It was seven a.m. when they set out again—sleepless, but amped up on happy hormones as Sara liked to think of them, and armed to the teeth. It was obvious the vampires shadowing her were building up to something—no reason to give them an easy target.
The streets were still winter-dark when they rode out, the fog curling over the houses like a whispered caress. Even the junkyard looked dreamy and somehow softer in the muted light.
“Let’s take the front route today,” she suggested. “I’ll say I’m here to check up on him on orders from Simon.”
Deacon nodded and pulled the bike to a stop in front of the padlocked gate. “Lucy should be here any moment.”
But though they waited, Deacon’s favorite hellhound didn’t appear. A bad feeling bloomed in the pit of Sara’s stomach. “Wait.” Getting off, she picked the lock and waved Deacon through. It was tempting to leave the gate open for an easy exit, but she didn’t want Lucy escaping and terrorizing the neighborhood—and maybe getting terrorized herself if she couldn’t find her way back home.
Gate locked, she got back on the bike and they roared their way to Tim’s house/shack—or as close as they could get considering the random piles of junk. There was a light on inside. “He’s home.” Taking off her helmet, she hooked it on one handlebar, while Deacon did the same with his on the other.
“I don’t like this.” The Slayer’s words were calm, his eyes intent as they made their way through a gap in the junk to emerge into a relatively open space near Tim’s home. “Something’s wrong.”
Her instincts agreed. “Let’s do a circle of the house, make sure things are—” She saw them then. The vampires. Crouched on wrecked cars, lounging between towers of metal, leaning against the side of Tim’s shack.
She knew there’d be no running this time. “We need to get inside the house.” It was the only defensible position. Her crossbow was already in her hands.
“They’ll be ready for that.” Deacon’s back met hers as they stood facing in opposite directions.
“Unless Tim’s barricaded himself inside.”
Deacon said nothing, but she knew what he was doing. Listening. If Tim was alive and inside the house, he’d let them know. But it was Lucy they heard, a sudden set of sharp barks and then nothing. The vampire closest to Sara swore loud enough that the sound carried. “Damn devil dog ate half my leg.”
It was such an ordinary thing to say, but she knew he was in no way ordinary. Not only did he carry centuries of experience in his eyes, he moved like a man who knew how to use every shift to his advantage. But there were no weapons in his hands. The archangels were nothing if not fair. Of course, their concept of fair meant two hunters—possibly three—against what looked like fifteen vamps.
“Somebody upped the stakes,” she murmured under her breath.
“I don’t recognize any of them, even the old one. Means they belong to someone other than Raphael.”
She’d been thinking the same. “Good to know my own archangel isn’t trying to kill me.” She aimed the crossbow at the leader of the group. “Guess it’s time for target practice.”
The vampire smiled, polished and smooth. “I want but a sip, milady.” A voice that held echoes of gallantry and cruelty. “They say the Guild Director tastes sweet indeed.”
Since she doubted very much that Simon would’ve allowed anyone to munch on him, she took that with a grain of salt. “You so hard up for blood then?” She moved a little toward the house. Deacon moved with her.
The vampires kept their distance . . . for now.
“You wound me, petite guerrière.”
Little warrior? Sara almost shot him on principle. “You want to be chipped?”
“Lies, sweet lies.” He waved a finger. “You’re only allowed chip-embedded weapons on a hunt. If you use illegal copies on me, you can’t be Guild Director.”
Damn. She hadn’t expected the bluff to work, but his response meant he was smart. Smart plus old was not a good combination in a vampiric opponent. “I really will shoot you if you get any closer—and if I put a bolt through your heart, it’ll leave you helpless.”
The vampire spread his hands. “Alas, I have my orders. My master does not see how a human female could run a guild of warriors.”
“There are female archangels.” She felt Deacon’s body tense, ready itself for battle.
“Ah, but you’re not an archangel.” And then he moved.
So did Sara and Deacon. It was as if they’d been doing this for years. Shooting the crossbow as she ran sideways, she skew ered the lead vamp in the shoulder—she’d been aiming for his head, damn it—and reloaded superfast using Deacon’s patented technology. Hunters loved his weapons for a reason. She’d shot five more bolts by the time they were blocked in again. But now they were within a three-second run of the house.
Deacon had stayed back to back with her the entire time, accommodating her smaller stride with an ease that told her exactly how good he was at combat. From the sounds she’d heard, he was using some kind of a gun but not anything that shot bullets. The vamps were too close for her to risk a check, but she didn’t think he’d been injured anywhere.
“Enough playing?” she asked the vampire who seemed to be the mouthpiece of the entire group.
The handsome man had already removed the bolt and now tossed it at her feet. “That was rather unladylike.”
“Well, you weren’t exactly gentlemanly in attacking me.” She could feel the edge of sunrise in the distance. Too bad the vamps wouldn’t crumble to dust at the first touch of the sun’s rays. Only in the movies were things so convenient. Some vampires did suffer from light sensitivity, but she bet every single one in this bunch was capable of walking around under noon-light itself.
“Ah,” the vampire said. “That is so. But you have a knight to protect you.”
“I don’t need a knight,” she said, knowing full well this was about more than physical strength alone. “I’m not a queen to hide behind my troops. I’m a general.”
The vampire’s expression grew strangely quiet. “Then I will stop being a gentleman.”
This time, she couldn’t reload fast enough. Dropping the crossbow, she started to fight with knives, nicking him in the throat, catching a second vampire with a kick to the gut. Behind her, Deacon was taking out vamps left, right, and center. But they were severely outnumbered. This was in no way a fair fight.
