The Slayer, page 3
Anger simmered below Winn’s skin, making it tight over his wind-chapped cheeks. Colt didn’t know half of the shit he’d been through or done—things so dark they still lurked in the recesses of his conscience, waiting to stab at him whenever he thought he was past such behavior.
“Don’t start with me, boy. I was hunting before you were walking.” And killing before you could talk, Winn added silently to himself. Hardly the kind of thing a child should have been expected to do. And yet his pa would accept nothing less than Winn’s total immersion in the Hunter life.
“Which is exactly why we need you to come along.”
“He’s right. Rathe is planning something,” the demon said.
Winn glared at her. Rathe was an archdemon lord, and just hearing his name made Winn twitchy. He thought he was showing an amazing amount of restraint considering he hadn’t shot her in the forehead already. Between that and not killing the vampire this morning, he briefly wondered if he had been out of the game long enough to have completely lost his touch. “And I’m supposed to trust you?”
Colt stiffened, his skin turning ruddy. Winn knew he’d struck a nerve. There was a hell of a lot more going on between his little brother and the demon than Colt had admitted. “We’ve got a deal. She’s going to help me get the Book.”
Deep down Winn’s stomach shrank to the size of a walnut. He knew it. The demon had already got her hooks into Colt. His glare shifted to his little brother. “Dammit. Didn’t I tell you not to give your soul for that Book?”
“I didn’t. She wants our help.”
Winn rolled his eyes and gave his head a small shake. When the hell was Colt gonna stop thinking with the head in his pants and start thinking with the one under his Stetson? “They all say that, brother.”
“She wants to get away from Rathe. She wants to return to being human again.” Colt looked so damn sincere, like he actually believed the tripe he was spouting off.
Winn glanced at the demon. “Is that true?”
She stepped around Colt, her lithe body built for seduction. Winn could hardly fault his brother. Colt might be a Hunter, but he was human. Things would have been much easier if he’d just summoned up some ugly sonofabitch with forked tongue and tail.
The creamy skin of her throat flexed with a heavy swallow. It didn’t take a lawman to know she was scared and desperate. Two things that were not a smart combination when going up against a powerhouse like Rathe. “No one has ever tried it before, but the way I see it, if anyone could find a way to break Rathe’s hold on my soul, it would be the Chosen.”
The word made Winn’s insides curl, like paper to a flame. It seared his gut, burning hot and quick. The Chosen. Those stupid rumors were never going to die. It was like some damn religion among the Hunters. Well, he wasn’t some hero. Hell, he barely considered himself civilized most of the time.
Colt grunted and scraped his scuffed brown boot over the gritty wooden floor. “Told you before, Lilly. We’re not the Chosen.”
So the demon even had a first name. The slight widening of her eyes in surprise was quickly narrowed as she balled up her fists. “You don’t think you are. Big difference. Doesn’t mean you’re not.”
Interesting. The fact that she was willing to go head-to-head with his brother meant he actually respected her. Respect for a Darkin wasn’t exactly trust. But it was damn close. Whatever had happened down in the Dark Rim Mine had tested them both and forged a bond of trust between them. Winn wasn’t about to trust Lilly, or the contessa, or anything else non-human, but he trusted Colt. And if Colt thought she was necessary to his plans, he’d support his brother—Chosen malarkey or not.
“Either way, don’t matter,” Winn said, clasping his hands over the back of his head. “You two need to get to Marley on the double. I’ll see what I can do about tapping into a lead on the second part of the Book for you, but I’m not going on any fool’s errand to fetch it back.”
“You know we’re going to need more than just Pa’s part of the Book, don’t you?”
Winn snorted. Maybe he’d given Colt too much credit. “Now she’s really got you addled, boy. The parts were never meant to be brought together. That’s why the Legion separated them in the first place. It’s too damn dangerous.”
Colt shook his head slowly, his eyes deadly serious. “That’s where you’re wrong. If what I think is happening is true, then we need to get those other pieces. Pa told me this might happen.”
