Frostbound (35 page)

He turned to see one of Omara’s guards dead on the ground, a hole where his heart should have been. Not even a vampire could heal that.

Omara screamed something in a language Darak didn’t know, thrusting a hand at the wall of darkness. The black barrier exploded into a shower of tiny black pellets. Darak flinched, but the scraps of shadow vanished in midair. Behind the wall a dozen figures scrambled to get away. Darak braced himself and fired, dropping one. Omara’s other guard and two of the Clan Thanatos bolted after them, leaving Iskander and Darak in charge of the queen.

Darak was on his feet, forcing himself to ignore the pain in his arm. “We’ve got to get moving.”

Omara was looking around, her bottom lip caught in her teeth. Her white coat was smeared with dirt from the floor, but she didn’t seem to notice that. Fear was seeping into her eyes. “Can you feel it?”

As soon as she spoke, Darak could.

Iskander swore under his breath. A wave of menace so thick it was touchable seeped out of the walls. It was followed by a strange crackling noise, like something sticky rolling across the floor, or a million maggots all squirming at once.

Horror bubbled over Darak’s skin, every primal instinct going on alert.
What is that?
His imagination couldn’t come up with an image, just emotion.

“Move,” he ordered.

They moved, hurrying for the tunnel ahead.

Omara covered her nose. He smelled it, too—rot beyond description, as if the entire cemetery had come out to play. He choked back his gag reflex, motioning the others to hurry faster.

The sound was growing louder, emanating from an intersection in the tunnels about thirty yards away. Darak held out his hand to stop and shone the flashlight toward the noise. His hunting senses were on full alert, probing the darkness.

“Any guess as to what it is?” he asked Iskander.

“Bugs.”

“Bugs?”
Crap
.

The queen made a disgusted noise. “He is using the creatures of the tunnels against us.”

The atmosphere of terror grew, freezing every joint in their bodies.
These are bugs on magic.

Iskander dug the map out of his pocket and shone his flashlight on it. “Alternate route, right side tunnel, twenty yards ahead,” he said in a tight voice.

“Do it. Fast.” Omara didn’t sound any happier. She had her fallen guard’s gun, and was holding it like a pro. “There’s a problem using magic on live creatures that are already enchanted.”

Darak looked down on her. “What?”

“I could try to blow them away only to have them come back bigger and stronger than before.”

“No, thanks.”

They ran forward, Darak hating the fact that they were running toward the threat. The rustling sound grew louder as they approached the side tunnel, the sinister fluttering and scratching making his skin crawl.

A giant, hairy, claw-tipped appendage speared into the passageway, followed by a second that seemed to probe the air. Omara gave a revolted cry.

They turned right and bolted, grateful to give in to the need to survive. Darak pushed the queen and Iskander ahead, putting himself closest to the enemy. The snap, crackle, rustle sound was growing closer. It was only as they rounded a curve that he saw the
thing
out of the corner of his eye. A fat, globular body swung amidst eight scuttling legs, a cluster of eyes glistening wetly in the center of its head.

And he remembered the millions of webs they’d passed earlier. The snap-crackle-breakfast-cereal-maggoty sound was the patter of tiny feet. Spiders were swarming in rivulets down the tunnel walls and across the tunnel floors. They had no option but to run across the tide. Darak tried not to feel the slippery crunch of it, and then the tickle of something crawling under his pant legs.

Vampires ran supernaturally fast, but the big spider was just as agile, squeezing through a narrow neck in the tunnel by flattening itself and folding sideways through what space there was.

Crap!
They reached the passage they wanted, but it was webbed completely over. Iskander, who had been ready to launch himself down the passage, recoiled with a backward leap, nearly crashing into Darak.

Another exit up ahead was rimmed in webs, as if the spinners had just gotten started on that one. Darak thought he could see the white mesh growing in the few seconds he looked at it.

“This way!” They wheeled and bolted through it.

“I know where we are!” Iskander cried. “There’s a street exit about a block away!”

Blessed Persephone
. This passageway was wide and new, recently used for city maintenance because there were pieces of pipe and other construction materials stacked against one wall. Frost furred the odd piece of metal, giving the debris the look of an exotic beast.

Darak had not gone fifty feet when he realized that the rustling sound wasn’t behind them anymore.

It was up ahead, between them and the way out. His stomach dropped like a rock.

Iskander gripped his gun as if it were a talisman. “We can’t go back. They’ll have our retreat webbed off.”

Without answering, Darak stopped and picked up a length of thin pipe, testing its weight and balance. He handed his flashlight to Omara. “Then we go forward.” He took the lead, shifting the pipe to his left hand, the .357 in his right.

I hate bugs. I
really
hate bugs
. Spiders zigzagged across the ground, crawling over one another in their crazed haste to get—wherever. Darak couldn’t see a pattern in the movement, as if the creatures were driven by a panic of their own.

They grew thicker with each foot of ground. Iskander raised his flashlight beam a fraction, catching the dull gleam of a ladder to the street. For an instant, Darak’s hopes lifted.

Then the beam went up another notch. The huge spider was just in front of the ladder, splayed on the ceiling. Now Darak could see its full size—the body was as big as the wheel of a monster truck. The little spiders were weaving a thick web over the exit to the street.

His whole body itched and prickled.

Would a bullet kill it? Only one way to find out.

He shot the spider. It fell with a heavy plop, flipping itself upright with surreal speed. The bullet had gashed its chitinous body, a grayish green ooze dribbling out. Its pincers worked manically, venom gleaming at the tips.

A very different kind of venom from a vampire’s. One bite would surely kill a man.

Omara shot, aiming for the cluster of eyes. It squealed like a saw shredding violin strings. The spider rose on its hind end, front legs thrust out. Darak rushed forward, ramming the pipe into its belly. The spider fell forward, pincers slashing. With a wild leap, Darak flung himself into a somersault, barely escaping the cage of its legs. The spider jerked, struggling against the metal lodged in its flesh.

Darak aimed his Magnum and began firing with grim determination. Iskander and the queen followed suit.

Making another bone-wrenching scream, the creature rushed them. Darak dropped the gun and fell into a crouch right in the spider’s path.

“Darak!” Omara shrieked.

As the thing swarmed over him, legs churning to grab and hold, he flung his arms around the pipe and thrust with a rasping scrunch. Green matter fountained from the wound.

The screech pounded against the stone walls.

The small spiders fled in a stampede of rustling feet.

Darak heaved on the pipe, shoving the weight of the spider away as he leaped back. It collapsed to the ground, bouncing once before it lay in a stinking heap. Green continued to bubble from the fat belly.

They stood for a moment, saying nothing. Darak stared at it, pissed that it dared to exist.

“Where did that thing come from?” he growled.

Omara answered. “Sorcery. Belenos surely made it.”

“Do you think there’s more?”

The queen shrugged, looking pale beneath her cinnamon skin.

Iskander cleared his throat. “Just in case, let’s get out of here. Now.”

Pulling a knife from his boot, Darak circled around the body, and climbed the stairs. The spiders’ web sealed 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.”

L
ore 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.

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.