Frostbound

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.”

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.

He wasn’t the only one. Lore caught sight of Helver. The youth’s eyes were bugging out of his head, mesmerized by the show of dominance. Common sense had failed to turn him around. Maybe this would.

On one level it disgusted Lore, but it was also part of being a hound. It would take decades in the human world to change the fundamental dynamics of the pack. Biology was involved. Just like when the Alpha has to choose a mate.

Talia. He wouldn’t even consider not having her. She was part of him. Something had happened between them last night, as urgent and primal as this fight. She is my mate.

Lore stepped back, watching Grash redden the snow with his blood. His fingers twitched, as if considering another pounding.

Grash rolled onto his back, his eyes blazing with anger. “Damn you.”

The words were muffled, barely token defiance. Lore felt a brief tingle of satisfaction. Time to drive the point home.

He put his boot on Grash’s cheek, crushing the hound’s face into the snow.

“Respect our young. Got it? Maybe you should repeat after me.”

Saturday, January 1, 4:00 p.m.

101.5 FM

“Hello and a Happy New Year from your hostess Errata Jones, covering the afternoon and all night tonight on this special holiday show from CSUP.

“It was a busy night last night in Spookytown, and we’ll have special coverage of all those events. But first, a special get-well wish to my dear friend Perry. If you’re listening, dude, why aren’t you in bed and asleep?

“Second, a farewell to Darak and all your crazy clan, who are on a plane and going places. Thanks for dropping by and lending a hand. You guys know how to work hard, but you are scary when it comes to after-game playtime.”

Saturday, January 1, 4:00 p.m.

The Castle

Talia woke to find the bed covered with flowers. They were the delicate six-petaled blooms she’d seen by the starlit pond, white and pink and scented like warm honey. They were a symbol of the rejuvenating Castle, a gift of life where there had been only darkness before.

Though Lore was gone, he’d left this token of his affection behind. She lay beneath the floral carpet for a long minute, picking one of the blossoms off the comforter and twirling it in her fingers. If these can grow in constant night, in a place where nothing is supposed to live, maybe there’s hope for me yet.

She felt so close to Lore, as if every beat of his heart somehow pushed blood to hers. It was pure romantic fancy, but she floated on it, enjoying the feeling of adoring and being adored. All her misgivings about the pack and their future were for that moment suspended.

Lore had left word with Mac that Talia should find him at Osan Mina’s. After borrowing fresh clothes from Connie, Talia made her thanks and left. She slipped quickly through the streets, conscious that last time she’d walked into the hellhounds’ domain, Lore had been at her side. She took extra care, watching who was around her as she passed through Spookytown.

When she reached Osan Mina’s door, the old woman responded before Talia had time to rap twice.

Mina was bundled into a heavy dark coat. “You’re here. Good. We go now.”

“Where?” Talia asked, stepping back so Mina could close the door of her town house behind her.

“Mavritte has challenged Lore for rule of the pack.”

Talia’s jaw dropped. “What? Now? They were in a huge battle last night.”

Mina shrugged her coat closer around her bony shoulders. “It is past time he settled things with her. Pack business had been pushed aside too long.”

“But—”

“Lore punished Grash. Grash is Redbone. Mavritte will not accept him beating one of her people.” Osan Mina gave Talia a shrewd look. “Grash needed beating for Helver’s sake.”

The names flew by Talia in a meaningless rush. “Can’t Lore refuse?”

“Pack law says Alpha must fight if she demands. She demands.”

That Talia could believe. She remembered Mavritte threatening to challenge Lore when they were at the Empire Hotel. Lore had seemed confident that he could refuse, but maybe whatever happened with this Grash guy had changed that.

Mina led her down the street to a small playground.Talia trailed after, having a flashback to her high school days when the tough kids would scrap behind the school—a spectator event for every teen from a mile around. Here, hounds crowded around the site, but were oddly quiet. No one seemed happy about what was going on.

