Life is never dull when you are around Talia Rostova. The
vampiress discovers she is in a world of trouble when her
cousin is mistaken for her and is beheaded. Now, as a
snowstorm locks down the city, Talia is on the run from
whoever wanted her dead.
In steps Lore, a hellhound/self-appointed deputy who was
the first to discover Talia's cousin's body and is
determined to find out who killed his beautiful neighbor.
When he spots look-alike Talia, he takes her into custody
as the prime suspect in the murder-gone-wrong, but
something also tells him that she's also the victim here.
And as Lore was bred to serve and protect, he's not
freeing Talia until he's sure she's the prey and not the
hunter.
Calling a truce, Talia and Lore begin to work to
piece together the clues to track down the real killer -- if
they can
keep their hands to themselves long enough to do the
hunting!
FROSTBOUND is the thrilling fourth book in Sharon's The
Dark Forgotten series, but it can be read as a stand-alone
novel. Filled with paranormal mayhem, a gruesome murder,
thrilling intrigue, and a bit of incredibly sexy romance, I
was absolutely enthralled with this book. Hellhounds,
vampires, were-cougars - you name it, even a witch or two
thrown in for good measure - makes FROSTBOUND a novel that
will definitely keep you up all night reading (and/or
cowering under your blankets)!
I highly recommend this book, and intend to go back and
pick up the first three books in this series --
Unchained, Scorched, and Ravenous. What
better way to beat the summer heat than with a chilling
thrilling Sharon Ashwood novel!
Every dog might have his day, but the hellhound guards
the night...
As a snowstorm locks down the city, more than the roads are
getting iced. Someone’s beheaded the wrong girl, and
vampire-on-the-lam Talia Rostova thinks it was meant to be
her. Now she’s the prime suspect in her own botched murder—
and the prisoner of her smoking-hot neighbor.
Lore is a hellhound, bred to serve and protect, so he’s not
freeing Talia until he’s sure that she’s the prey and not
the hunter. You’d think a beautiful woman in his bedroom
would be a good thing, but trouble-prone Talia has run
afoul of someone more sinister than your average lunatic
killer. An ancient Undead is wreaking vengeance on the city—
and on her—and Lore will have to go far beyond a stake to
put him back in his grave...
Excerpt
Tuesday, December 28, 10:30 p.m. Talia's condo
Talia might be dead, but she still had a bad case of the
creeps.
The scent of blood swamped her brain, swallowing sight
and sound. She hesitated where she stood, her vampire
senses screaming that something was wrong. That much blood
was far too much of a good thing. The elevator doors
whooshed shut behind her, stirring a gust of recycled air.
Stirring up that maddening, tantalizing, revolting
smell.
And there was something oddly familiar about it, a
specific top note stirring the memory like a complex
perfume.
Talia blinked the hallway back into focus. This was her
floor of the condo building, and home and Michelle were at
the end of the hall. She fished her door keys out of her
purse and started walking, the glossy pink bag from
Howard's banging against her leg as she walked.
Now her stomach hurt, her jaws ached to bite, but more
from panic than hunger. That much blood meant someone was
hurt. There were a lot of elderly people in the building.
Many lived alone. One of them might have slipped and
fallen, or maybe cut themselves in the kitchen. Or maybe
someone had broken in?
Talia quickened her stride, following the scent. She
pulled her phone out of her shoulder bag, the rhinestones
on its bright blue case winking in the dim overhead light.
She flipped it open, ready to dial Emergency as soon as she
figured out who was in trouble. She was no superhero, but
she could force open a door and control her hunger long
enough for basic first aid. If there were bad guys, oh
well. She'd had a light dinner.
She passed units fifteen-oh-eight, fifteen-ten, and
fifteen-twelve, her high-heeled ankle boots silent on the
soft green carpet. Fifteen-fourteen, fifteen-sixteen. She
paused at each door, listening for clues. A television
muttered here and there. No sounds of a predator attacking
its prey.
Fifteen-twenty, fifteen-twenty-two. The smell was coming
from fifteen-twenty-four at the end of the hall. Oh. Oh!
Fifteen twenty-four was her place. Michelle!
She grasped the cool metal of the door handle and turned
it. It was unlocked. The door swung open, and the smell of
death rushed into the hall like the surf, drowning Talia
all over again. That familiar note in the scent pounded at
her, but she pushed it out of her mind, refusing to
acknowledge that it reminded her of her cousin.
Instinct froze her where she stood, listening. There was
no heartbeat, but that didn't mean much. Lots of things,
herself included, didn't have a pulse. Reaching out her
left hand, she pushed the door all the way open. The entry
looked straight through to the living room, where a big
picture window let in the glow of city lights. It was
plenty of light for a vampire to see by.
