campaign office. He offered free labor for replacing the clinic and campaign office as an apology for the theft. Between the two of you, we can have a very fine new building.”
At the mention of Lore’s name, Talia looked away. Her longing for him hadn’t dulled one bit, but she hadn’t wavered from her decision. He would get over her. Someday, he would thank her.
Again, Omara watched her carefully. “That brings me to my last topic. I am a sorceress, Talia, and I have been alive since Babylon was a great power. No one would accuse me of being a warm and fuzzy romantic, but—I dislike unnecessary grief.”
Talia inwardly cringed. A lot of people had tried to give her advice about Lore—Perry, Errata, and Joe included—and now the queen was throwing in her two cents. None of them had seen the fight between Mavritte and Lore. None had seen the faces of the pack, hoping she would release their Alpha to choose a proper mate.
Omara tucked her hands into her coat sleeves. The wind from the ocean was cold, biting deep into uncovered flesh. “I walked the earth before the hounds were sent to the Castle. They were made from men and demons and the great temple dogs of the Egyptian sands. I know their magic. I would be patient with it, if I were you, and see what happens with the pack.”
Despite herself, Talia was curious. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t underestimate your young hound’s willpower. One way or the other, magic is all about manipulating the energy of desire. He has plenty of that, I can tell. And don’t underestimate the time you spent in the Castle. It has been known to have a transformative effect.”
Talia flushed, wondering exactly how much the queen knew about the night she and Lore had spent there.
They had come in a full circle back to Michelle’s grave. The queen stopped, signaling in some invisible way that the conversation was done. “Good night, Talia Rostova. I wish you well.”
Without waiting for a reply, Omara turned and walked away, pausing only to call over her shoulder, “Don’t forget to vote! You’re not a rogue anymore!”
An hour later, Talia unlocked her condo door. She had voted, and she’d cast her ballot for de Winter. She was curious to see how a nonhuman would do. Plus, she’d never voted before. Exercising her opinion felt good. She was finally, ultimately her own woman.
She crossed to the balcony door, passing between the stacks of packing boxes she’d started to fill with her belongings and Michelle’s. She hadn’t started looking for a place yet. She’d made only one decision about what she would have in her very own solo living space. She’d keep the bobblehead poodle. It reminded her of the silly moments she’d shared with her cousin, and that was a memory she wanted to keep.
She stepped out onto the balcony, the cold an antidote to a wave of hot grief. The night was gauzy with moonlight, mist, and twinkling lights. She looked down at the cars passing below, the old neon signs of Spookytown flickering on and off.
Her reverie was interrupted by the sight of a tall, dark-haired hellhound standing on the sidewalk, gazing up at the balcony and waving at her. Fifteen floors up, the figure was tiny, but her vampire sight could pick him out. Talia inwardly groaned.
Lore. Everything about him—the way he moved, the set of his shoulders, his shaggy, thick hair—salted her wounds. She’d expected time to lessen what she felt. Part of her hoped maybe what they’d had was just a fling. An intro to the nonhuman dating pool. A walk on the furry side.
No. Not a bit of it, and it stung like sin every time they spoke, every time she saw him. She was never getting over him.
And here he was flagging her down for one more minute of torture. She started to back away, but Lore began making bizarre, urgent gestures. He looked like he was trying to direct traffic through the running of the bulls.
Irritated, she pulled out her phone. She somehow hadn’t been able to resist putting him on speed dial. It had helped feeling that he was just a button push away.
“What?” she said when he picked up.
“Go around to the parking lot.”
“Why?”
He held his arms out in mock exasperation. “Just do it.”
“Okay.” She shut the phone, feeling a lump in her throat. Dammit. She didn’t want to get close to him. Smelling his scent, standing next to him would undo her for sure. She’d cried buckets already. She was going to end up a mummy from the moisture loss.
She pulled on a coat again and went down the fire escape—the same one he’d dragged her through at gunpoint—and out the back door—the same one she’d used the night he’d finally let her go—and into the parking lot—where he’d offered her his hand and promised to build a fire and keep her warm. Oh, God, does everything have to be Lore-specific?
Standing in the parking lot, she caught a blast of mud-scented air. For a moment the wet earth made her think of spring.
Except that Lore was standing next to a seven-foot, fully decorated Christmas tree. It sat in a bucket of sand, smack in middle of the fire lane.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
That always threw her off guard. “What’s with the tree?”
He looked pleased with himself. “Do you like it?”
Talia blinked. “I’m missing the punch line. Did you check the calendar? It’s January.”
His self-congratulation became a full-on smirk. “The hounds celebrate their winter holiday on the first full moon after solstice. That’s today.”
“Um, okay. Happy hound day.”
He shifted from foot to foot, nerves creeping into his body language. “I thought we should have trees. A blending of cultures, humans and hounds.”
“Nice.”
He shifted again. “You said you didn’t celebrate Christmas as a child. I decorated this tree for you.”
“Oh.” Talia felt tears prickling under her lashes. “Thanks. That’s really sweet.”
“I’ll carry it upstairs.”
She sniffed, pretending it was the cold air making her nose run. “Safety tip—next time, get the tree where it’s going, then decorate it.”
“Oh.” He looked it up and down. “I guess that would be easier.”
He sounded like he really didn’t care, or that logic wasn’t what he was going for. What a weird conversation this is.
The parking lot was where they’d had their first real talk. She could barely think for wishing she was back at that moment where their brief happiness still lay ahead. Maybe he remembered that, too. Let me go, Lore. Just leave me alone and let me go!
She looked up at him. His dark eyes were sparkling—very different from the sadness that had been clinging to both of them the last few weeks.
He shouldn’t be happy. Talia was suddenly suspicious. “What’s up?”
“There are a few things to celebrate.”
“Like what?” As she’d predicted, his nearness was an aching, empty throb. If she’d had the willpower, she would have stopped talking, left him there, and gone back to her packing—but she simply didn’t have the strength to walk away from him twice.
“You saw that Errata published her article.”
Talia tried to focus on his words. “Yeah, she sent me a copy.”
The article on the fight in the tunnels had got the werecougar a foothold in the human press, and the paper wanted another story. “But her byline said Amanda Jones. Is that a pen name?”
“That’s her real name. She says it’s time to stop hiding behind her radio persona.”
“She doesn’t look like an Amanda.”
“Who knows what we hide inside?” For a dog, Lore still looked like the cat who got the canary.
