Winter Lost

“Artifacts can make people do very strange things.” I answered her from a wealth of unwanted experience.

Elyna’s eyelids lowered, and there was a growl I had not heard before in her voice. Not quite a threat, but nearly there. “They are mine, these men. I will protect them.”

That was why they had traveled to the lodge before the rest of the wedding party, missing the storm. Elyna had to come early because travel was complicated for vampires. Feeding along the way would be dangerous. Feeding at an isolated place in Montana in the winter would be very dangerous. Vampires need to feed often. Most of the ones powerful enough to live on their own find it more convenient to have a pool of humans who are regular donors: sheep.

“Understood,” Adam said easily. He knew vampires as well as I did. “We are here to get the artifact back, not to hurt anyone.”

Even without Tammy among them, I could have picked out the table of police officers. Not because I was so good at picking out policemen or vampire donors. And not even because it was the largest group seated in the dining room. It was because I could spot a pack at a hundred yards.

All of the laughing faces were turned toward their Alpha. The father of the bride, Peter Vanderstaat, I assumed, because he looked like Tammy. And also because when Elyna had spoken of him, she had done so with affectionate respect—and she hadn’t named the other men. It might have been because she didn’t care about them, but I thought it was to protect them from us. They were hers. But she hadn’t felt the same need to protect Peter. Or his daughter. She considered them her equals.

The second table held only two people, a man and a woman. Both of them bore a clear resemblance to each other in features and coloring, though her build was slight while his was heavier. He was dark haired and dark eyed. Her face was turned away, so I couldn’t see her eyes, but her hair was dark and, even braided, reached down past her hips.

“Then there are the refugees,” Elyna said. “They came here yesterday—no. It is after midnight. That means they came here the day before yesterday.”

The day my brother arrived at our house.

“I haven’t met them. I am a writer with odd hours.” It was said so airily I couldn’t tell if she really was a writer or if she used it as an excuse for not appearing in daylight. “They are hikers who go to bed early and, presumably, rise early, too. Victoria and Able Morgan, Peter told me, brother and sister. Midtwenties—about Tammy’s age.”

“What were they doing out here?” I asked, levering myself up on the edge of the tub for a while because, even after nearly freezing my feet earlier, I was now too hot.

“They were hiking.” She smiled at me. Neither she nor Adam had had to get in and out of the hot tub. I used my toe to splash some water in her direction.

She said, “I know, that’s what I thought, too.”