Frostbound

Chapter 30

Lore had less than a minute to save his people.

He charged the enemy, ducking, weaving, leaping the fireballs in a deadly dance. Their ammunition wasn’t infinite, and he was determined to make them waste as much as he could. Every fouled shot was one less chance a hound would die.

Twenty seconds spent.

The scene was coming at him in a blur of detail: the sharp-edged rubble of the barricade, the startled faces of Belenos’s vampires as they wheeled around to see the red-eyed hound hurtling at them. Lore knew the ones he wanted. If he took out the leaders, the rest would scatter.

Thirty seconds.

He would have to brave the snipers. He was gambling they only had a few bullets filled with quicksilver. After all, just about every hellhound alive was somewhere in Fairview. Such bullets were a custom-made item.

Thirty-five seconds.

His pack had turned and were following him, but they were far behind. He was moving faster than the sorcerers could take aim. Faster than he could think. Lore let go and let his instincts run.

Forty-five. Rifles cracked, the sound blaring against the stone, but he was too fast for them, too.

Men swore.

That’s right. Do it.

Switching the rifles to automatic sacrificed accuracy for speed. It wasted lots of ammo.

Lore leaped, spreading his paws wide to catch the leaders in the chest, to crush them to the dirt for putting his pack, his woman, and the city he called home in danger.

Fireballs launched, and they were too close to avoid.

Poisonous bullets pierced his flank, tearing through flesh and bone.

He’d expected it. Lore let himself fall to dust.

In the spark of consciousness that was his essential self, he counted. One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three-one thousand. Holding himself between states was a difficult trick, one only the strongest hounds could pull off.

And he re-formed, his jaws around the neck of the leader, the bullets and fireballs sailing through the air behind him. Bone and cartilage snapped beneath his teeth, blood rushing over his tongue.

This was what hellhounds had been bred for: to search out and destroy threats to the common good. It wasn’t pretty, but it was what they did.

Mavritte and her Redbones answered the distress call, leaping the barricade like a black, rough-coated nightmare. It was exactly what was needed. Their numbers tipped the balance. The vampires scattered like the proverbial chickens, screaming as they bolted into the tunnels. Mavritte’s hounds followed, baying in choplicking excitement.

Meanwhile, Lore’s hounds found the stairways up to the narrow ledge the snipers were using. Hellhounds died, but eventually the Hunters broke and ran.

Lore had secured his quadrant and saved his pack.

But the search had just begun. The tunnels were vast and there was still no sign of Talia.

Or Belenos.

Munching of bones.

Talia’s legs cramped from being held immobile by the ankle chains. Because vampires didn’t exactly have circulation, her hands weren’t numb despite being cuffed behind her, but her shoulders ached from the awkward angle.

Fear hovered like another presence in the room, poking at her with the claws of memory and dread. Talia tried to push it away, but somehow it managed to squirm past her refusals. It clung and it whispered, reminding her that her friends were in trouble, and what could she do? Talia was useless, stuck to a chair while Belenos and company studied www.WhatWouldVoldemortDo.com for evil inspiration.

He hadn’t been back. Presumably he was busy stalking Omara.

Talia looked around, using her dark-adapted eyes to search her surroundings one more time. She’d killed Lore’s clock and got out of her handcuffs once. Surely she could come up with a means of escape this time—but she wasn’t seeing the possibilities just yet. There was nothing in the room but dust, spiders, and wine barrels. If there was ever an AAA poll on places to be held captive, Lore’s bedroom beat this one-star underground hole hands down. Lore’s cuisine was abysmal, but he’d at least cleaned since 1905.

Lore! She sent a silent prayer outward, to wherever he was. Be safe!

Talia tensed as she heard the key in the lock. Someone came in, holding a lantern. She squeezed her eyes shut, momentarily blinded by the bright light. And then she smelled him. Max!

When she opened her eyes, the sight of him sent a jolt through her. He was holding a gun. She made a noise around her gag, half hope, half fear. He set down the lantern and walked to where she was sitting. Then he hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Talia looked up at him, pleading with her eyes. You’re my brother. Don’t leave me here.

It must have reached him. Wordlessly, he crouched behind her, working on her leg chains. She twisted her head around, making noises around the strip of cloth binding her mouth. Thank you. Thank you!

He got her feet free and started working on her wrists. “Don’t talk,” he said gruffly. “I don’t want to talk to you. He’s going to kill you. Get out of here, and don’t look back. If he catches you, I was never here, get it?”

