Lore made a move to leave, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Wait. How are you going to punish him?”
“I must think of a way for him to make amends to the vampires. Then I will give him to a trainer for a few months.” A trainer acted as a strict but fair taskmaster, usually appointed to younger hounds who had transgressed. The sentence usually meant a span of hard labor on difficult, unpleasant jobs.
“Let Grash be his trainer.” She nodded to one of her men. “He is good at working with wood. He could teach Helver much. Let the Redbones prove to the Lurchers that we are also invested in the pack’s welfare. If we can’t bond one way”—she gave a lopsided smile—“we’ll have to come up with other ways of integrating the packs.”
It made political sense, but Lore didn’t like it. He didn’t trust Mavritte, especially in a conciliatory mood. Still, this was a low-risk way of extending goodwill. He would keep an eye on the situation, and set others to do the same. “Very well.”
Mavritte nodded and folded her arms. “Good.”
Lore studied her a moment. The snowflakes had made a crown in her hair. “Be well.”
“Be well.”
Lore turned. Grash stepped aside to let him pass, bowing as he did so. Lore nodded an acknowledgment, resisting an urge to growl. There was something about the Redbones that set his teeth on edge.
He was still stewing when he reached Helver’s home. It was one in a string of ancient row houses, two stories high with identical green doors and peaked roofs. The hellhounds had repaired what they could, but the walls were crooked and the foundations cracked. The homes of refugees, Lore thought. One day, when there was enough time and money, he would tear them down and build afresh.
The grandmother of the family opened the door.
“Greetings, Osan Mina,” he said, giving her his best smile.
Grandmother Mina had been littermate to his own osan, and was the closest he had now to family. She was dressed in a long skirt and apron, a white blouse, and a flowered kerchief that tied over her hair. She wasn’t a tiny woman, but years of hard work had rounded her spine. He bowed low, as befit one who was so much younger.
“Madhyor,” she replied in the hound’s tongue. “Sit by the fire and let me serve you tea.”
The fire in question was a steam radiator, but Lore didn’t argue. He pulled up a wooden chair to the tiny kitchen table. The family had painted the walls in a bright yellow, with trim in brilliant blues and reds. Geometric designs ran along the edges of the ceiling. It was the same pattern the women sewed on the hems of their skirts, symbolizing the endless return of souls to the pack, life after life.
Grandmother Mina gave him tea in a mug emblazoned with the CSUP logo. Like so many in Spookytown, Grandmother Mina spent the day listening to the station. Then she put a plate of meat and bread on the table. The smell of it reminded Lore that he hadn’t eaten anything solid yet that day, and refusing refreshments was an insult.
“Bevan wants to know what to do about the taxes for the warehouse,” Mina said. “He told me to ask you when you next came around.”
“He has my phone number. He can call me anytime.” He turned the mug around, liking the fact it was warm against his chilled hands.
“He knows if you stop by his house, that will make his mother happy. A family feels blessed when the Alpha steps through their doorway.” Mina patted his hand. “Osan Riva will have no one else fix her sink. She says you are the only one who can make the drains run right.”
“Water flows downward no matter who fixes the drain.”
“And Livrok wants advice on the batball team.”
“Baseball.” He put a slab of chicken onto a thick slice of bread and bit into it.
“That makes no sense. They don’t hit it with the base.”
“I didn’t make up the name, Grandmother,” he said, taking another bite.
“Why not? It would have made sense if you had done it. And don’t forget my sister wants to know what to do now that her grandson is old enough to work a full day. He needs an occupation.”
Which was the main reason Lore lived a little distance away. With the pack turning to him for everything— especially since coming to the human world—a sanctuary was essential. And perhaps it is also a rebellion, along with the vampire in it?
“Is Helver at home?” he asked. “I want to continue our discussion from last night.”
“I know you do. I sent him to spend the afternoon with Erich and Breckan.” Those were younger cousins.
Lore set his mug down on the table, irritated at her interference, but keeping his expression respectful. “Why, Osan Mina? He stole money from the vampires. Money I have to take back to them with an apology. He has brought dishonor on the pack.”
“I want to talk to you alone. You can punish my grandson later.” She pursed her lips as she sat down across from him. Although her hair had gone white, she was still lean and clear-eyed. Unlike other half demons, hellhounds were mortal. They loved, labored, and bore children. Grandmother Mina bore the testimony of all that and more in the lines of her face.
They were also the only species who had reproduced, aged, and died inside the Castle. Its strange magic had not affected them the same way as any other species. They were the worker bees of the nonhuman world, always in demand, never allowed the luxuries of the others.
He meant to change their status in this land, where hard work and imagination could take the common man to the heights of power. Opportunity was all they had ever needed, and already he had made great strides. Lore had scored a victory when he won a seat at the table with the other leaders of the supernatural community, and now sat there as their equal—but he still felt like a young boy beneath Grandmother Mina’s dark gaze.
His cell phone rang. It was Baines again. He switched the phone off.
“What is more important than Helver’s welfare?” he asked.
“He runs riot with the Redbone pack. They are not like us. They question your strength as Alpha.”
“They’re wrong.”
“Is that all you have to say?”
“What should I say? That I will bite Mavritte on the nose?”
“You have to show the Redbones your strength.”
“If they challenge me, it will be to the death. Mavritte isn’t the type to stop at first blood.”
“A fight isn’t what we need.”
“Then what?”
“You know the pack waits for the Alpha to choose a mate.”
Lore shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Perhaps that is a tradition that must fall by the wayside. Just because I haven’t . . .”
Mina’s eyes snapped. “It’s not tradition. It’s fact. We’re neither human nor animal. Magic sometimes dictates how we live.”
Lore stared stubbornly into his tea. The legend had it that until there was an Alpha pair, the females would not bear young. It was true that very few pups had arrived since his father’s death and none since his mother had passed away. But how much was fact and how much simply tradition? How much would he let an ancient legend rule his life in a world filled with refrigerators and wireless Internet?
“Kirsta is willing. So is Zofia, Sasha’s daughter. What is wrong with them?”
“Nothing.”
“Then get on with it!” She twisted her fingers through the bright strings of beads around her neck.
“There is no hound I want to take to my bed. At least not permanently.”
“No bonding means no young. No young means no future.”
Lore was silent.
Mina released the beads, and they fell with a clatter. “If you don’t do your duty, the pack will find an Alpha who will.”
“I’m still young.”
“Your father was younger. Why won’t you choose? Have the humans tempted you? Are we no longer good enough?”