Whoever had orchestrated this wanted Sara to die. Why? She slashed a line across one vampire’s neck, and the blood that hit her was hot and fresh and nauseating. The vampire staggered back, hand clamped over his throat. She kept fighting, kicking and breaking knees. Something burned into her shoulder, and she stabbed a knife through the ear of the vamp who’d decided to turn her into a breakfast buffet.
Howling, the attacker fell away. Deacon growled then, and she’d never heard a more chilling sound. He took out three more coming at her, holding off two others on his own side as she grabbed the gun she’d tucked into her lower back. “Ready!” she yelled, and started firing to cover his reloading.
They were closer to the house. But not close enough. If Tim was in there, he was either injured, dead, or didn’t give a shit. Else he’d have been shooting as well. Which meant it was time for drastic measures. Simon had been very clear in his instructions.
“We walk a precarious line. The angels need us. But if we prove too powerful, they’ll cheerfully wipe us from existence. Hurt the vampires they send after you, but try not to kill. Because if you do, you become a threat, not an asset.”
Problem was, the vampires were healing from the nonfatal wounds only to continue their relentless—and openly deadly—assault. “Deacon?”
“Yes.” Agreement.
Even as her hand moved to retrieve the miniature flame-thrower strapped to her thigh, a knife hit the vampire in front of her, severing his carotid artery. As he choked on his own blood and fell away from the attack, another knife lodged in the eye of the vampire she’d hit with her first bolt.
Neither knife was Sara’s.
Then the shooting started.
Knives from the left. Gunshots from the right.
And a clear pathway to the house. It had been the best choice at the start, a place from where they could make a stand. But now the odds had changed. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Fight.”
Smiling, she palmed a second gun from a shoulder holster and began firing two-handed.
Five minutes later, they had their backs to the house and the vampires were bloody and broken; caught between their guns and whoever was throwing knives—and other things—from the vicinity of the fence.
The head vamp raised his hands, palms out. “I yield.”
There was a collective groan from the other vampires—all still alive—as they collapsed onto the ground. Sara couldn’t believe it. “You think I’m just going to let that go?”
The vamp smiled. “Politics is a most unkind mistress.”
“Should I expect any other visits from you?”
“No. The test has been passed.” He blinked, his injured eye healing at a phenomenal rate. “And the archangels have little interest in the inner workings of the Guild.”
“So the whole trying-to-kill-me thing? What was that?”
“It had to be done.” Shrugging, he turned to his troops. “It’s time to go.”
Another five minutes and there wasn’t a single vampire to be seen in the cool dawn light of a winter morning. Sara finally lowered her weapons and glanced at Deacon. He was bloody, his jacket torn in several places, but it was the look in his eyes that rocked her to the core. He was pissed. “Goddamn it, Sara. I don’t like you being hurt.” And then he kissed her.
It was hot and wild and amazing . . . until Lucy began howling. And someone coughed.
Sara tore away from the kiss, gun raised—to see a tall woman with long white blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, her eyes frankly curious and her body plastered with knives. “So,” Ellie said, with a huge smile, “you and the Slayer, huh? I like.” She looked Deacon up and down, and whistled. “Best Friend Seal of Approval bestowed. With gold foil edging, even.”
Grinning, Sara went to hug her. Elena shook her head. “I love you, Sara, but you’re all bloody with vampire.”
“Ugh.” Sara looked down at her soaked clothing. “I thought I told you to stay away.”
“Would you have done that?” Ellie raised an eyebrow. “Exactly.”
Giving up, Sara threw up her hands. “We need to check on Tim—the hunter inside.” She turned to Deacon. “Think we should send Ellie in? We wouldn’t want to get blood all over Tim’s floor.”
Deacon’s eyes gleamed. “Good idea.”
Elena glanced from one to the other. “Do I have ‘sucker’ written on my forehead? I don’t think so. I know all about Timothy’s demon fiend of a sidekick.”
Despite his words, Deacon was already at the door. “Tim?”
“I’m okay,” came the groaning answer as Lucy went into a barking frenzy. “Luce, girl, down.” A few growls but the dog quieted.
“Cover me,” Deacon said and opened the door.
Sara was ready to shoot Lucy—to disable, not kill—but “the damn devil-eyed dog” was sitting attentively by the sprawled form of her master, grinning as if she wasn’t just waiting for a chance to bite off their faces. Tim had a gun in hand, a nasty bruise on the side of his face . . . and smelled like a distillery.
“Jesus, Tim,” Ellie muttered, waving a hand in front of her hunter-sensitive nose. “What, you took a beer bath?”
Tim winced. “Shh.”
“You’ve been on a bender?” Sara blew out an angry breath. “We thought you were dead.” Or a serial killer.
“Hey,” he muttered, “I got conscious long enough to shoot them, didn’t I? And I’m allowed to go on a bender after I find a vampire torn to pieces by a hate group—they even cut off his fingers one by one. How fucking noble.”
Sara had had one of those cases, too. She’d baked nonstop for five days after. Her neighbors loved her. “Who’s been feeding Lucy?”
“Me, of course.” He gave her an indignant look. “As if I’d leave my baby without food.” He kissed that mangy black head. “She knows where her stash is. And I leave fresh water all over the place.”
“Tim,” Sara pushed, “this is important. Can you prove where you’ve been the past few days?”
He gave her an oddly clear look. “Hiding in a corner of Sal’s All-Night-All-the-Time bar. Matchbook’s on the table.”
