eerie, cold anger gripped him like an invisible beast.
Sorcery. Hate. Prey. Escape. Tear. Bite.
As he stalked into the basement computer lab, he could smell damp concrete. A mop and bucket in one corner reminded him there’d been a burst pipe. He walked up the wheelchair ramp to the main floor, wondering where Perry was. Lore pulled out his cell and pushed the speed dial to Perry’s number, but it went to voice mail.
The ramp ended near the door. Lore looked around, noticing a red smear on the wall. Blood? Automatically, he looked down. There was more spatter on the floor.
No! Perry had been hit. A trail led away from the door, the teardrop shape of the drips pointing down the hall.
Lore ran in that direction, pulling out his cell phone again. He hit redial, listening for Perry’s phone. He heard the tinny strains of “Blue Moon” coming from a cluster of couches up ahead. Lore sprinted toward the sound, a sick feeling in his gut.
Perry was lying on one of the couches, shivering and drenched in blood.
Chapter 19
Thursday, December 30, 7:30 p.m.
Fairview General Hospital
“Silver bullets?” Talia breathed into the phone.
She could hear the tension in Lore’s voice. “The bullet was a safety slug filled with silver pellets. The penetration wasn’t deep, but a lot of metal got into his bloodstream.”
Talia knew very well what that meant, because she’d used those rounds herself. Organ damage, and then death. Oh, God, Perry. It was a bad way to go, but at least it would be relatively fast. “Meet me at the front door of the hospital in half an hour.”
She hung up the phone before Lore could argue. Talia had been mostly okay with staying at the condo while Lore went to the university, but now she couldn’t sit around any longer. No one used those slugs but professional monster-killers. They were hard to get, expensive, custom-made, and this was her area of expertise.
Among the Hunters, she had been one of the very best shots. She knew where to get specialized ammunition, who made it in which back room, and what their maker’s marks looked like. Safety slugs mushroomed on impact, so conventional ballistics was tricky, but there might be other clues as to where it came from. With a stroke of luck, she might even figure out who pulled the trigger. Perry had found the images that proved she had come home too late to kill Michelle. She owed him whatever she could offer.
A sixth sense told her to hurry. Fortunately, she’d already solved the problem of weapons. A search earlier that evening had revealed the locker where Lore kept his toys. There was a lock box protected by one of those zappy spells, but she found a knife in a sheath she could strap to her calf. It had probably been meant for Lore’s forearm, but whatever.
In a determined flurry, she bundled into her coat and ran out into the snow. A few of the main buses were running, and there was no way she could be identified under a hood, scarf, mitts, and layers of sweaters. Everyone out on the streets looked like a bundle of knitting projects. She doubted anyone could even tell she was Undead, much less pick her out of a lineup.
The bus took longer than she expected, but it successfully dropped her at the edge of the hospital grounds. The parking lot was largely empty, but plenty of people had slipped, skidded, and snow shoveled their way into Emergency. The desk at the entrance was mobbed, making it easy to simply walk past. The nurses were too busy to care about one young woman wandering by, craning her neck to find one tall hellhound.
The gray tiled floor was covered in wet footprints. Talia could see the occupants had filled every bench. She caught the stink of wet wool and coats that had gone too long without dry cleaning. Chatter filled the place, mostly folks swapping bad weather stories.
After the quiet of Lore’s bedroom, Talia was overwhelmed by the noise. Plus, she was hungry. She’d refused the icky refrigerated blood and now she was regretting it. The ambient smell of the hospital wasn’t helping. Beneath all that antiseptic was . . . Oh, don’t go there.
The sight of Lore leaning against the wall, one leg bent and arms crossed, banished all thoughts of hospital food. The memory of his taste brought saliva to her mouth. She walked up to him, untying the long striped scarf she’d swiped from his drawer.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.” Now that she was close, she could see the strain around his eyes.
“How is he?”
“The doctors put him on hemodialysis to clean as much of the toxin out of his blood as they can. They say it’s the only thing that works on werewolves.”
“What’s the prognosis?”
“They don’t know yet, but at least they’ve got plenty of blood donors. I think all of Pack Silvertail showed up.”
They reached the elevators and Lore punched the button. “Perry was lucky to get a bed. Not all hospitals are equipped to treat shifters.”
Talia understood. A lot of people still believed that werebeasts would automatically heal if they changed form. That worked with small injuries, but few could summon enough energy to change after trauma and massive blood loss.
The elevator arrived, disgorging an orderly pushing an empty gurney. They got in and the doors closed with a shudder. With glacial slowness, it started going up. They were alone, but she could smell the hundreds of warm bodies that had come and gone throughout the day, some cleaner than others.
Talia glanced at Lore. A deep frown line creased his brow. She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it. Startled, he glanced down, then squeezed back.
“I’m glad you came,” he said.
“It’s good not to be alone when things go bad.”
He couldn’t quite manage a smile, but the worry line relaxed.
The elevator doors opened and they exited on the third floor.
“I hate hospitals,” Talia grumbled. Health care administrators seemed to search the world over to find the most stomach-turning shades of paint. This ward had walls the hue of squished caterpillar guts.
She trailed Lore down the corridor, unbuttoning her coat. They’d rounded the corner, heading to the area marked NONHUMAN PATIENTS when Lore slowed, putting a hand on her arm. Up ahead she could see a cluster of people hanging around the doorway. Many of them looked related—lean and compact, with brown, wavy hair. They moved like they were on springs, filled with restless energy. A few paced back and forth, the others doing their best to stare down the nurse. Wolves.
There were a few more who weren’t shifters—including a tall, dark-haired human. Handsome in a square- jawed, no-nonsense way that belonged to action movies and cop shows. Baines.
“Oh!” She pulled aside, hugging a pillar.
Lore stopped dead, moving so that he blocked the hallway. “He doesn’t know you’re innocent.”
And the guy with the evidence she needed lay in a hospital bed with poison in his blood. Slowly, Talia turned her back to the crowd. All her nerves were on alert, all the colors and sounds of the hospital suddenly too sharp. “Why don’t you go check on Perry? I’ll meet you in the cafeteria in an hour.”
“Baines is looking for me, too.”
“Should we go and come back later?”
Lore looked unhappy, but shrugged. “Baines doesn’t have anything on me. He just wants to talk. I’ll get rid of him.”
“Then go check on Perry. I’ll stay out of sight. And look, I know a thing or two about specialty ammunition. I
