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.
She analyzed the moves, remembering the lessons she’d learned from years of Hunter training. Mavritte didn’t have a man’s upper-body strength, but she was agile and knew how to use what power she had. Mavritte could have used that to advantage, but she repeated the same moves too often, allowing Lore to learn her patterns. Lore blocked the next shot, getting in one of his own and sending her staggering back.
“Good,” murmured Osan Mina.
Talia bit her lip, and then remembered why vampires shouldn’t do that. Ouch.
Lore flowed into hound form, but then so did Mavritte. The two wrestled, snarling and clawing in a ball of red-eyed shadows. The crowd began chanting in another language, but Talia got it: the five-second rule.
When they hit five, Lore turned back to human form, dancing away from Mavritte. Then she was human again too, but now had long, red scratches down her arms. She had turned a microsecond too soon, letting his claws touch her human flesh. Her eyes were glittering with wild excitement, her mouth stretched in a mocking smile. Lore was still stone-faced, but his cheeks were flushed.
“He could end this,” Mina grumbled.
“I don’t think he wants to kill her,” Talia replied, once again remembering their confrontation at the Empire. “I think if there was another way, he’d take it.”
Lore had done something to send Mavritte tumbling to the grass at the edge of the ring. Her fall hadn’t looked entirely natural, and that set Talia’s alarm bells off. In fact, the whole crowd gasped—and gasped again when Mavritte rose holding a stiletto. The long, thin blade gleamed in the streetlight.
“Knife! ” Talia yelled, lunging forward.
Mina grabbed her arm. “No.”
“You said no weapons!” But Talia had her gun.
But there was an underlying logic. If Lore died, they still needed an Alpha. Mavritte was the next strongest hound, whether or not she fought fair.
Mina’s iron grip clenched harder. “Let them settle it!”
Mavritte grabbed Lore, clinging to him like a desperate lover, and drove the knife into his back.
Talia screamed.
Lore vanished.