Deacon called the number and confirmed Tim’s story. Happy at the news, but cognizant of the implications, Sara rubbed her face. “Ellie, can you make sure Tim detoxes and gets that bruise taken care of? Deacon and I have something to handle.”
“I’m fine,” Tim murmured and tried to stand. Only to fall flat on his butt. “Or maybe not.”
Elena nodded. “No sweat. You need a hand?”
It was Deacon who answered. “Stay close. If we need backup, we’ll call.”
“Gotcha.” Pulling “yummy” faces behind Deacon’s back as he walked out to make another call, Ellie gave Sara the thumbs-up.
It was impossible not to smile, but that smile was gone by the time she reached the bike and Deacon. “It has to be Marco. And if not, we’re in deep shit.” Because that meant they had an unknown crazy out there.
“I just checked with Simon. Shah left the city two hours ago, so if there’s another killing . . .” He shook his head. “We can’t wait for that. It’s time to play hardball with Marco.”
“You think you can break him?”
Deacon’s face was a grim mask. “Yeah.”
It should’ve scared her. It didn’t. Because she knew how to play hardball, too. “Let’s do it.” Getting on the bike, she took the helmet he held out. “After this is over, I want a shower in a really big bathroom.”
“I’ll get us the penthouse.”
“What makes you think you’ll be sharing it with me?”
“I live in hope.”
Oh, she definitely wanted to keep him, she thought, as they closed the gate behind themselves and headed out. Maybe there was a way to make it work? But she knew there wasn’t. She could hardly see Deacon in a tux at some “do.” And the Guild Director had to play politics. Nobody liked a powerful presence like the Guild in the city, but that wariness could be turned into respect and even welcome by a little subtle maneuvering.
A long time ago, the Guild had chosen the veil of secrecy. The end result had been a spate of Guild-burnings that had razed many a chapter building to the ground, killing a devastating number of hunters in the process. No one wanted a repeat of that.
Suddenly conscious that Deacon had dramatically reduced his speed, she twisted to peer around one muscular arm. “Oh, no fucking way.” Pulling off her helmet, she stood on the back of the bike, using Deacon’s shoulder for balance. “You yielded,” she told the vampire standing in the middle of the road. “This time, we’ll be aiming to kill.”
Chapter Seven
“Milady, you misunderstand me.” A serious expression. “I have need of the Guild’s services.”
Sara really didn’t feel like helping someone who’d tried to separate her head from her body not that long ago, but hunters existed for a reason. “Someone run out on a Contract?”
“No. One of your hunters has taken one of us captive. If you would please organize a rescue, we’d be most grateful.”
She squeezed Deacon’s shoulder. No way was this a coincidence. As she sat back down, Deacon maneuvered the bike to the side of the road. “Talk,” they both ordered at the same time.
“Silas,” the vampire said, shifting to stand on the sidewalk beside them, “had a relationship with the hunter. Unbeknownst to anyone, they went their separate ways two weeks ago.”
Around the time the killings started.
“The hunter’s name is Marco Giardes.” The vampire spread his hands. “I have no idea of what happened between the two of them. But I received a message from Silas a few minutes ago stating that Marco was holding him captive in the basement of his home.”
Sara wondered if Marco had guessed at her and Deacon’s true motives after all. Something had to have triggered this. “Did he say how long he’d been there?”
“Silas walked into the hunter’s bar an hour ago with his new inamorato.” He snorted. “He is young, thinks being a vampire makes him invincible.” A meaningful rub at the shoulder she’d wounded.
“Damn vampire wanted to rub Marco’s face in his new affair.” Sara almost felt sorry for Marco. Almost. Because if everything this vampire was saying was right, then Marco had gone out and killed five other men, none of whom had done anything to him. Not to mention how he’d terrified Rodney. “Do you have any other information?”
“Silas’s new lover is no more.” A shrug. “Silas got the message out before Marco realized he had a second cell phone. I’ve received no messages since, so the hunter has likely remedied that.”
Deacon stared at the vamp. “If you know where he is, why aren’t you mounting a rescue? You have a big enough group.”
A long pause. The vampire looked up, then down, lowered his voice. “Raphael was not pleased when he found out about the attack on Sara. We are not his people. He has forbidden us from doing anything in his territory except that which relates to our departure—even feeding.” A long, shuddering sigh. “We’re to leave on the first plane out of the country.”
“Silas is a tourist?” Sara asked, rapidly thinking through her options.
“Marco met him during a hunt. Silas came to be with him.” Another glance upward. “We would appeal to our archangel for help, but he doesn’t particularly care for Silas.”
Sara didn’t trust the vampire an inch, but she had a feeling he was telling the truth about Marco and Silas. There was a layer of concern in his voice that betrayed an obvious affection for the younger vampire. That wasn’t as weird as it sounded. Vampires had once been human, after all—it took a long time for the echoes to fade entirely.
“Fine.” She put her helmet back on. “I guess it’s time for the Guild to ride to the rescue.”
Deacon started the engine in silence and they headed off, leaving the vampire standing at the curb. “I think he was straight with us,” she said. “You?”
“It fits with what we know.” His voice was an intimate darkness in her ear. “Looks as if Raphael likes you.”
“I’ve never met him. Or even talked to him on the phone.” She drew in a deep breath. “I don’t think it has anything to do with me.”
“No?”
“No.” She knew exactly where humans ranked in the scheme of things as far as archangels were concerned. Somewhere below ants. “It’s the fact that some other archangel tried to horn in on his territory. He’s pissed.” And when an archangel got pissed, things got brutal. “Did you hear what he did to that vampire in Times Square?”
