“Nope.”
“Have a good night,” Lore said.
The cop didn’t respond, but got in the passenger side. The van was in motion before the door closed. The cop was afraid, and the smell of it made Lore’s stomach cramp with hunger.
“Hey, there. Barking at the moon yet?”
Lore glanced in the direction of the voice. Perry Baker was ambling toward him from the direction of the corner store. The werewolf had a take-out coffee cup in one hand, mounded with whipping cream and chocolate shavings. Most shape-shifters had a sweet tooth. Something to do with the energy burn of changing forms.
“Hey,” Lore said as his friend came to a stop beside him. “What brings you here?”
The werewolf yawned, showing strong teeth. “I needed a break.”
“Feeling the need to get down and dirty on the streets?”
“The only thing I’m feeling right now is a slight sugar buzz.” Perry shrugged, slurping the elaborate coffee. Like Lore, he was in his late twenties, but where the hellhounds were tall and big-boned, built for brute strength, the wolves were lean and wiry. His young, intelligent face was drawn with fatigue. “And the onset of a migraine. I’ve been marking Comp Sci exams most of the day. Who knew a doctorate meant slow death by HB pencil?”
Lore took out his cell phone, checking messages. There were plenty from pack members, but no more reports of bar fights or break-ins. “Looks quiet.”
“Dinner?” Perry asked.
Lore still had the taste of the cop’s fear in his mouth. “Sure.”
By unspoken consent, they headed north toward Lore’s place. There was a good burger joint around the corner that served their meat extra-rare. They walked a few blocks in silence, Lore’s senses on alert.
“So,” Perry said. “How’s sheriff duty going?”
“There’s something evil in Fairview.”
Perry gave him a long look. “Uh, care to narrow that down?”
The wolf had a point. Fairview was supernatural central. Lore’s own people had escaped here through a portal from a prison dimension. A few short years ago, while Perry had been wondering what degree to take next, Lore had been fighting for survival in a demonfilled dungeon.
The memory of the Castle—the deaths, the deprivation and slavery of the hellhounds—pissed Lore off all over again. Wanting to bite something, he kicked the base of a lamppost instead. Tension sang in his muscles. “I felt something.”
“As in, an Alpha hellhound psychic gift kind of feeling?”
Lore frowned. It had been a premonition—the Alpha had the gift of prophetic dreams—but he could feel it too, just hovering on the edge of awareness. It was like a hair-raising charge of static. “I am the protector of my pack. Caravelli left me to guard the safety of the city. A large cloud of evil intent is floating around. I need to kill it.”
The werewolf raised an eyebrow. “You see, that’s why I hang out with you. Every time it’s like, wham, I’m in a Doctor Who episode.”
Lore grunted a reply. Now that he wasn’t working up a sweat fighting, his hands were starting to ache from the cold. He slid them into the pockets of his jacket. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Hey, you’re the premonition guy. You say there’s floaty badness, I believe you.” Perry slurped his drink again, but now he was watching the night, too, the set of his head and shoulders alert. Steam rose off the cup in filmy clouds, clogging the air with a syrupy-sweet smell.
Lore cast a glance at his friend. “Does floaty badness worry you?”
“I’m not sure yet. For me, magic is just another science.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t have your sixth sense. I like data.”
They were across the street from Lore’s condo building when a white and blue taxi pulled up at the building entrance. Both males watched as a young woman got out. The cabbie hauled a suitcase out of the trunk and held the door as she made her way into the lobby. She wore a navy blue uniform under a dark pea jacket. The short skirt left slim legs bare. Lore caught a glimpse of her face: long dark hair with bangs, high cheekbones, a pointed chin. Elfin more than beautiful.
Close, but not quite the woman he’d hoped to see. Not the one who reminded his body that it was past time to choose a mate.
I don’t have time to watch women. Something is out there. But he couldn’t turn away, even from this pale ghost of the one he wanted.
Suddenly his pulse felt hot and thick.
“Who’s that?” Perry asked with avid interest. “I mean, impending evil and all, but look at those legs.”
Lore had. Repeatedly. “She lives in fifteen-twenty-four.”
So did another woman who might have been her sister—someone less observant might have mistaken them for twins. Lore had never figured those two out. This one wasn’t home much. The other—the beautiful one—was a vamp, with all the mysterious allure of the Undead female. They were never home at the same time, and never with anyone else.
Perry cut Lore a glance. “You know her suite number off the top of your head?”
“Guarding is in my genetics. I watch the building for intruders. I know who belongs where.”
“I suppose you know her name and phone number, too.”
He had spoken to this woman—the human—once. They’d exchanged the bland chitchat of strangers while they’d waited for the elevator. “I know the name on the mailbox.”
Perry looked amused. “You could go borrow a cup of sugar. One look at her and I want to make cookies.”
“And they call me a hound dog.”
“Ooh, ouch.” Perry tossed his empty coffee cup into the concrete garbage bin by the curb. It arced neatly and clattered inside.
The door closed, and the woman disappeared.
Perry let out a gust of breath. “So, what do you want to do about the situation?”
Which situation was that?
Hellhounds couldn’t lie. Lore struggled a moment against a compulsion to tell his friend the truth. I want to find the beautiful one and take her, even if she isn’t one of my kind. Even if it’s utterly against hellhound law. But he would rather stick his head in a ghoul’s nest than have that conversation.
Fortunately, there was another way to answer. “You know your way around a spell book as well as a mainframe. Help me find out what dark presence I’m sensing, and I’ll pay for dinner.”
The werewolf rolled his eyes, obviously catching Lore’s evasion. “Okay, Romeo. Just don’t get ketchup on my grimoire.”
Chapter 2
Tuesday, December 28, 7:45 p.m.
North Central Shopping Center
N othing brings out the predators like a seventypercent-off sale.
Talia Rostova wheeled her Prius into the North Central Shopping Center for their After-Christmas Clearance Madness. The lot was jammed, vehicles crawling over the icy pavement in a slow-motion game of musical parking spaces. Exhaust clouded the cold air like the breath of dragons.
Talia thought of all those lovely bargains in the sales flyer, and felt a pang of unease. She’d been delayed at the nail salon, and now the door-crasher specials were in full swing. The mall was giving out half-price coupons for designer leather wear at eight o’clock sharp.
Unfortunately, it was now seven forty-five, and she still had to park.
Crum.
Aggression hung in the air, vibrating like a sour note above the rumble of engines and the crunch of tires on the frosty ground. Talia shivered, the mood rousing her own adrenaline. A vampire knew bloodlust when she sensed it. Bargain-hunters could be serious fiends, with or without pointy teeth.
Talia zipped into the last empty parking spot almost before she saw it. I may be dead, but I’m fast. Someone honked. Talia bared her fangs at the honker’s blinding headlights, and the noise stopped.