That got Winn’s attention.
There was precious little his pa hadn’t drilled into him about hunting. He was itching to know what Pa had told Colt, but he didn’t dare ask in front of the demon. “We don’t even know where the two other thirds of the Book are located.”
“A lead is all we need.”
Too bad even the vampires didn’t know where the other third of the Book was located now. It would have made Colt’s search easier. Winn stared at him long and hard. Damn, but his little brother’s confidence was infectious. He didn’t want to hunt, but could he really stand aside knowing Colt needed his help?
He knew his baby brother well enough to know Colt’s course had already been set. Like a runaway locomotive on a straight stretch of track, there was no changing his direction. The best Winn could hope for was to remove as many obstacles in Colt’s way as he could and pray it was enough to keep his brother alive.
“If I find anything, I’ll send word through Marley,” Winn said simply.
Relief softened the hard set of Colt’s jaw. He might be stubborn, but he knew he needed help. Deep down in Winn’s chest a warm, solid feeling unfurled. He knew backing his brother was the right thing to do, even if it meant putting his lot in with a bunch of vampires and going along in a scheme to bring the pieces of the Book back together.
Colt’s mouth lifted into a smile. “Thanks, Winn.”
“You’d best go on,” he answered back.
His little brother and the demon he’d come to rely on left the jail in the quickly dwindling afternoon light. He didn’t have time to ruminate too much on his decision to go search for the second lost piece of the Book of Legend. The vampires would be there come nightfall, and he needed to be prepared.
Winn pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a worn wooden box with a slider lid. The lid rasped as he shoved it open, revealing the specially crafted silver bullets and salt-packed shotgun shells he rarely used. His fingers caressed the smooth silver, the familiar zing of anticipation firing his blood.
He might have walked away from being a Hunter, but it was something that never left you. The memories still haunted him. The knowledge of the things he’d done in the name of protecting mankind still burdened his conscience and stained his soul. Once a Hunter, forever a Hunter. It was like a brand. There was no amount of scrubbing or whitewashing that could hide what he truly was at his core.
Winn slid the lid shut and set the box atop the desk. His brain went on automatic, like he was an automaton, just going through the motions without thought or rationale as to why he was performing the actions of packing. His rifle and back sling, his special ammunitions and packages of salt. His bowie knife and whetstone to sharpen the blade.
By sundown everything was ready for Winn to leave at a moment’s notice, but the churning in his gut left him unsettled. Winn sat back in his office chair and waited, scraping the bowie against the surface of the stone, finding the hissing grind of it comforting.
Four hours passed. Firelight from the potbellied stove flickered along the walls, casting the jail cell bars into sharp stripes of shadow. Winn kept pacing. The ticking clock seemed overly loud to his ears and was keeping time with his heartbeat. He hadn’t bothered to light a lantern when dark fell. Vampires had excellent night vision.
The clock struck ten. A whiff of sulfur tainted the air, and Winn stopped his in tracks, stiffening. A knock rattled the door. Polite vampires? That surprised him. They could have just as easily pushed the door off its hinges and strutted right in, or, judging by the contessa’s disappearing act this afternoon, vaporized themselves into the room.
He hesitated for just a moment, taking in a deep, fortifying breath. There was no way of knowing exactly how many vampires she’d brought with her.
Winn pulled the jail door inward with a long, mournful creak. Before him stood the contessa, her dark hair, dress, and small hat blending in with the night around her. Only one vampire stood beside her, a young man with pale skin and streaky blond hair. The highly polished brass buttons that ran on either side of his black uniform glinted in the firelight. He was broad of shoulder and a good six inches taller than the contessa, but they shared the same unusual coloration of their eyes. One didn’t often see a pretty boy like that on the frontier.
“Good evening, Mr. Jackson,” she said, her voice warm and rich.
He nodded once in acknowledgment.
The contessa touched the arm of the vampire beside her. “This is His Imperial Majesty’s envoy, Enric.”