A slow nod from Deacon. “Broke every bone in his body and left him there. As a warning. He was alive throughout, the poor bastard.”
“So you see why I don’t ever want Raphael to take an interest in my welfare.”
Deacon didn’t say anything, but they both knew that as Guild Director, she’d have a much higher chance of attracting Raphael’s attention than an ordinary hunter. But still, how many times did an archangel contact any human directly? Sara had never heard of it. They ran everything from their towers.
Manhattan’s Archangel Tower dwarfed everything in the entire state. Sara had often sat in Ellie’s way-too-expensive apartment and watched the angels flying in and out. Their feet, she thought, likely never touched the earth. “You know, I think Ellie’s got a higher chance of meeting an archangel than I do.”
“Why?”
“Just a feeling.” A prickling across the back of her neck, a kiss of the “eye” her great-grandmother claimed to possess. “Think we should call her for backup?”
“If Marco’s in there alone, we can take him. Let’s check things out first—I don’t want to panic him.” A pause. “Though it sounds like Silas is no prize.”
“Yeah. But Marco hurt Rodney, who’s about as dangerous as your average rabbit.” She hoped his master hadn’t been too hard on him. And that Mindy the Bitch had gotten her head torn off.
“We’re here.” He pulled over and parked. “The bar should be closed.”
Stowing the helmets, they headed to the bar . . . only to come to an abrupt halt when a little old lady on her way down from farther along the street stared at them and backed away very fast. Sara looked at Deacon, really looked. Big, sexy, loaded up with weapons . . . and stained rust red. “Oops.”
He smiled, slow and with a glint that said he was thinking about getting naked. With her. “We better wrap this up before the police arrive and all hell breaks loose.”
Nodding, she shoved aside the thought of soaping up his delicious body and picked up the pace. “How’re we getting into the basement?”
Deacon raised an eyebrow. “We ask.”
“Wha—Oh, that’ll work. Two hunters, needing sanctuary and somewhere to clean up. I’m good with that.”
The door to the bar was locked shut, all the neon turned off. Deacon went to knock, but Sara grabbed his hand and pointed to the intercom hidden discreetly to the side. Pushing the button, she waited.
“Yes?” Marco’s voice. Sounding tired, but not the least bit aggressive.
“Marco, it’s Sara and Deacon. We need a place to clean up.”
“I can see that.” The door clicked open. “Come on through.”
They went in. Sara waited until the door had closed behind them to whisper, “Is it just me or does he sound way too normal?”
Deacon was frowning as well. “Either he’s one hell of a good actor or something else is up.”
Marco stuck his head out the door that led up to his apartment. He whistled when he saw them. “Must’ve been some fight. The bathroom’s big enough for two.” A sharp grin that tried to hide exhaustion and failed.
Again, nothing weird about that if he hadn’t yet had a chance to go to bed.
Then she saw the mess that was the bar itself. Bottles shattered, blood on the floor, what looked like bullet holes in the walls. A second later, Marco stepped out from behind the door, and it became apparent he was sporting the beginnings of a serious black eye. “Do I dare ask?” She raised an eyebrow.
Marco thrust a hand through his hair. “Come on up and we’ll talk.”
“Now would be better,” Deacon said, unmoving.
The bar owner looked from one to the other and said, “Shit.” Sounding like his heart had just broken into a million pieces, he sat down on the last step, head in his hands. “He set me up. The bastard set me up.”
Sara was starting to get a headache. She’d come in here expecting to rescue a hurt vampire from an unhinged hunter, and found a shattered lover. “How about we take this from the top?” she suggested, staying out of attack range in case Marco actually was that good an actor. “Where’s Silas?”
“Locked in the basement.” Marco’s eyes were bleak when he glanced at them. “I needed time to get my shit together before I called the Guild.”
“And the man who was with him?”
Marco nodded at the bar. “Silas came up behind him and . . .” He stared at his hands. “I couldn’t believe it. But the blood, God, so much blood.”
Leaving Deacon to keep an eye on him, she pulled herself up onto the gleaming wooden surface and looked down. A vampire’s bright blue eyes stared up at her. She sucked in a breath. If she hadn’t been able to see that his head was no longer attached to his body, she’d have thought him alive. “Dead,” she confirmed to Deacon. “The question is, how did he get that way?”
“Silas,” Marco repeated dully. “He came in here, strutting like a damn peacock. I should’ve left him outside but I—” He swallowed, hand fisted, pain apparent in every taut tendon. “I thought maybe he’d come to apologize. I didn’t see the kid till after.”
“Apologize?” Sara had the sinking feeling they’d all been drawn into one seriously bad lover’s tiff.
“For cheating on me.” Marco finally looked her full in the face. “Here I was, being a putz. I gave my notice at the Guild, set up this place, all because he said he hated knowing I was putting my life on the line with every hunt. I even asked Simon to talk to some of the senior angels, see if we could maybe get the rest of Silas’s Contract transferred to an angel in the States so we wouldn’t have to keep going back and forth.”
“Here.” Sara grabbed a dented but still whole bottle of water and threw it at him. “Breathe.”
“I can’t.” He chugged the entire bottle, then threw it aside. “He was just using me. Wanted out of his Contract—his angel doesn’t like him. I could’ve swallowed that. Hell on the ego, but I’d have swallowed it. I loved him. But the whole time we were together, he was with . . . who the fuck knows. More than one guy.”