The fight seemed so bizarre after the huge battle to protect Fairview and Omara from Belenos. In numbers it was insignificant, and yet in many ways it was more crucial to her happiness. A vampire monarch had fallen last night—she’d killed him—but the fate of this tiny hellhound pack mattered more, because she loved Lore.

The playground was lit by streetlights that threw the onlookers’ shadows across the frozen grass. The area had been cleared of snow, the picnic tables pulled to one side. They’d prepared for the fight, an added sign that it was important to the pack. A low, worried murmur buzzed around the crowd, which had split into two halves. One was more numerous. The other was smaller, but looked meaner. Those had to be Mavritte’s Redbones.

Osan Mina led her to the larger half of the crowd. It parted, letting them through so they had a good view of the playground. Many of the bystanders bowed to Mina. Even more gave Talia curious looks—not hostile, but not really friendly, either.

“Lore asked me to explain.” Mina folded her arms and snorted. “Explain pack business to a vampire. Ha!”

Talia rubbed her hands together, wishing Lore were next to her. He was always warm. “So, what’s going to happen?”

Osan Mina shrugged, but the strain on her face was obvious. Hellhounds usually hid their emotions from outsiders, which meant Mina was truly worried. “They fight. One dies. The other is Alpha.”

“Dies!” Talia knew that much already, but the words still jolted her. Before, a challenge to the death had been talk. Now it was staring her in the face. “Does anyone ever not die?”

“Only if they swear forfeit.”

“What does that mean?” Talia looked at the empty space in the middle of the playground. The volume of the crowd’s murmurs had gone up a notch, but she couldn’t see anything yet.

“Their life belongs to the victor,” Mina said. “The winner can ask for it whenever they choose. To swear forfeit is the act of a coward.”

“Neither of these two is going to do that.”

“No. If you have sworn forfeit, you cannot mate. Your life is not yours to give anymore.”

Talia had a sudden, horrible feeling. Was that how Lore was going to get out of taking a mate in the pack? But that would mean losing, and Mavritte being Alpha. Lore would be honor bound to die for her whenever she chose.

Well, that won’t work. “Have you tried voting for an Alpha?”

“We like someone. That is one thing. We trust someone to protect the pack. That is another.” Mina’s eyes turned hard. “In Lore, we have both. He needs a mate. It must be one of his own people.”

Talia felt anger rise in a hot prickle. It just wasn’t fair. It was surreal and stupid. “There’s something I don’t understand. If hellhound souls are born again and again, how come there are fewer hounds now? You said a lot died in the Castle, but shouldn’t they be reborn?”

The surrounding babble got louder. “Magic can kill a soul,” Mina answered, and then turned her attention to the empty ground ahead.

Talia stared at Mavritte as the she-hound strutted into the middle of the playground. It might as well have been a boxing ring. Lore’s side stayed silent, but hers gave a ragged cheer, pumping their arms in the air. The sound brought gooseflesh to Talia’s arms.

For once, Mavritte wasn’t bristling with weapons. All she wore was a loose T-shirt and yoga pants.

“How do they fight?” Talia asked.

“No weapons. The beast form cannot be hurt, but the two-legged can.”

Talia thought of her bullets passing through Mavritte in the Empire. As canines, they did seem to be invincible—except for quicksilver bullets and demon fire. “Why not just stay in hound form?”

“They can stay hound only as long as five counts. Otherwise, where is the battle?”

Talia rubbed her face, wishing that when she looked up, she would be back in bed with Lore. What did you do today, Talia? Oh, I watched my lover in a bloody death match.

She wanted to throw up, tension corkscrewing through her gut. I’ll stop this myself if I have to. That shebitch is going to have to come through me.

Then Lore walked into the makeshift ring. These cheers were loud and heartfelt. No mystery who the favorite was in this event. He peeled off his jacket, then his shirt, leaving only his jeans and sneakers. Talia’s breath caught at the sight of his body, the rich tan of his skin flowing over powerful muscles. He tossed his clothes to one side and scanned the crowd. Talia stood on her toes, willing him to look her way. Over here!