Enric bowed slightly from the waist, but never took his gaze off of Winn or his gun holster.
Winn’s glance darted to the shadows, making sure there weren’t others waiting in the wings. Finding none, he opened the door further. “Won’t you come in?” The distinct rotten-egg stench of sulfur emitted by nearly all Darkin was barely perceptible, but still tweaked his nose, making him hold his breath slightly as they passed.
He shut the door behind them and offered the contessa the one chair he had, dusting the seat of it off since Hoss had been the last to sit on it. He figured the envoy was vampire enough to stand for a bit.
Her blue-black skirts rustled as she sat stiffly and primly on the edge of the chair. The envoy stood, feet spread, hands clasped behind his lower back, in military fashion. Clearly neither of them planned on staying long. Good. He wasn’t in the mood to drag this out either.
He settled into the spot behind his desk, giving him some kind of barrier between him and the vampires. The contessa’s gaze slid about the room, taking in the rough frontier conditions of his jail, making him feel like he was being looked down upon. Winn bristled. She stared pointedly at his hat, and Winn got uncomfortable enough to remove his favorite black Stetson, setting it on the top of his desk.
Her gaze connected with his, assessing him in the same manner she had assessed the Bodie jail that had defined his life for the past five years. “The American West is indeed a wild place.” She paused, a frown drawing the dark wings of her brows together, as if choosing her next words with care. “Are you satisfied being a peacekeeper among your people?”
“Are you asking if I miss hunting?”
She gave a nearly imperceptible shrug of her shoulders. “It never hurts to know the people one hopes to work with in dangerous times.”
Winn leaned forward in his chair. “So why don’t we just stop the square dancing, and you tell me why you really want me to come with you so badly.”
“His Imperial—”
“I didn’t ask what His Majesty wanted,” Winn interrupted, growing impatient with the faux politeness being passed around the table. He wanted to know what stake she had in all this. “I asked about you.” That would tell him everything he needed to know.
Alexa eyed him, trying to read his thoughts, and found them effectively blocked. How was that possible? In all her centuries as a vampire she’d never run into a mortal that she could not access or read. He had to be strong, very strong, and well-trained.
But they were treading on territory too close to home for her taste. “Have you any children, Mr. Jackson?”
Winchester snorted. “No. Haven’t really ever led the kind of life that was conducive to having children.”
She sighed, irritation lacing her exhale. “Have you ever lost someone close to you, someone who you loved more than life itself?”
Sorrow glistened for an instant in his brilliant blue eyes, then was ruthlessly shuttered away. He’d lost someone dear to him, and likely in a brutal fashion.
“I can see you have,” she said simply.
“What does that have to do with your wanting me to tag along to the vampire motherland and help recover the missing piece of the Book?”
Alexa gripped her hands tighter, making the black kid leather squeak slightly. “Mr. Jackson, over the past several hundred years I’ve watched everyone dear to me, all my mortal family and friends, die. I’ve even watched some of those I’ve transformed, my own children by gift, perish at the hands of Hunters like yourself.”
“I don’t hunt anymore,” he practically growled.
She briefly nodded in acknowledgment. “Regardless, you don’t forget.”
His bottom lip flattened into a hard line beneath his dark mustache.
“I refuse to stand by and watch my children by gift, and the other members of my kind, be wiped out by an archdemon lord intent on erasing their food supply from existence.”
Winn flinched and swallowed hard.
“Rathe is bent on controlling everything he can to amuse his sadistic self, and he cares not what the casualties may be among the Darkin,” she added. She leaned forward, her hand curling around his, and found it callused and warm, even through the thin barrier of her glove. “If you could go back and prevent the loss of the person you loved, wouldn’t you do everything you could, no matter who or what you had to partner with?”
Winn quickly pulled his hand from her grasp. “So this is personal to you.”
She locked gazes with him. “In ways you cannot possibly imagine.”
“Bringing the Book back together is a bad idea. A concentration of power like that is too much temptation for any being—Darkin or mortal.”