“Marco, that doesn’t make sense.” Sara folded her arms. “Why would he set you up if he was the one cheating?”
“’Cause I dumped him.” And in that moment, Sara saw the hunter Marco was. Hard, lethal, certainly very good at his job. “I told him to get out and stay out.”
“Which meant he lost any chance of getting his Contract transferred.” Deacon didn’t move from his position by the door. “It sounds good. But all the evidence points to a hunter.”
“He took my stuff. My weapons, clothes, one of the ceremonial swords I collect.” Marco ground his teeth together. “I feel so fucking stupid. I knew he didn’t handle rejection well, but I never thought he’d go around killing people just to get back at me.”
Sara glanced at Deacon. He shook his head in a slight negative. She agreed. Marco was very, very believable. But it was his word against this Silas’s. If they backed him, the vampires would take it badly—unless they had proof. In which case, Silas would disappear to face angelic justice. Hunters could kill, but only in exigent circumstances, or when they had an execution warrant. It made more sense for angels to deliver any necessary punishment—they were faster, stronger, and far more cruel than the vampires they Made.
“Security cameras,” she asked Marco. “Did you record the fight?”
“No.” Self-disgust marred the handsome lines of his face. “I turned them off when I realized it was him—didn’t want anyone seeing how much of a fool I’d been. At least I wasn’t stupid enough to leave my gun behind. Shot grazed his head, knocked him out.”
That explained how Marco had gotten the vamp into the basement. “We need to talk to Silas.” Sara stepped forward, expecting an argument.
Marco got up. “I’ll take you—let’s see what the bastard has to say.”
Letting him go on ahead, they followed with weapons drawn. Silas was pounding on the door by the time they got there.
“Help me!” More pounding. “Help! I can hear you!”
“Quiet.” Deacon’s voice cut through the pounding like a knife.
Sara took the lead. “How’d you end up locked in the basement?”
They got pretty much the same story as from Marco . . . but with the roles reversed. By the time it was over, Sara’s headache had turned into a thumping monster. How in hell were they going to fix this? The wrong move and a lot more blood would spill.
She looked to Deacon. “Got handcuffs?”
He handed her a thin plastic pair. “They’ll hold.” Marco lifted up his hands without question when she turned. Clicking the cuffs shut, she led him back upstairs, stashing him on the stairway that led up to his apartment . . . after blindfolding him and tying his feet together, then redoing the cuffs to lock him to the railing. Hunters were extremely resourceful when it came to survival.
“I won’t run,” Marco told her, a broken kind of pain in his voice that hurt her.
“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I believe you.” If she was going to be Guild Director, she had to learn to judge her people. “But we need proof.”
“He’s smart. Part of his charm.”
Silas hadn’t sounded particularly charming to Sara, but then, she wasn’t in love with him. Patting Marco on the shoulder, she walked out, pulling the door shut behind her. “Rodney,” she said to Deacon.
“That’s what I thought.”
“But even if he can tell their voices apart, how seriously is anyone going to take him?” She pulled out her cell phone. Hesitated.
“It’s a start.”
As she waited for the phone to be answered, she found her eyes locked with Deacon’s. “I’m going to have to deal with messes like this all the time as director.”
A nod. “And you’ll care enough to find out the truth.” Bridging the distance between them, he touched her cheek. “We’re lucky to have you.”
The phone was picked up on the other end. “Yes?”
Sara dropped her head against Deacon’s chest at the sound of that voice. “Mindy, I need to speak to your master.”
“I got punished because you tattled.”
Chapter Eight
Sara didn’t have time to engage in a pissing contest. “You should’ve been more careful.”
“Damn straight,” Mindy said. “I’m four hundred years old and I can’t get rid of the twerp. Not your fault. Hold on.”
Surprised, and glad something was going right, she took a deep breath as Lacarre’s cultured voice came on the line. “Hunter.” A demand for why she was calling, and permission to speak, all in one word.
She explained. “If we could borrow Rodney for a few minutes, it might help clear things up.”
“Since the victims included two of my own, I’d be very interested in learning the identity of the perpetrator. We’ll be there shortly.”
Closing the phone, she hugged Deacon. “Think anyone would notice if I chucked it all in and ran screaming for the hills?”
Warm, strong hands rubbing over her back. “They might send the Slayer after you.”
“No flirting. Not now.”
“Later, then.” He didn’t stop the back rub. “I think this officially equals the oddest case of my career.”
“You and me both. I don’t know why I’m always surprised when vampires act as weird as ordinary humans. It’s not like they gain the wisdom of the ages with the transformation.” His heart beat strong and steady under her cheek. Solid. Calming. A woman could get used to that kind of an anchor.
They stood in silence for a long time, until Sara’s heart beat in rhythm with his. “Did you ever consider another career?” she asked in a low, private whisper, realizing she knew nothing of his past. It didn’t matter. It was the man he was today who fascinated her. “Aside from the Guild?”
“No.” A single word that held a wealth of history.
She didn’t push. “Me, either. I met my first hunter while I was living on a commune—don’t even ask—when I was ten. She was so smart and tough and practical. It was love at first sight.”
His chuckle sounded a little raw. “I saw mine after a bloodlust-crazed vampire destroyed our entire neighborhood. The hunter found me standing over the vampire, chopping his head off with a meat cleaver.”
She squeezed him tight. “How old were you?”
“Eight.”
“It’s a wonder you’re not a psycho vampire-killer yourself.”
Somehow, it was the right thing to say. He laughed softly and all but folded himself around her, kissing her temple with a tenderness that shattered her remaining defenses like so much glass. “I decided I’d rather be one of the good guys. I don’t like tracking and executing my fellow hunters—every kill hurts like a bitch.”