"Michelle?" she said softly. There's no one here. She
must have left.
Talia couldn't, wouldn't, believe anything else. She slid
her phone back into her purse and set it down along with
her shopping bag. Get a grip. But her hands shook so
hard, she had to make fists to stop them.
She left the door open behind her as she tiptoed inside.
She'd lived there for two months, but suddenly the place
felt alien. Lamps, tables, the so-ugly-it-was-cute pink
china poodle with the bobble head. They might as well have
been rock formations on another planet. Nothing felt
right.
Her boot bumped against something. Talia sprang backward,
her dead heart giving a thump of fright. She stared,
organizing the shape into meaning. A suitcase. One of
those with the pull-out handle and wheels. Big and bright
red.
It was Michelle's.
"Michelle?" Talia meant to shout this time, but it came
out as a whisper. "What the hell, girl?"
She groped on the wall for the light switch, suddenly
needing the comfort of brightness. The twin lamps that
framed the couch bloomed with warm light.
Oh, God.
Her stomach heaved. Now she could see all that red, red
blood. Scarlet sprayed in arcs across the wall, splattering
the furniture like a painter gone all Jackson Pollock on
the decor. Talia shuddered as the carpet squished with
wetness.
The smell could have gagged a werewolf.
She dimly realized one of the bookshelves was knocked
over. There had been a fight.
"Michelle?" Her voice sounded tiny, childlike. Talia took
one more step, and that gave her a full view of the living
room. Oh, God!
Suddenly standing was hard. She grabbed the wall before
she could fall down.
Her cousin, tall and trim in her navy blue cruise hostess
uniform, lay on her side between the couch and the coffee
table. Drops of drying blood made her skin look luminously
pale. Beneath the tangle of dark hair, Talia's gaze sought
the features she knew as well as her own: high forehead,
freckled nose, the mouth that turned up at one corner,
always ready to smile. Born a year apart, they'd always
looked more like twins than plain old cousins.
They still looked almost identical, except Michelle's
head was a yard away from the rest of her body.
Talia's eyes drifted closed as the room closed in,
darkness spiraling down to a pinpoint.
Beheaded.
Talia's grip on the wall failed, and she started to sink
to the floor. The wet, red floor. Sudden nausea wrenched
her. She scrambled for the kitchen, retching into the sink.
She'd fed earlier, but not much. Nothing came up but a thin
trickle of fluid.
Beheaded.
She heaved again, the strength of her vampire body making
it painful. Talia leaned over the stainless steel sink,
shaking. The image of her cousin's body burned in her
mind's eye. Whoever had done it had meant to kill
her. Taking the head was the usual way to execute
vampires—a lot more certain than a wooden stake.
She died because of me. They thought she was
me.
Talia's breath caught, and caught again, dragging into
her lungs in tiny gasps that finally dissolved into sobs.
She pushed away from the sink, grabbing a paper towel to
mop her eyes. There was no time to fall apart.
But she did. She pressed the wadded towel to her mouth,
stifling her sobs. The tears were turning to a burning ache
that ran all down her throat, through her body and out the
soles of her feet.
This was no good. She had to get out of there.
Before whoever murdered Michelle came back.
Before someone called the cops and they blamed her,
because she was the monster found next to the body.
Talia braced herself against the counter and stared into
the sink until her eyes blurred and she squeezed them shut.
This was the moment when the movie hero swore revenge, made
a plan, and went after the bad guy.
All she felt was gut-wrenching grief.
A rustling sound came from the hallway, as if something
had brushed against the shopping bag she'd abandoned by the
door.
Talia spun around, terror rippling over her skin. So much
for her earlier quip of bad guys, oh well. Macabre
images flashed one after the other through her mind. Sheer
willpower pinned her to the floor, making her think before
she bolted straight into danger.
Normally, she would worry about hiding her scent from
another predator, but the place stank so badly that wasn't
an issue. Plus, whoever had killed Michelle had to be
human. Nothing else would have confused one of their own
with a vampire.
Slowly, she peered around the edge of the kitchen
doorway. A figure hulked in the doorway to the condo,
backlit by the lights from the hall.
Oh, God! It's—he's—coming this way.
Talia shrank back into the galley kitchen, squeezing into
the corner between the refrigerator and the wall. She
shrank down, making herself small, bending her head forward
to hide her pale skin with the dark fall of her hair. There
was no need for her to breathe, nothing to disturb the
absolute stillness of the dead.