Awooowowooo! The sound echoed through the tunnels, lonely and chilling. Hellhounds. Max’s hands shook, slipping on the ropes.

She heard the thunder of heavy paws and heavy panting from massive lungs. It was so loud Talia could nearly reach out and touch the sound—the sliding, scraping, bumping of fur and muscle and claw in the narrow passage. Running right past the door.

“Shit!” Max muttered, fumbling with the keys.

He came back for me. My brother came back. Talia flexed her feet experimentally, the freedom of movement delicious. Part of him still loves me.

Something else howled, the sound like the desolate thunder of the eternal gate shutting forever. Despite herself, Talia shivered. Then the silver chains fell from her wrists.

“Get up,” Max said. She could smell his sweat, sour with nerves. He would hate that loss of self-control.

Talia tore the gag from her mouth. “Thank you.”

“Don’t talk to me.”

She stood, the motion stiff and unsteady. She was shaking, but it wasn’t fear. It was pure emotion. She held out her hand to him, her fingers almost grazing his arm.

He jerked back. “Don’t touch me. I wasn’t here, remember?”

“Max,” she said, her voice pleading, but then she stopped. He had done what he could. He’d betrayed everything he believed in to save her. She couldn’t ask anything else.

“You’d better be able to walk,” Max said darkly, opening the door.

Omigod! Talia’s eyes flew wide, and Max wheeled back to the doorway. Her mind went blank with shock.

Belenos stood there, watching a miniature image of them in his quartz ball. “Tsk, tsk. I told you I’d be watching. Both of you. You know what happens to children who don’t listen.”

What was he doing back? Wasn’t he supposed to be out killing Queen Omara?

Max blocked the entry, but Belenos brushed him aside. “Playing the big brother, are we? What will Daddy say about his beloved heir breaking the rules?”

Talia watched Belenos move toward her, every past horror rearing up like a cobra dripping venom. Instead of making her afraid, it was making her angry. He’d hurt her. He’d hurt Max, and he was planning to do it all over again.

She caught Max’s hand signal from the corner of her eye, one they’d used together time and again since they were children. An evil kind of satisfaction filled her, but she wiped it from her face.

“You have to take care of this, Max. Plans have changed. We have to be prepared to move in a hurry.” Belenos reached out and gave a lock of Talia’s hair a tug. “She’s betrayed us both, and now she’s nothing but a nuisance.”

“Leave her alone.” Max took a step to the left, getting into position.

“Why should I?”

“She’s my sister.”

“Then the honor of taking her head is all yours, my boy.”

Talia looked from one to the other, letting rage, terror, and incredulity flow over her features. Let him think she was frightened and helpless. Belenos undid the buttons on his jacket, exposing a shoulder holster that held both a gun and a long knife.

Maybe the same blade he’d used to hack Michelle’s head from her body?

Max’s face went hard and cold. “No way.”

“Then you’ll be the first to die.” Belenos drew a Browning Hi-Power. “Loose ends need to be tied up.”

It happened before Talia could form a thought. Vampire-quick, she grabbed for the knife at the same moment that Belenos aimed the gun at Max.

Max kicked, knocking the Browning aside. Talia had the knife, the grip smooth and elegant in her hand. Silver hilt, silver blade.

She shoved it between the Belenos’s ribs. On the left side, slanting upward. Instinctively, she aimed for the heart.

But it wasn’t his only weapon. He had a boot knife.

Searing pain sliced into Talia’s side, turning her whole body numb. The hilt of her knife slipped from her fingers. “Max! Make it stop! Make it stop!”

Max fired his own gun, taking the top off Belenos’s head.

The king fell to the ground, collapsing onto his right side. Talia dropped to her knees, blood oozing from her side. She pulled out the boot knife, feeling the ooze turn to a steady flow. Belenos was stirring. She groped for the Browning he had dropped, working by touch.

Horribly, with brains and blood oozing down his face, the king was sitting up.

Talia’s brain short-circuited. Vision was no more than blobs of color. There was a noise in her head like the steady screech of a car accident, waiting for the crash. “Stand back, Max.”

She’d found the Browning. She raised it, knowing she was a good shot. At this range, an idiot couldn’t miss.

She started firing. A spray of lukewarm blood caught her face and arms, blowback. It didn’t stop her. She kept firing.

And firing until there was nothing left but the click of the gun.

Belenos had no head left.

Max was gone.

And then the world began to fade to black.