And that, Sara suddenly knew, was why the last Slayer had chosen Deacon as his successor. The Slayer had to love the Guild with all his heart and soul. Every decision had to be made with the wrenching power of that love—Deacon would never execute a hunter without absolute, undeniable evidence. Otherwise, Marco would’ve been dead days ago.
Lifting up her head, she kissed his throat. “How do you feel about carrying on a secret affair with the Guild Director?” She couldn’t let him go. Not without a fight.
“I prefer the world know full well I consider a woman mine.” An uncompromising answer. “Secrets just come back to bite you in the ass.”
There went that possibility. Before she could come up with another, the front door vibrated under the force of an imperious knock. Lacarre had arrived. “Showtime.” Pulling away from Deacon, she walked over and let in both Lacarre and his entourage—Mindy, Rodney, and unexpectedly, the vampire who’d originally asked for their help. “Please come in.” She raised an eyebrow at the one who didn’t belong.
“We found him loitering,” Mindy said, waving a hand with insouciance that told them she couldn’t care less. “Lacarre decided he might be of help.”
The foreign vampire didn’t look especially pleased to have been dragged inside, but nobody said no to an angel.
“Where are the two men?” Lacarre asked, keeping his wings several inches off the floor so they wouldn’t drag on the sticky mess of glass, blood, and alcohol that coated the varnished surface.
“One’s behind there.” She nodded at the closed door that led up to Marco’s apartment. “And the other’s in the basement.”
Mindy stroked a hand down Deacon’s arm. “Do they look like this one?” It was a sultry invitation.
Deacon said nothing, just watched her with eyes gone so cold, even Sara felt the chill. Deacon did scary really, really well. Mindy dropped her hand as if it had been singed and returned to Lacarre’s side quick-fast. Rodney was already cowering behind the angel’s wings.
“You’d make a good vampire,” the angel said to Deacon. “I might actually trust the city wouldn’t fall apart if I left you in charge.”
“I prefer hunting.”
The angel nodded. “Pity. Rodney, you know what you have to do?”
Rodney bobbed his head so fast, it was as if it were on springs. “Yes, Master.” He looked childishly eager to please.
“Come on.” Keeping her voice gentle, Sara held out her hand. “I didn’t hurt you last time, did I?”
Rodney took a moment to think about that before coming over to close his fingers around her own. “They won’t be able to get me, will they?”
“No.” She patted his arm with her free hand. “All I want you to do is listen to their voices and tell me which one sounds like the man who hurt you.”
They went to Marco first, Lacarre and Mindy following. It made the hairs on the back of her neck rise to have a powerful angel and his bloodthirsty vampire floozy behind her—she was able to bear it only because Deacon was bringing up the rear, with Silas’s friend in front of him. “Marco.” She banged on the door. “I want you to threaten to cut off Rodney’s head.”
Rodney shot her a wide-eyed look. She whispered, “It’s just pretend.”
Marco began yelling a second later. Eyes wide, Rodney skittered away from the door and Sara felt her stomach fall. “Is it him?” she asked, after Marco went quiet.
Rodney was shivering. “No, but he’s scary.”
Lacarre wasn’t fond of the basement idea, but he came down with them. And when Silas refused to do as ordered, the angel whispered, “Or would you rather I come in for a private . . . talk?” Silky sweet, dark as chocolate, and sharp as a stiletto sliding between your ribs.
If Sara had ever had any delusions about trying to become a vampire, they would’ve died a quick death then and there. She never wanted to be under the control of anyone who could put that much cruelty, that much pain, into a single sentence.
Chastened, Silas made a wooden threat. About as scary as a teddy bear. Sara was about to order him to do it with more feeling when Rodney turned around and tried to run back up the stairs. Deacon caught him. “Shh.”
To Sara’s surprise, the vampire clung to him as a child would to its father. “It was him. He’s the bad man.”
Lacarre stared at the back of Rodney’s head, then at Sara. “Bring this Silas upstairs. I will hear from the hunter as to what happened.”
Sara had her crossbow at the ready, but it proved unnecessary. Tall, dark, and striking Silas, his clothes torn and bloody, followed them meek as a lamb. Leaving him in front of Lacarre and Mindy—with the foreign vamp skulking in the background—she released Marco and walked with him to the others.
Silas glared at his ex-lover. “You kill and put the blame on me.”
Marco ignored him, staring straight ahead as he recited what Sara believed to be the truth. Around the time that he got to his rejection of Silas, the out-of-town vampire gasped and said, “I believed you!”
“Be quiet!” Silas screamed.
Lacarre raised an eyebrow. “No. Continue.”
“He has done this before,” the foreign vampire said. “Three decades ago, when a human he’d been romancing left him for another vampire, he killed four of our own kind.”
Sara met his eye. “Were they men with strong ties to humanity?”
“Yes.” A trembling answer. “He told me the bloodlust had gotten hold of him. He was young . . . I protected him.” The clearly shaken vampire took a deep breath and turned his back on his former friend. “I no longer do.”
Silas screamed and jumped up as if to attack, but Deacon brought him down with a single chop to the throat. The vamp went down like a tree. Marco flinched but didn’t turn even then.
“As I said,” Lacarre murmured,“it’s a great pity you don’t wish to be Made. If you ever change your mind, let me know.”
Deacon’s smile was faint. “No offense, but I like being my own master.”