He stopped, their eyes meeting. In that instant, she saw him not just as Lore, but as Alpha. He was every inch the hellhound king, strong, just entering his prime, the favorite of his people.

I love you! she thought desperately. Don’t forfeit your life to Mavritte. Be Alpha. Win. I’d rather lose you than watch you lose what you care about.

He could never belong just to a mate. In many ways, he was the pack.

Sacrificing everything for love was a nice dream, but this wasn’t like quitting a job and moving towns. This was life and death. And she loved him. She wanted whatever would be best for his sake.

Her mouth trembled, wanting with every cell in her body to be lying next to him, lost in the Castle’s darkness.

He looked away, his expression that careful, neutral face he wore when he didn’t want his feelings to show.

So what am I going to do? There wasn’t a damned thing she could do, unless she climbed into the ring and shot Mavritte. But as she thought it, she realized she couldn’t. This moment wasn’t about her; this was about the pack. She was on the outside. Lore had to settle it.

The fight was starting. It looked wildly unequal because Lore was simply bigger than Mavritte, but that didn’t seem to faze either of the combatants. They circled, half-crouched, snarls so low that Talia might have imagined them if not for the chills that ran down her backbone.

Mavritte struck first, coming in low and fast under Lore’s guard. He seemed to roll out of the way, letting her momentum carry her past him. He grabbed her by the waist as she passed, throwing her to the ground—but not before she lashed out with one heel, landing a bruising blow to Lore’s thigh.

Talia realized she was gripping her hands together like she was praying. Maybe she was—for a quick end before the suspense killed her. Rekilled her. Whatever.

Mavritte was up again, landing another kick—this time to Lore’s shoulder. Talia could hear it connect, and winced.

She analyzed the moves, remembering the lessons she’d learned from years of Hunter training. Mavritte didn’t have a man’s upper-body strength, but she was agile and knew how to use what power she had. Mavritte could have used that to advantage, but she repeated the same moves too often, allowing Lore to learn her patterns. Lore blocked the next shot, getting in one of his own and sending her staggering back.

“Good,” murmured Osan Mina.

Talia bit her lip, and then remembered why vampires shouldn’t do that. Ouch.

Lore flowed into hound form, but then so did Mavritte. The two wrestled, snarling and clawing in a ball of red-eyed shadows. The crowd began chanting in another language, but Talia got it: the five-second rule.

When they hit five, Lore turned back to human form, dancing away from Mavritte. Then she was human again too, but now had long, red scratches down her arms. She had turned a microsecond too soon, letting his claws touch her human flesh. Her eyes were glittering with wild excitement, her mouth stretched in a mocking smile. Lore was still stone-faced, but his cheeks were flushed.

“He could end this,” Mina grumbled.

“I don’t think he wants to kill her,” Talia replied, once again remembering their confrontation at the Empire. “I think if there was another way, he’d take it.”

Lore had done something to send Mavritte tumbling to the grass at the edge of the ring. Her fall hadn’t looked entirely natural, and that set Talia’s alarm bells off. In fact, the whole crowd gasped—and gasped again when Mavritte rose holding a stiletto. The long, thin blade gleamed in the streetlight.

“Knife! ” Talia yelled, lunging forward.

Mina grabbed her arm. “No.”

“You said no weapons!” But Talia had her gun.

But there was an underlying logic. If Lore died, they still needed an Alpha. Mavritte was the next strongest hound, whether or not she fought fair.

Mina’s iron grip clenched harder. “Let them settle it!”

Mavritte grabbed Lore, clinging to him like a desperate lover, and drove the knife into his back.

Talia screamed.

Lore vanished.

Mavritte stumbled away, tripping over herself in confusion.

What did Lore do?

The seconds dragged on interminably, the hounds as one beginning to call out in agitated voices.

“He can’t hold it this long!” Mina cried, gripping Talia’s coat sleeve.

“Hold what?” Talia’s eyes were blurred with tears of fright.

“The state between man and hound!”

