She took a shaky step forward, as if she were going to bolt for the door.
“Talia,” he said, his tongue relishing her name. “I wouldn’t try anything, if I were you.”
She froze, her arms held out to her sides a little, letting him think he’d stopped her.
Now!
Talia wheeled and lunged for the door, her wordless cry echoing in the hallway. Belenos grabbed her hood, hauling her back. The force of it popped a button. She heard cloth tear, the sound nearly as sharp as a whimper of pain. She fell against him, the weight and smell of him bringing back waves of terror. He kicked the door shut.
“Let me go!” she shrieked, landing an elbow in his ribs.
He flinched, then chuckled, long and low. “Sh. I’m going to help you.”
“Help me what?” she asked in a low, hoarse voice. She knew him all too well.
“I’m going to help you remember what it is to be the servant of a master and not a rebellious whore. Oh, yes, I know what you’ve been up to with your dog. That little bird simply talks too much.”
Oh, God, no, she didn’t want Lore mixed up with this lunatic!
“Such long, delicious shudders. One would think I was going to punish you as Omara punished me.”
He crushed her against him in a nauseating embrace. He brought his lips close to her ear, his breath tickling her nose and cheek. “We can’t have that, now, can we? Why copy a job when one can improve upon it?”
Chapter 27
Friday, December 31, 9:00 p.m.
Empire Hotel
“All I want is a quiet beer,” Darak said to Nia, raising his voice over the din. “Where’s the mystery?”
The New Year’s crowd at the Empire was rocking, the bar three and four people deep. Darak had both elbows out, guarding his territory. Daisy was asleep at his feet.
Nia seemed to hold her spot by being female, exotic, and wearing nothing to speak of. There was more of that cosmetic glittery powder against her ebony skin than actual clothing. The werebear beside her looked ready to offer marriage.
“The mystery, my friend, is in how you think you can prevent me from helping you to pluck the guts from this King of the East.” Nia gave him her squinty-eyed look, which said he was likely to end up with an arrow in his ass if he tried to sneak away. “I am the perfect choice for your hostage. I am beautiful. Men never expect a beautiful woman to cut their throats.”
“No.”
“Who else would you choose?”
“No one. No hostages.”
“You think you can get close to him without playing his game?”
“How close do I need to be? I’m just stepping on a bug.”
“Bugs bite.”
Darak sighed. There were only a handful of people he let backtalk him, and they’d all known him since before the Dark Ages. It was hard to fool someone who’d been at your side since togas went out of fashion.
There was the whole problem: You couldn’t replace people like that. They were his chosen kin. “I want to go after this fool alone because he’s a crazy sorcerer. They’re always bad news. How can I hand you over to him?”
“Bad news is my meat and drink.” Nia took a sip of her cocktail. It was mauve with a flower floating in it. “And I’m bored. Stop trying to keep me—all of us—safe. After this long, it’s getting very old. You should have told us what the ghost girl said right away. You should have let us help you look for the necromancer. Enough of that. In three hours you will take me to the pier, and I will play my role as a poor, helpless slave girl. You’re not doing this alone.”
Darak grunted something that was neither a yes or no. He was watching the bartender, Joe, who was holding a cell phone to one ear and his finger in the other. By his face, he was getting bad news. It seemed to be going around.
Joe’s gaze flicked up, meeting Darak’s face. He began walking toward him, closing the phone. He leaned on the bar, bringing his face close to Darak’s so that he could be heard. “You met Lore, the Alpha hellhound, a few nights ago?”
“Yeah.”
“He has a message for you.”
“What?”
“He needs your help.”
Darak sat back on his stool. Great. Now what? “What makes him think I care?”
Joe shrugged. “He does this prophecy thing. He said you made a promise to a ghost.”
Darak’s skin went cold. “What did you say?”
“He said to say the airports are open. If you plan on doing something, meet him at this address now.” Joe grabbed a napkin and wrote something down. He slid it across the bar.
Nia picked it up. “What has this got to do with your ghost?”
Joe gave them a dark look. “Our friend Talia is missing.”
Friday, December 31, 9:15 p.m.
Perry’s condo
Perry Baker lived in an apartment on the ground floor of a Victorian-era warehouse in Spookytown, the entrance off of a parking lot at the rear. Iron stairs zigzagged up its brick face, a few of the railings sporting Christmas decorations. Security lights winked on as Lore made his way around the building, casting harsh shadows in the snow. Someone had cleared a path through the drifts. Bit by bit, Fairview was getting a handle on its Winter Wonderland status.
His mood was far from festive.
Lore had dreamed last night, or perhaps it was a prophecy. As usual, he wasn’t sure which and he had no idea what to make of what he saw: Talia throwing a knife at him, a look of deep anger in her eyes. He could still see the whirling blade, the thwop-thwop of it as it spun through the air. In the dream, he was leaping, trying to get out of the way. Fear rippled through him, but he wasn’t sure what was the real threat. In the murky dream-state, he’d known there was something worse than the knife coming his way.
He’d jerked awake next to Talia’s still form, his heart pounding. He was sick to death of nightmares. First Mavritte with a blade, and now Talia. How come the women in his dreams never had plates of food, or mugs of beer, or scented massage oils? Just for a change, it would be nice. But now he couldn’t find Talia. Was that what the dream meant? Was the knife the sharp stab of worry in his heart?
Lore had called a meeting of his friends. They needed to regroup and make plans because the airports had opened and Omara was on her way. The timing sucked. He had a splitting headache, and he was deeply worried about Talia. He had to find her, but he had no idea where she was—not at the condo, not at the Empire, not in Spookytown, and not at the cop shop. He needed help.
The headache was one of the curses of being the Alpha. He’d been sitting in Bevan’s living room and talking to the Elders when another prophecy had ridden in on a mother of a migraine headache. Through the blinding lights and nausea, he’d seen Darak making a promise to a filmy presence Lore couldn’t fully make out, but he’d heard Talia’s name. Whatever happened next, the rogue vampire would play a role—and it would involve her.
Two prophecies in twenty-four hours? Unusual to say the least. That in itself set his ruff standing on end.
The headache would fade, but worry dug in like the talons of a raptor. Talia had a talent for vanishing—from his condo, from the hospital, and now from Osan Mina’s house. The woman is pure chaos. At least this time, he was almost certain that she was with Baines. But why? Had she gone on her own? Had Baines forced her? Why hadn’t she told him where she was going?
They weren’t at the police station. As the cop on the phone had pointed out, they’d not been gone two hours. Talia was an adult. Lore should chill out. Sure. After all he and Talia had been through, it was impossible not to fear the worst. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, as if he could protect the spark between them with his own bones and muscle. Last night had meant everything. Talia had been everything. Brave, vulnerable, generous—those qualities that drew him to her had been there in her lovemaking. Also, that chaotic, unpredictable element. After living by the rules of the pack for so long, the surprise of her was intoxicating.