“I’d tempt you with beauties like Mindy, but it seems you’ve made your choice.” He walked over to Silas’s unconscious body. “The Guild has the right to demand restitution and proffer punishment. What is your will?” A question aimed solely at Sara. As if she were already director.
Sara glanced at Marco, saw the struggle on his face and knew there could be only one answer. “Mercy,” she said. “Execute him with mercy.” For they all knew that Silas wouldn’t be allowed to live. “No torture, no pain.”
Lacarre shook his head. “So human.”
She knew it wasn’t a compliment. “It’s a flaw I can live with.” She never wanted to become anything close to what Lacarre was—so cold, even when he looked at her with such apparent interest.
“So be it.” Walking over to Silas, he bent and gathered the vampire in his arms with effortless strength. “It will be done as you asked.”
As he walked away, Mindy and the others trailing behind the wide sweep of his cream-colored wings, Sara saw Deacon put a hand on Marco’s shoulder. A single squeeze. Words whispered so low that she couldn’t hear what was said. But when Deacon moved back to her side, Marco no longer looked like he was dying a slow, painful death. Oh, he was hurting plenty, but there was also a glimmer of stubborn will, the kind that made humans into hunters.
He turned to Sara. “I’m withdrawing my resignation from the Guild. I thought . . . I hoped, but I can’t stay here anymore.”
“I’ll make sure Simon knows.”
“Not necessary, is it, Sara?” he said quietly. “So long as you do.”
Sara said good-bye to Deacon outside the hotel six hours later. He had his gear and she had hers. Ellie was waiting for her in a clean rental car, ready to start the drive to New York. One last road trip before she became bogged down in the myriad responsibilities that came along with running one of the most powerful and influential chapters of the Guild.
“The next year’s going to be brutal,” she said to Deacon as he sat sideways on his bike, his legs stretched out in front of him, and his arms folded. “Just as well you said no—I probably couldn’t carry on a secret affair even if I tried.” She should’ve laughed then, but she couldn’t find any laughter inside her.
He didn’t do anything sappy. He was Deacon. He stood, put his hand behind her neck, and kissed the breath out of her. Then he kissed her again. “I have some things to do. And you have a directorship waiting for you.”
She nodded, the whiskey and midnight taste of him in her mouth. “Yeah.”
“You better go. Ellie’s waiting.”
Squeezing him tight once more, she turned and walked away. He was right to do it this way. Whatever they had, the sweet, shining promise she could still see hovering on the horizon, it deserved to be left whole, instead of being crushed under the weight of unmet expectations.
“Drive,” she said to Ellie the instant the door closed behind her.
Ellie took one look at her and didn’t say a word. In fact, neither of them spoke until they’d crossed the state line. Then Ellie glanced over and said, “I liked him.”
The unadorned remark splintered every one of Sara’s defenses.
Dropping her head into her hands, she cried. Ellie pulled over to the side of the wide-open road and held her while she sobbed. Her best friend didn’t insult either of them by spouting bullshit platitudes. Instead, she said, “You know, Deacon didn’t strike me as the kind of man who lets go of things that matter.”
Sara smiled, knowing her face was a blotchy mess. “Can you see him in a tux?” Her stomach tightened at the idea.
“Let me get the visual. Okay, I have it.” Elena sighed. “Oh, baby, I could lick him up in a tux.”
“Hey. Mine.” It was a growl.
Ellie grinned. “I have a pulse. He’s hot.”
“You’re an idiot.” One who’d made her smile, if only for an instant. “I can just picture him shaking hands and playing Guild politics. Not.”
“So?” Ellie shrugged. “The Guild Director has to do all that stuff. Who says her lover has to be anything but a big, scary, silent son of a bitch?”
It was tempting to agree, to hold on to hope, but Sara shook her head. “I have to be realistic. The man’s a complete loner. It’s why he’s the Slayer.” Dragging in a shaky breath, she sat back up and said, “Take us to New York. I have a job to do.”
Strong words, but her fingers found their way into a pocket, skating over the tiny serrated sawblade hidden within. It was Deacon’s. The man had some really interesting weapons—like a gun that fired these spinning circular babies instead of bullets. It was what he’d been using out in Tim’s junkyard. That made her wonder how Lucy was doing.
A tiny smile tugged at her lips—who knew her favorite memory of Deacon would be of him cuddling a vicious hellhound of a dog?
Chapter Nine
Two months later, Sara stared at her reflection—the woman who looked back at her appeared both poised and quintessen tially elegant in a strapless black sheath. Her hair had been styled in a sophisticated bun at the back of her head, her new bangs swept to the side with an elegance she’d never have been able to achieve in the field, and her face made up with skill that highlighted her cheekbones, brought out her eyes. “I feel like a fraud.”
Simon chuckled and walked to stand behind her. “But you look precisely what you are—a powerful, beautiful woman.” His eyes dropped to her necklace. “Good choice.”
It was that shiny serrated blade. Deacon’s blade. She’d had it strung on a silver chain. “Thanks.”
“Some of the people you meet tonight will try to sneer at you. There are a few who see hunters as nothing more than jumped-up hired help.”
“Oh, like Mrs. Abernathy?” she said, tone dry as she named the society matron whose party she was about to attend. “She asked me if I’d like some help with ‘appropriate clothing, dear.’”
“Exactly.” Simon squeezed her shoulders. “Here’s some advice—anytime one of those ‘blue bloods’ tries to bring you down, remember that you deal with angels every day. Most of them would pee their pants at the thought.”
She choked. “Simon!”