Except terror. She wanted to run so badly her muscles
cramped.
The fridge hummed, the hard surface vibrating against her
arm. Trapped! Through the curtain of her hair, she
could see the stranger's wide shoulders blocking the
hallway between her and the door. Her heart gave a single,
painful beat, jolted back to life by the adrenaline rushing
into her blood.
Tears of outrage stung Talia's eyes. She was frightened,
absolutely, but she was also furious. Someone had killed
Michelle, and now they'd come back. Realized you screwed
up? she thought bitterly. Figured out that was human
blood all over your hands?
It galled her to be so helpless. Talia had weapons, but
they were stuffed in the top of the hallway closet,
gathering dust. She'd thought she'd never have to use them
again. Prayed for it.
Apparently no one listened to a vampire's prayers.
You're hiding in a kitchen filled with knives.
Maybe she wasn't so helpless after all.
She could see the figure's shadow slide over the wall,
stark against the bright patch of hallway light. His
silhouette showed he was tall and big-boned, moving with
surprising grace for such a large man. She caught a sharp
tang of smoke and chemicals, as if he'd been near an
industrial fire. The smell drowned her vampire senses,
choking out anything else his scent might have told her. He
was coming closer, pausing after each step, his feet all
but silent on the carpeting.
Just a few yards more and he would be past the kitchen
door. Then she could make a break for it. Even a fledgling
like her could move faster than a mortal.
Closer, closer. The hiding place where she
crouched was just inside the kitchen entrance. If she
reached out, she could brush the toes of his heavy work
boots with her fingers. Her fingertips itched, as if they
had already grazed the dirty leather. He was so close she
dared not lift her head to look at him. All she got was a
good view of jean-clad shins.
And then he was past. She rose in a single, smooth
gesture, balancing on her toes. One careful step forward,
and she reached the counter opposite the fridge. Silently,
she slid a kitchen knife out of the block. Just in
case. It was smarter to run than to fight, but he might
corner her yet.
She heard his intake of breath as he reached the living
room. She froze, the cool handle of the knife heavy and
hard against her palm.
The urge to vomit washed over her again, but she didn't
dare make a noise. Not even to swallow. She could hear him,
just a few yards to the right, the brush of cloth on cloth
as he moved around the gory, glistening carnage in the next
room.
Three, two, one.
Talia darted toward the hall, inhumanly fast.
He was faster.
Huge hands grabbed her upper arms, hauling her into the
air. She kicked, hearing a snarl of pain as the sharp heel
of her ankle boot dug into his thigh. She tried to turn and
slash, but the angle was wrong. Wriggling like a ferret,
Talia twisted, using Undead strength to turn within that
big-knuckled grasp.
She flipped over, dropping through the air as her
attacker lost his hold. With an upward slash, she scored
the knife along the flesh of his hand.
Ha!
His other hand came down like a hammer, aiming for the
weapon. Talia spun and kicked, wobbling in the heels but
still forcing him back. She used the motion of the kick to
fall into a crouch, sweeping the blade in a whispering arc,
claiming the space around her body.
Force the enemy to keep his distance. One useful
thing her father had taught her. One of the few.
But as she came out of the turn, he grabbed her by the
scruff of the neck—how long was his reach, anyway?—and
heaved her to the ground like a bag of laundry. Before
Talia could move, she felt a heavy knee in the small of her
back. She tried to arch up, but he was at least twice her
weight. Rage shot through her, riding on a cold slick of
terror. She hissed, baring fang.
His hand was pinning her wrist to the carpet,
immobilizing the knife. Gripping it hard, she twisted her
hand, snaking the point toward his flesh. His other hand
clamped down, peeling her fingers off the hilt one by
one.
She did her best to scratch. A female vampire's nails
were sharp as talons.
"Give it up," he growled.
She made a sound like a cat poked with a fork, half hiss,
half yowl. The knife came loose. He sent it spinning across
the floor, out of reach. Then she felt something cold and
metal click shut around her wrist. The chill sensation
made her flail, the motion jerking her elbow up to connect
with solid flesh. His jaw? For a glorious moment, she felt
him flinch.
Only to shove her back down and snap the handcuffs around
her other wrist.
"There's silver in the alloy." His voice was hard and
low. "You can't break them."
Talia rolled over, baring her fangs. The slide of metal
against leather told her a gun had left its holster. She
next thing she saw was a freaking .44 Magnum Ruger
Blackhawk aimed between her eyes—loaded, no doubt with
silver-coated hollow point bullets.
Their fight had brought them closer to the living room.
The glow of the table lamps cast a wash of light over the
attacker's face, at last giving her a good look at the man.
