Sharon Ashwood - Frostbound

Till death do us part.

Quite the statement, isnt it? When we utter those words, are we describing love, the bond of hunter and prey, or both? That is the question of the night.

Good evening, my darkling listeners, this is your night hostess, Errata Jones, on CSUP. Im coming to you from the glorious U of Fairview campus, on the radio station that puts the super in supernatural. Tonights program is filled with the usual basket of goodies, but first lets take a sneak peek at the main event. Were talking about loveand not the easy kind.

Ever since the nonhumans came out of the shadows in Y2K, weve had to navigate the world with our claws in and our fangs firmly out of sight. Whether youre a vampire, a hellhound, or a werecougar like me, weve been meek and mild, not just with our human neighbors, but with each other. Weve learned to get along. To sit at the same table. To act like friends and family. Its all been very civilized.

But anyone who knows a real family, who knows what it is to truly love, will tell you passion isnt about getting along. Its the crash of undiluted personalities. Its the thrill of the chase. Its the scent of blood and the heat of skin against your lips as you struggle against an inevitable surrender. It is undoubtedly beautiful, but never pretty.

So the question is, ghouls and girlies, what about interspecies romance? If we drop the masks and give our sad little monster hearts away, will anyone still respect us in the morning? If we show them our true selves, will anyone be left alive?

The phone lines are open. Talk to me.

Tuesday, December 28, 7:30 p.m.

Downtown Fairview

Some nights it sucks to be Alpha.

Lore winced as his fist crashed into bone.

And other times it just rocks.

Hed made it a bruising face shot, knuckle action splitting skin. The vampire flew backward into the bar, scattering the few remaining patronsthe dedicated drunkslike bowling pins. Lore closed in with supernatural speed, getting in a pair of jabs and a cross before the piece of Undead garbage had a chance to rebound.

The vamp roared with rage, fangs bared. Lore slapped his face, hard, with an open palm. Manners! Lore snarled.

The roar quieted to a hiss that unfortunately sprayed blood, spit, and whiskey like a faulty lawn sprinkler. Lore hated drunken vampires. It wasnt like theyd just had one too many. It took time and effort to pickle Undead blood, and most knew better than to lower their inhibitions that far.

With vampires, out of control was bad news. The guyd already cut a swath through Fairviews Old Town and damn near drained two humans before hed even reached this bar called the Pit Stopemphasis on the pit. Lores job was to settle his tab but good.

He didnt see the fist coming for his solar plexus. Lores breath went out with a whoosh followed by a sickly wheeze. Lore was big, hard-bodied and, hell, halfdemon , but even a drunken bloodsucker packed a wallop. He doubled over, falling back just enough for the vampire to regain his feet.

The vamp tugged at the front of his filthy leather jacket, as if shaking out the creases left by Lores attack. He dressed like James Dean, but had a face like the tire treads on a farm tractorugly, pocked and furrowed. Lores aching ribs said that flat nose might have come from the fight ring.

Mr. Drunk and Ugly sneered, looking around at the last few patrons too stubborn or stupid to chug their drinks and go. One or two had figured out the ancient bartender had fled and were helping themselves to the stock.

The vamp pounded the bar, making glasses rattle. Who let this mangy hellhound in here? No dogs allowed, or cant you read?

Pure, predatory rage flooded Lore, as if the slur had tripped a switch. He launched himself at Mr. Ugly, smashing him back against the bar rail. He heard ribs snap, and the sound thrilled along his nerves. Kill. Bite. Prey. The urge was primal, written in his genes, as was the constant need to be the fastest, strongest, smartest. Survival demanded it.

It made him Alpha.

Mr. Ugly kicked, connected with Lores knee. Lores leg buckled under him, but he had the vamp in a death grip. They both fell to the floor, sending the nearest table flying. Ugly tried to bite, venomous fangs snapping on air.

Irritated, Lore banged the vamps head on the dirty tiles. When the bloodsuckers eyes rolled up, Lore flipped him over, clamping the vamps hands in his own massive grip. Lore reached for a pair of vampire-proof silver cuffs clipped to his belt. The sound of the metal closing around Uglys wrists sent a bolt of satisfaction through his gut.

He pulled the vamp to his feet, using the collar of the grungy jacket as a handle. Where are you from? I thought I knew everyone in this neighborhood, and I havent seen you before.

Ugly was already coming around. Bite my ass.

No, thanks. Ive already eaten.

Which was one reason why he patrolled in human form. Hellhounds generally had iron stomachs, but some of the pond scum he was forced to captureyou just didnt want them in your mouth.

Lore tried again. Whos your sire?

I staked him back in the fifties.

If you say so. His work here was done. If there was no sire to contact, then the human cops could figure out what to do with Drunk and Ugly. The odds were hed be beheaded. Human law was pretty cut-and-dried when it came to rogue vampires on a tear.

Lore might have felt sorry for the guy, but there was no element of accident or even slightly poor judgment here. After chowing down on humans in full view of witnesses, this vampire was too stupid to live.

Lore hauled him out of the dark bar and out onto the darker street. His breath steamed in the cold air. The human police were already there with the special van they used for transporting supernatural prisoners. It was lined with a silver and steel compound nicknamed stiver. Nothing, not even fey, could get out of it. Just looking at it gave Lore claustrophobia.

Wordlessly, a patrolman he didnt know opened the rear doors of the van. Lore tossed his catch into the back, not bothering to make use of the three steps that folded down to street level. The cop slammed the door and looked up at him, his face tight with apprehension.

It wasnt surprising. Lore was a head taller and had fifty more pounds of muscle on the man, plus hed just taken out the vamp with his bare hands.

Wheres Caravelli? the cop asked. Alessandro Caravelli was the vampire sheriff in Fairview. Normally it was him breaking heads in the name of law and order. The other nonhumans paid his wages, but the Fairview City Police were more than grateful for the help.

Lore wiped his hands on his jeans, trying to get the vampires stink off his hands. On vacation. He hired me to fill in.

For how long?

A few more days. Lore scribbled his signature on the clipboard the cop handed him. Careful. That vamps drunk and a biter.

Another out of towner here for the election? Place is crawling with activists and looky-loos.

For the first time, a vampire was standing for office in Fairviews municipal election, and it was the first time nonhumans would be allowed to vote. Giving the monsters the vote was either Judgment Day or the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, depending on whom you asked.

Lore shrugged. The vamp and I didnt stop to chat.

Whats his name?

Lore handed back the pen and clipboard. Ive no idea. You need anything else for your report?

Nope.

Have a good night, Lore said.

The cop didnt respond, but got in the passenger side. The van was in motion before the door closed. The cop was afraid, and the smell of it made Lores stomach cramp with hunger.

Hey, there. Barking at the moon yet?