“It’s true.” He shrugged. “And someday, you might even deal with a member of the Cadre. No matter how important they think they are, most humans will never come within touching distance of an archangel.”
“I’d probably pee my pants then, too,” she muttered.
“No, you won’t.” Unexpectedly serious words. “As for the upper-crust vampires, remember, we hunt them. Not the other way around.”
Sara nodded and blew out a breath. “I wish we didn’t have to do this crap.”
“Angels might scare us, but hunters scare most other people—including a lot of vampires. Reassure them. Convince them we’re civilized.”
“What a con.” She grinned.
Simon grinned back, but it wasn’t his face she wanted to see beside hers in the mirror. “Okay, I’m ready.” This was her first solo outing as Guild-Director-in-training. The transition would be complete by year’s end.
“Go get ’em.”
The party didn’t bore her silly. It was the last sign—had she needed one—that she was the right person for the job. Ellie would’ve shot at least five people by now. Sara smiled and parried another nosy question while soaking up the relentless flow of gossip. It was all intelligence. Hunters needed to know a lot of things—like who a vampire might run to, or which individuals might sympathize with the angels to the extent of going vigilante.
Of course, to all outward appearances, she was simply mingling—just another well-dressed female among dozens of others. Mrs. Abernathy had beamed at her when she arrived. “Probably surprised I didn’t turn up in blood-soaked leathers,” she muttered into her champagne flute during a moment’s respite on the balcony.
“Would’ve worked for me.”
The smile that cracked her face was surely idiotic, but she didn’t turn. “Is it the leathers you like or the body in them?”
“You got me.” Warm breath against her nape, hands on her hips. “But I could get used to this dress.”
“Hey, eyes up.” She put the champagne flute on the waist-high wall that surrounded the balcony. “No scoping the cleavage.”
“Can’t help it.” He turned her with a stroking caress.
And the air rushed out of her.
“Oh, man.” She leaned back and twirled a finger.
Of course Deacon didn’t give her a fashion show. He flicked at her sideswept bangs instead. “I like it.”
“Ransom said it makes me look like I have raccoon eyes.”
“Ransom has hair like a girl.”
She grinned. “That’s what I said.” Throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed him with wild abandon, and it felt way beyond good. So she did it again. “The debutantes are going to wet their panties over you.”
He looked horrified.
“Don’t worry.” She pressed a kiss to his jaw. “I’ll scare them away.”
Deacon caused such a stir she thought they might have a Chanel No. 5-scented stampede in the ballroom. She also thought it’d make him turn and run. That he’d come . . . well, hell, it had stolen her heart right out of her chest. But she didn’t expect him to stand at her side with quiet focus, as if the attention didn’t even register.
A few of the men tried to use his presence to ignore her—male chauvinist pigs—but Deacon deflected the ball back at her so smoothly, the others never knew what hit them. Sexy, dangerous, smart, and he knew how to deal with dunderheads without making a scene. She was so keeping him. And stabbing a knife into the heart of any debutante/trophy-wife-wannabe who came within sniffing distance.
“I expect,” he whispered in her ear during a rare minute of privacy, “large amounts of sexual favors for being this good.”
Her lips twitched. “Done.”
And she was. Done over thoroughly.
By the time they reached the apartment, she was burning up for him. They didn’t make it to the bed the first time. Her pretty, slinky dress ended up in shreds at her feet as Deacon took her against the door, his mouth fused with hers. She came with a hard rush that had her clutching at his white dress shirt with desperate hands.
The second time was slower, sweeter.
Afterward, they lay side by side, face to face. It was an indescribably intimate way to be, and she hardly dared speak for fear of breaking the moment. “There goes your secret identity. As of tomorrow, you’re going to be in gossip columns from here to Timbuktu.”
He nipped at her upper lip. “I bought the tux.”
She blinked. “You bought the tux.” Bubbles of happiness burst into life inside her, rich and golden. “More cost-effective than renting one if you plan to use it a lot.”
“That’s what the guy at the store said.” Shifting closer, he stroked his hand over the sweep of her back, his skin a little rough and all perfect. “But . . .”
“No buts.” She kissed him. “I’m too happy right now.”
A smile against her lips. “This ‘but’ you have to deal with, Ms. Guild Director.” Light words. Serious tone.
She met his gaze. “What is it?”
“I have to resign as the Slayer.”
“Oh. Yes, of course.” As of tonight, he was too well-known, and more importantly, by staying with her, he’d get to know too many hunters . . . make too many friends. “We’ll find a replacem—”
“That’s what I was doing. I have a candidate for you.”
Nodding, Sara stroked her fingers over the square line of his jaw. “I can’t be your boss.” It was a solemn realization. “I need to be your lover.”
Deacon reached out to draw a circle around the spot where her necklace had rested before he’d taken it off. “I figured I’d go totally independent with the weapons.”
“That works.” The tightness in her chest eased. “Kind of seems one-sided though. You’re giving up everything.”
“I get you.” A simple statement that meant more than she could ever articulate.
She swallowed the knot of emotion in her throat. “I talked to Tim a week ago.”
Deacon frowned. “Tim?”
“Lucy’s pregnant.”
The frown turned into a slow, spreading smile. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” She threw a leg over his and snuggled close. “He’s going to keep one of the pups for me. I was going to call it Deacon.”
He started laughing, and it was infectious. She buried her face in his neck and gave in.
The puppy was black as pitch, with big brown eyes and feet so big he promised to become a monster like his mom. Since it would’ve been a little confusing to have two Deacons in the house, they decided to call him Slayer.