Talia thought about it—there was a brief second between forms where the hounds looked like a cloud of black dust. What happened if he stayed that way too long? Did he ever come back?

Oh, God, Lore . . .

But the hound dropped from the air, crushing Mavritte beneath his weight. Lore gripped Mavritte’s throat in his jaws, one massive paw covering the knife.

A cry of wonder sounded from the hounds. Apparently the vanishing act was a big show of power, but Talia was focused on what came next. The throat-ripping part. Is he going to do it? Talia wanted to turn away and needed to watch.

“He can’t!” Mina hissed. “No, the fight was over! He should finish it.”

There was no tearing of throats. A sob mixed of frustration and relief escaped Talia’s throat.

Lore was back in human form, holding the stiletto. He stood under the streetlight, his figure dark and sharply defined against the backdrop of snow. “Mavritte of the Redbones, you broke the laws that rule the fight for dominance,” he said in a deadly voice.

Mavritte scrambled to her feet, putting some distance between her and Lore, but the crowd tightened around the ring, blocking any escape she might have planned.

“Kill me,” she snarled. “If you think you’ve won, end this!”

Lore’s face was back to that neutral expression. Somehow it was worse than if he’d been screaming at her. “You lose the right to challenge me, Mavritte of the Redbones. Your people and your property belong to the Alpha of the Lurcher pack. To me.”

She fell on her knees. “Will you protect my people?”

“They are my people now. I will protect them.”

That’s why she did this. She knew this would happen if she cheated. She sacrificed herself for the sake of her hounds.

Talia’s skin prickled with shock. She hadn’t expected selflessness from Mavritte. “Is her life forfeit?”

“Not unless Lore demands it.”

So he doesn’t have to kill her. Talia narrowed her eyes. There was something suspiciously convenient about the match. Lore lost nothing. Mavritte got something she wanted. She had secured the best king with the most resources to watch over her hounds, even though it cost her pride and rank among her own people.

Talia felt a wave of respect for the she-hound, but it was short-lived.

“Will you take a mate?” Mavritte asked Lore, in a loud, clear voice.

The crowd went utterly silent. Talia could hear the hum of the streetlights above. Lore hesitated, turning the knife over and over in his hand. Talia froze as his gaze veered her way, touching her face.

“I will take a mate of my own choosing.”

Talia’s spirits sank as every hound turned her way, disapproval and anxiety in their eyes. She stood between them and their future. If Lore stayed with her, there would be no young. Hellhound souls couldn’t be reborn. Soul mates couldn’t be found. The life of the pack wouldn’t go on.

Their expressions all said one thing. She had no business with their king. She wasn’t even properly alive.

Lore couldn’t lie. His choice was clear—he wanted her.

But she wasn’t what they needed or wanted in their Alpha’s mate. But he was what they needed in their leader. Even Mavritte knew it, and was willing to pay a huge price to have him lead her pack.

Talia’s body ached. She was dying all over again.

I can’t be that selfish. I have to let him go. She exchanged a long look with Osan Mina.

“Okay,” was all she said.

Mina gave a single nod, and turned her face toward her king. The connection between them stopped dead, suddenly sliced away. It was as if Talia had instantly ceased to be.

Talia turned her back and walked away, her whole body burning with anguish. She heard commotion behind her, cries of disbelief and confusion.

Don’t let him be coming. Don’t let him. This is hard enough.

“Talia!” Lore ran past her, turning, blocking her path. “Why are you leaving?”

His bare chest was heaving, though he couldn’t be out of breath from such a short run.

I love you.

Kind, brave, in love with her, practically declaring himself in front of the whole world—how much more perfect could Lore be? She began to feel tiny sobs bubbling up through her frame. “You know why. They need you—all of you. You have to be with someone from your pack. If you leave them and come with me, it will destroy you. Maybe not right away, but you’ll come to hate me.”

Shock widened his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“The pack doesn’t have a future if you take me. I can’t be a pack mother.”

“Those are all just myths!”

“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.