“It is why we were instructed to seek your help,” the envoy interjected. “His Majesty believes that the Chosen can withstand the full power of the Book once it is reunited and bring about the prophecy. We have an airship waiting.”
Winn glanced out the window, his eyes mirroring the dark depth of the desert sky at night. He was arrogant, boorish, and still a Hunter to the core no matter what he’d done for the last decade. Alexa tamped down her personal responses to the man who set her off in all the wrong ways.
Their hopes all rested with Winchester Jackson and his brothers. If the Chosen couldn’t help them defeat Rathe, then they were outmatched before the battle could even begin. No matter how she personally felt about Mr. Jackson, it was her duty to get him back to His Majesty and assist however she could to help him recover the second piece of the Book of Legend. She took in a fortifying breath, even though her useless lungs didn’t require air.
“Will you come with us, Mr. Jackson?”
Chapter 3
Slouched back in his chair, Winchester Jackson stared into the middle distance, brooding, in stoic silence. But his body betrayed his agitation.
Although he sat perfectly still and appeared composed, Alexa could hear the rapid, rhythmic susurrus of his blood coursing through his veins and the slightly elevated throb of his heartbeat.
My gods, but he was enticing. Alexa pushed back the overwhelming desire to taste him. A man as rugged and strong as this would have an intoxicating vitality that would make a vampire positively drunk.
You sound like a man with his first taste of vodka. Enric’s amused tone annoyed her.
Hush, Enric.
Mr. Jackson pulled at the ends of his handlebar mustache, making them curl in a dark smile. The moment his gaze flicked back and locked with hers, she saw that he’d made his decision.
“Before I’d agree to step aboard your ship, I’d need to set some conditions.”
They both knew he was in no position to set conditions or dictate the parameters of what could and could not be done on board her ship, but she humored him. “Naturally.”
“First. I get a secured cabin, with a locked door, to myself for the duration of the journey.”
I thought you were being overly cautious to prepare such things ahead of time, but it seems you’ve anticipated him well. Enric’s voice echoed in her head.
“Second. No vampire feeds in my presence.”
Alexa gave him a regal nod. Her people fed whenever the need arose. Whenever. Wherever. If he wanted to eat in the isolation of his room, she certainly wouldn’t stop him. But the request irritated her all the same. Didn’t he realize his presence was just as intrusive, just as galling to her and her children as their existence was to him? Even if he didn’t think himself a Hunter, he still was one down to the worn tips of his very American boots.
“Third. I want your solemn oath that if a single mortal under my protection is harmed by a vampire, I have the right to use any means at my disposal to retaliate.”
Alexa hesitated. The smell of sweat and horse, dirt and whiskey permeated his skin and made her glad she didn’t need to breathe. Her gumline throbbed, her fangs attempting to engage and slip down from the soft folds of her gum tissue. She kept them scrupulously in check.
He is ruthless, uncouth, and uncultured, Enric reminded her. Everything distained by our kind. Do not forget that, Alexa.
I am aware, she shot back mentally, not needing the reminder. They had a name for Hunters like this in her corner of the world:
Slayers.
Slayers killed without compunction or thought, without plan or intellect. To kill and keep from being killed were their only immediate goals. They were primitive and dangerous.
She wanted to refuse Mr. Jackson, but at what cost?
Vlad wants Mr. Jackson at any cost, Enric reminded her, growing impatient. If the Slayer won’t come willingly, we will kidnap him as planned.
Alexa shot Enric a small frown. Having a willing Slayer aboard will be far safer than an abducted one bent on revenge.
Alexa reminded herself of her duty and stiffened her spine and returned her steady gaze across the cluttered desk to meet Mr. Jackson’s dark blue eyes. “Agreed.” Reluctantly. “Anything else?”
“Yes. I want to stop somewhere before we go. I have an inventor friend I think can help us.”
“Certain—”
“And I want your promise that no matter what happens, you’ll bring me home when this is all over. Dead or alive.”
