“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.