of packing boxes she’d started to fill with her belongings and Michelle’s. She hadn’t started looking for a place yet. She’d made only one decision about what she would have in her very own solo living space. She’d keep the bobblehead poodle. It reminded her of the silly moments she’d shared with her cousin, and that was a memory she wanted to keep.
She stepped out onto the balcony, the cold an antidote to a wave of hot grief. The night was gauzy with moonlight, mist, and twinkling lights. She looked down at the cars passing below, the old neon signs of Spookytown flickering on and off.
Her reverie was interrupted by the sight of a tall, dark-haired hellhound standing on the sidewalk, gazing up at the balcony and waving at her. Fifteen floors up, the figure was tiny, but her vampire sight could pick him out. Talia inwardly groaned.
Lore. Everything about him—the way he moved, the set of his shoulders, his shaggy, thick hair—salted her wounds. She’d expected time to lessen what she felt. Part of her hoped maybe what they’d had was just a fling. An intro to the nonhuman dating pool. A walk on the furry side.
No. Not a bit of it, and it stung like sin every time they spoke, every time she saw him. She was never getting over him.
And here he was flagging her down for one more minute of torture. She started to back away, but Lore began making bizarre, urgent gestures. He looked like he was trying to direct traffic through the running of the bulls.
Irritated, she pulled out her phone. She somehow hadn’t been able to resist putting him on speed dial. It had helped feeling that he was just a button push away.
“What?” she said when he picked up.
“Go around to the parking lot.”
“Why?”
He held his arms out in mock exasperation. “Just do it.”
“Okay.” She shut the phone, feeling a lump in her throat. Dammit. She didn’t want to get close to him. Smelling his scent, standing next to him would undo her for sure. She’d cried buckets already. She was going to end up a mummy from the moisture loss.
She pulled on a coat again and went down the fire escape—the same one he’d dragged her through at gunpoint—and out the back door—the same one she’d used the night he’d finally let her go—and into the parking lot—where he’d offered her his hand and promised to build a fire and keep her warm. Oh, God, does everything have to be Lore-specific?
Standing in the parking lot, she caught a blast of mud-scented air. For a moment the wet earth made her think of spring.
Except that Lore was standing next to a seven-foot, fully decorated Christmas tree. It sat in a bucket of sand, smack in middle of the fire lane.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
That always threw her off guard. “What’s with the tree?”
He looked pleased with himself. “Do you like it?”
Talia blinked. “I’m missing the punch line. Did you check the calendar? It’s January.”
His self-congratulation became a full-on smirk. “The hounds celebrate their winter holiday on the first full moon after solstice. That’s today.”
“Um, okay. Happy hound day.”
He shifted from foot to foot, nerves creeping into his body language. “I thought we should have trees. A blending of cultures, humans and hounds.”
“Nice.”
He shifted again. “You said you didn’t celebrate Christmas as a child. I decorated this tree for you.”
“Oh.” Talia felt tears prickling under her lashes. “Thanks. That’s really sweet.”
“I’ll carry it upstairs.”
She sniffed, pretending it was the cold air making her nose run. “Safety tip—next time, get the tree where it’s going, then decorate it.”
“Oh.” He looked it up and down. “I guess that would be easier.”
He sounded like he really didn’t care, or that logic wasn’t what he was going for. What a weird conversation this is.
The parking lot was where they’d had their first real talk. She could barely think for wishing she was back at that moment where their brief happiness still lay ahead. Maybe he remembered that, too. Let me go, Lore. Just leave me alone and let me go!
She looked up at him. His dark eyes were sparkling—very different from the s
adness that had been clinging to both of them the last few weeks.
He shouldn’t be happy. Talia was suddenly suspicious. “What’s up?”
“There are a few things to celebrate.”
“Like what?” As she’d predicted, his nearness was an aching, empty throb. If she’d had the willpower, she would have stopped talking, left him there, and gone back to her packing—but she simply didn’t have the strength to walk away from him twice.
“You saw that Errata published her article.”
Talia tried to focus on his words. “Yeah, she sent me a copy.”
The article on the fight in the tunnels had got the werecougar a foothold in the human press, and the paper wanted another story. “But her byline said Amanda Jones. Is that a pen name?”
“That’s her real name. She says it’s time to stop hiding behind her radio persona.”
“She doesn’t look like an Amanda.”
“Who knows what we hide inside?” For a dog, Lore still looked like the cat who got the canary.
Suddenly, Talia was tired. “Lore, you’ve got news. What is it?”
“Did you notice the decorations?” He pointed to the tree again.
“Are those little bones?”
“This is a hellhound tree. Candy canes are for humans. We wish for other things.” He tapped a gold foil star hung with thread. There were hundreds of them on the tree. “These are for the mates who have gone missing. We wish for them to be reborn and come back to us.”
“Weren’t they destroyed by magic?”
A funny look came over his face. “But maybe they weren’t destroyed.”
“Then why can’t they come back?” she asked, remembering their conversation in the Castle. And afterward, he covered the bed in flowers so I’d wake up knowing he was thinking of me.
“The pack likes you, you know. You put the common good before your own. You fought beside them. You’re a teacher, and you offered to help set up a school. Osan Mina likes the fact that you know how to darn socks.”
Talia didn’t know what to say. Why does any of that matter?
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