He’d heard a Castle warlord had used Mavritte as a body slave, tending to his physical requirements. She’d eventually slit his throat. After that, she’d ousted her pack leader and taken his place. Now she was looking at Lore with dark, serious eyes. He had a fleeting urge to duck.
“Greetings, Madhyor,” she said, giving him his formal title.
She never did that unless she wanted something.
“Greetings, Mavritte.” He returned the bow, showing respect.
Lore took a quick survey of the others. All Mavritte’s favorites, and probably bedmates. All heavily armed. Each one shifting to block an exit from the intersection. He unbuttoned his coat, just in case he needed the freedom to move.
“I am glad we meet. There are matters concerning the Redbone pack that require your attention.”
Lore felt like saying that the Redbones took threequarters of his time already, but thought better of it. “Is this a discussion that can be accomplished indoors?”
She tilted her head, the gesture showing off the striking bone structure of her face. “It is better that we talk where no others can listen.”
Lore looked pointedly at her friends.
“They are no one,” she said with a wave of one hand. She wore gloves with the fingers cut out, all the better for gripping a weapon. “My business is with you.”
“How fortunate for me.”
Mavritte gave him a caustic look.
If she was going to thrust a meeting on him, Lore would take advantage of the situation. “I am happy to listen to any member of my pack, but right now I have a whelp to discipline for breaking pack law. Perhaps you know something of that?”
“Helver?”
“Yes.”
She shrugged. “I heard about that. We all need money. Can you blame him for using a hound’s natural gifts to get ahead? Besides, the bloodsuckers have wealth to spare. To listen to them, you’d think they were all emperors in their youth.”
“Theft is lazy. There are means to earn our keep.”
Building and fixing came as second nature to the hounds. Hauling lumber up a scaffold was easy. Engines surrendered their secrets with barely a struggle. The Lurcher pack had opened a business recycling everything from furniture to auto parts. As long as humans were wasteful, there was good money to be made by clever hounds.
“Picking garbage?” Mavritte shifted her weight to one hip. “What sort of a future is that?”
“We came from hell. Now we live in a place that lets us earn and pay our way. We have hope that we can send our young to good schools, so they will live even better lives.”
She laughed, a throaty sound of sheer amusement. “You’re an idealist. I didn’t think that was possible after the way we grew up.”
“I think it’s essential. What I say is also truth. We are living a life better than anything we dreamed of.”
They were silent a moment, the snow drifting down. It caught in Mavritte’s dark hair, ephemeral stars.
She shook it off. “The humans won’t let us get ahead unless we force them. We are like the insects that hide in their cupboards, stealing scraps of food. One day they will grow weary of us and call the exterminator.”
Lore felt a niggle of doubt. “Not all of them are like that. Many welcome us. Remember when we first came to Fairview? Some sent food and blankets.”
Her voice softened. “There are always a compassionate few. I would rather have the respectful many.”
“I don’t see how raising a pack of thieves will gain respect.”
“I grant you that, but it’s time we consolidate. Seek power.”
“What are you hoping for?”
She straightened, as if they’d finally reached the part of the conversation that mattered. “Wealth. A louder voice on the Supernatural Council. Fear, if necessary. You know how the Castle warlords worked. You learned their lessons as well as I did.”
“Enough to know I never want to live in such a place again,” Lore shot back. “Why re-create the very thing we fled from?”
She raised her hands in an exasperated gesture. “Because if we can’t defend ourselves, the pack will fail.”
“We are the peacekeepers that patrol Fairview. We are the ones who break bones and smash heads. How are we not defended?”
Mavritte thrust a finger into his chest. “You need to pick a mate. Pick me. Bind our packs once and for all.”
Lore’s mouth dropped open for a heartbeat. Prophets save me!
She folded her arms. “Do I not please you?”
That’s what she said in the dream.
“You are beautiful and fierce. Strong. Powerful. Smart.” Hellhounds could not lie, and she was all of those things.
“But?”
He hesitated. But I don’t trust you enough to give you half my power.
She grabbed his face. His first instinct was to throw her to the ground, but then she pressed her lips to his. They were surprisingly soft, full, and hot. Her tongue danced at the entrance of his mouth, teasing, coaxing. He let her inside as her body pressed against his. They shifted slightly, adjusting for the bulge of weapons, the exact placement of hip and shoulder. They were a good fit. She was nearly six feet of warm, female hellhound, everything his genetic code had bred him to want. Someone who would give him litter after litter, and guard them with her last breath.
Lore crushed her to him, savoring the musky, honeyed taste of bitch. He’d always noticed Mavritte. Now he slaked his male curiosity, letting his hands wander down the taut muscles of her back. He had slept with plenty of the pack’s women. Some would even say he’d been downright democratic in his interviews for a mate. Mavritte was certainly the most exciting, in a vaguely suicidal way.
Someday, the mating urge—that drive to take a female in a permanent bond—would drive him mad. Mavritte was right. It was past time to pick somebody, but it wasn’t just a choice made by lust. There was more than pure biology involved. A hellhound chose with his soul.
He released her. They panted slightly, gusts of breath forming clouds in the air. He could see the disappointment in her eyes. She would feel the failure as much as he did.
“You’re not the right one.”
Scent. Taste. Something was off. He’d found Talia more appealing, and she wasn’t even the right species. And yet Talia felt right. Was there something wrong with him?
“I don’t care if we’re not the match for each other’s souls,” Mavritte returned, her voice soft. “There are too few of us left to search endlessly for one eternal mate. The ones we were supposed to bond with could be dead, killed in the Castle. We have to choose and move on.”
Lore didn’t reply. There was a chance she was right, but they were still a bad pairing. They didn’t think the same way.
“I’d never regret having you in my bed.” She looked him up and down, but her bravado wobbled. However she chose to spin it, her Alpha had rejected her.
“I am honored that you considered me worthy of interest,” he said, and meant it.
Nevertheless, anger flared in her eyes, flickering out of sight so fast he wasn’t sure he’d seen it. “Go, then,” she said. “Go look after the misbehaving whelp.”
Lore made a move to leave, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Wait. How are you going to punish him?”
“I must think of a way for him to make amends to the vampires. Then I will give him to a trainer for a few months.” A trainer acted as a strict but fair taskmaster, usually appointed to younger hounds who had transgressed. The sentence usually meant a span of hard labor on difficult, unpleasant jobs.
“Let Grash be his trainer.” She nodded to one of her men. “He is good at working with wood. He could teach Helver much. Let the Redbones prove to the Lurchers that we are also invested in the pack’s welfare. If we can’t bond one way”—she gave a lopsided smile—“we’ll have to come up with other ways of integrating the packs.”