Or, what she could see of him around the muzzle of the mini-
cannon in his hand.
Shaggy dark hair, thick and straight and a bit too long.
Dark eyes. Swarthy skin. Killer cheekbones. Young, maybe
late twenties. Not classically handsome, but there was
something heart-stopping in that face. Something wild. And
he was big.
She'd seen him before. What was his name? Lorne? No,
Lore. He lived somewhere on the sixth floor.
"Great," Talia ground out through clenched teeth.
Everything was catching up to her, emotions fighting their
way through shock. She was starting to cry, tears sliding
from beneath her lashes and trickling down her temples.
Oh, Michelle, what happened? "Just great. I'm about
to be blown to smithereens by the boy next door."
He leaned forward, pressing the muzzle of the gun into
her flesh. "Be silent."
Talia hissed.
The corner of his mouth pulled down. "Did the smell of
her get to be too much? You needed a taste?"
"Oh, God, no." Talia caught her breath, feeling beads of
cold, clammy sweat trickle between her breasts. Fear.
Guilt. She'd been so afraid of hurting Michelle, been so
careful. Accusing her now wasn't fair. "How can you say
that? She's right there. Right over there."
"Then tell the truth."
Talia gulped, tasting death on her tongue. "I didn't do
this."
"All the vampires say that."
"Wasn't this your doing?"
"I don't hunt humans. I go for bigger game."
The statement made her shiver. His hand was bloody where
she'd cut him, but he didn't smell like food. Not human,
but nothing she recognized. The realization came like an
extra jolt of electricity. What the hell is he?
"Then why are you here? Who are you?" She struggled to
sit up, awkward because her arms were pinned behind her
back. He pressed the Ruger hard against her skin, but she
barely noticed.
"Who is your sire?" he demanded.
Talia clamped her mouth shut. His dark, angry gaze locked
with hers. It wasn't the cold stare of so many killers
she'd known. His eyes were hot with emotion, a righteous,
remorseless fury.
"Who made you?" His voice grated with anger.
Talia blinked hard, her heart giving another jerking
thump of fright. "No, please, if you send me back to my
sire, I'll be lucky if he only kills me."
"That's what happens when a vampire goes rogue."
Now she was starting to sob, ugly little gasps that
caught in her throat. "You can't send me back. I didn't
kill her. I loved Michelle." She was begging, and put every
ounce of her soul into it, holding his dark, burning stare.
A crease formed between his eyebrows. "Damn you."
The wail of a police siren ripped the night. Were they
coming for Michelle's murder, or was there another tragedy
tonight?
Lore pressed the muzzle of the gun like a cold kiss
against her forehead. "I don't trust you. I can't tell if
you're the killer or not. But I believe you're afraid of
your sire."
Her mouth had gone paper-dry. "What are you going to
do?"
His mouth thinned as if he didn't like the question. He
looked her up and down, all that anger turning to a
smoldering frustration. Talia could almost feel it heating
her skin.
"The human police will assume you're guilty and look no
further. I'll give you a choice. Take your chances with
them, or . . ." He trailed off, clearly mulling over his
next words.
Talia Rostova, a newly turned Vampire with major secrets, finds her cousin, Michelle, brutally murdered. Talia is convinced the murderer killed the wrong girl but before she can begin to rationalize the situation and disappear, Talia becomes the prisoner of Lore, the Hellhound that lives in the same building. As a Hellhound Alpha with the gift of sketchy premonition, Lore never thought the pretty girl from his building capable of murder nor did he predict that the two weeks he becomes the temporary Sheriff of Fairview would his status as Alpha of his pack be challenged, the Vampire Queen’s life be threatened by the legend of the Hunters, or the possibility of another species being his mate. Locking up the feisty and surprisingly talented Talia in his bedroom may not be his best idea but Lore feels it is his only option while he searches for the truth. Guarding and tracking are his specialty, so if Lore stays focused and patient he will get to the bottom of all his questions.
Frostbound is the fourth book in Sharon Ashwood’s The Dark Forgotten series and once again transports the reader to Fairview, a small town attempting to deal with humans and non-humans to co-exist as equals. Frostbound is witty, creative, dark, and dangerous all rolled in one. While we as readers are re-introduced to characters from the previous books, we are also gifted with learning of new ones such as Darak, a gladiator gone Vampire Mercenary. (Hmmm, I wonder if Darak has a story?) I have had the great pleasure to read all four in this series and experience the passion of the characters while enjoying a fresh take on the paranormal world. I love the book and I love the series. (Mandy Burns 4:49pm August 31, 2011)
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