the exit completely. He hacked through the web, peeling it back with a sound like masking tape coming off the roll. He pushed open the manhole cover with a clang and climbed out. He took a lungful of clean, chill air, glad to be free. A moment later, he saw Omara’s upturned face peering out of the manhole. He reached down to pull her out.
Iskander followed, already on his phone. He flipped it shut. “Nia’s coming with the boys. There was a scuffle when a group of Hunters figured out the queen wasn’t in the car, but she took care of it.”
“Good news.”
The queen’s face was tight. “Even so, I underestimated Belenos. His forces are better organized than I assumed.”
Darak gave her a long look. That was the problem with royals. They always figured they were smarter than the next guy. But Omara had guts, so he gave her the benefit of his opinion. “Look, Your Majesty. If he just kills you, there’s a good chance someone will step up and continue your work. He wants to obliterate your base in Fairview. He wants everything you stand for gone.”
She turned angry eyes on him. “Then we need to finish this tonight.”
“No shit.”
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.”
