When the storm of lovemaking had been spent, he’d slept beside Talia, his body desperate for rest. On top of crime, death, and Mavritte, the venom had taken its mind- and body-blowing toll, but more than an urge to sleep had kept him there.
Hellhounds guarded—and he wanted to guard her. Forever. No one else brought the kind of peace he felt when his fingers brushed her skin. No one—hound, human, or anything else—drew his eyes and filled him with her scent the way Talia did. In a matter of days, she had become the center of his thoughts.
But she wasn’t a hellhound. This isn’t supposed to happen. Too bad. His soul knew who it wanted, and that was that. I don’t care. I want her, and she obviously needs someone to cover her back for once. What she had been through in her existence was appalling, even by Castle standards.
Anxiety sparking through his limbs, Lore crunched through the snow with extra force. He crossed the parking lot. Some of the cars were dusted off, others still lumps of snow. A trail of footprints led the way to his destination. He wasn’t the first to arrive.
Sometime before Christmas, Perry had hung a stuffed toy on the door—a wolf’s head with a Santa hat and flashing red nose. Santa Claws. Lore had to push it aside to find the knocker.
He’d barely rapped twice when Errata opened the apartment door, looking like someone had stepped on her tail. Behind her, he could see Perry’s black and white kitchen. It was a little messy, but well stocked with cookbooks and cans of food on the open shelving. Lore knew Perry had wooed more than one woman with his spaghetti Bolognese.
Errata met Lore’s eyes with a desperate expression. “I can’t stand the man. Would you please take him back to the hospital and chain him to a bed.”
Lore decided not to touch that one. “Silver poisoning makes werebeasts crazy.”
“I know that,” she snapped. “I didn’t realize it also made them stupid enough to try playing detective when they’re full of bullet holes. He just got home an hour ago. He’s barely unhooked from all those machines. Yesterday, he was supposed to be dying, for the love of—”
She turned and stalked back into the apartment.
Lore stepped inside, smelling chicken and onions from the soup pot on the stove. I had no idea Errata could cook. He shed his coat and walked through to the living room. It was mostly bare brick with black leather furniture. Perry had taken the place for much the same reason Lore had moved into his friend Mac’s old condo—to gain a little distance from their respective packs. They were both considered rebels for adopting the human custom of finding a place of their own.
At the moment, though, it appeared Errata had taken charge. She was frowning down at Perry, who was stretched out on the couch, cushions propping him into a semi-sitting position. Perry’s arm was in a sling, probably to immobilize his wounded shoulder. His color was bad, skin pale against the shadow of his beard, and his scent was tainted with the sweat of pain.
“What part of bed rest don’t you understand?” Errata fumed.
Perry’s eyes narrowed to slits. “The part where I take a nap while the bad guys finish me off. That’s why they let me out of the hospital, remember? Too hard to run a medical center with assassins roaming the halls, so you send the target home so he can be murdered offsite. No, thanks. I’d rather cut to the chase and catch the bastards.”
Lore didn’t see Perry angry very often, but the wolf was on a slow burn. Lore didn’t blame him one bit. No hospital would send away a human patient like this. “How many guards are there around this place?”
Just because Lore hadn’t seen them outside, that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Most of the Silvertail pack knew Lore, at least by sight, and wouldn’t stop him.
Perry started to shrug, but winced when he tried to move his shoulder. “Dad said he had it covered. Of course, he wanted me to go back to his place.”
“Maybe you should have,” said Lore.
“No way. I do that, and as far as they’re concerned, I’m twelve again.” Perry smiled, but he sounded like he was only half joking.
Errata gave a little hiss. “Stubborn idiot.”
A knock sounded at the kitchen door, two quick raps. Errata went to answer it. Lore glanced over at Perry. His friend had his eyes closed, lines of pain around his mouth. Errata was right. Perry should be in bed, not hosting a meeting.
At that moment, Errata led Darak into the room. The werecougar, tall as she was, looked like a child next to him. “Lore, your, uh, friend’s here.”
Lore and Darak exchanged a wary look.
“Hellhound,” Darak rumbled by way of greeting. Then he turned to Perry. “You look half-dead.”
“Working on it,” Perry replied, opening his eyes to slits. “Do I know you?”
“Perry Baker, Errata Jones,” Lore said, pointing to his friends. “Everyone, this is Darak.
“Of Clan Thanatos,” Darak added.
At that, Perry opened both eyes. “We’re going with the heavy hitters.”
“Damned straight.” Darak made himself comfortable in an overstuffed chair. “What’s this I hear about Talia being gone? How long?”
“Two hours,” Lore said.
“That’s not missing. That’s out for coffee. What else is going on?”
Uneasy, Lore took the other chair. Errata sat on the arm of the couch next to Perry.
Lore got to the point. “First problem: The airports are clear and Omara will be landing shortly. It’s New Year’s Eve and the town is packed with strangers. It’s the perfect time for this attack we’re anticipating.”
“Where is she going to be?” asked Errata.
“She’s staying at her usual hotel downtown. The Hilliard Fairview.”
“Shouldn’t she go someplace different?” asked Errata. “She knows there’s a problem, right? With the fire and the election and necromancy, etcetera?”
“Queens don’t move,” Darak replied. “It would be a sign of weakness.”
“Great.” Lore rubbed his eyes, wishing aspirin worked on half-demon headaches. “Problem two: Talia is missing. I think she’s with Baines, but I don’t know exactly why. Her cousin was beheaded by a necromancer we think was her sire. Her brother is a Hunter who may well be the sniper who shot Perry. Against everything we know about Hunters, they’re using magic.”
Darak made a noise that said he’d just figured something out. “So the Hunters are the interested parties.”
They all looked at him, Lore getting the creeping sense that matters had just got worse. “What are you talking about?” he asked.
“Belenos wants to destroy Omara,” Darak answered. “It’s not a leap to believe the Hunters would consider the election an abomination, and they’d cheerfully punish the queen whose influence made it possible. They’re working with Belenos. That’s why the Hunters have access to magic. A truce in order to kill a common enemy.”
“Wait a minute.” Confused, Lore got to his feet and began pacing. “The Hunters and Belenos? Belenos killed Talia. He addicted her brother. The Hunters would never work with him. Belenos has a feud with her father. She told me.”
“Am I missing something?” Perry asked.
“Talia was born a Hunter,” Errata said.
“What the hell? No way.”
“Her brother came to finish you off and she chased him through the hospital. You slept through the whole thing.”
“Thank God for that.” Perry winced. “Fido’s balls, Lore, I know you like the wild girls, but wow.”