Angels' Flight(24)

Mr. Lacarre nodded. “Very well, Guild Hunter. Thank you.” It was a dismissal.

Leaving Rodney with a master who was still irritated, albeit no longer furious, felt vaguely wrong. But the vampire had chosen his future when he asked to be Made. Now he’d be somebody’s slave for the next ninety-seven years. As she walked out, her path crossed with that of a slender redhead. The woman was dressed in a daring scarlet suit that molded to her body like second skin. It made a statement.

She would’ve kept going but the redhead stopped her. “You brought Rodney back.”

Mindy. “It’s my job.”

The older vampire—much older from the sheer ease with which she faked humanity—all but gritted her teeth. “I didn’t expect him to survive this long—he can barely tie his shoe-laces.”

“How did he get Made?” Sara asked, unable to swallow her curiosity any longer.

Mindy waved a hand. “He was fine bef—” She belatedly seemed to realize who she was talking to. “Good-bye, Guild Hunter.”

“Bye.” Interesting, Sara thought. Everyone knew—even if the knowledge had never actually been confirmed—that a tiny percentage of Candidates went insane after the transformation. This was the first time she’d seen an example of someone who’d been diminished instead.

Deacon wasn’t around when she got back into the rental car, but he’d found her again by the time she reached her hotel. She parked in the underground garage and got out to see him bringing that monster motorcycle to a stop beside her. “How did you get past security?”

He took off his helmet, unzipped his jacket, and swung off the bike. Gorgeous male muscle. Oh, so touchable. Something very tight in her stomach wound even tighter. Dear God, but the man was sex on legs.





2


Taking a deep breath to wash away the rush of raw hunger, she headed for the elevators, weapons bag in hand. Experience told her management would get a little testy if she walked in wearing her crossbow. “So? Security?”

“It sucks.”

That was her estimation, too. “It was the most convenient location for this hunt.”

Being stuck in an elevator with the man was an exercise in frustration. His smell; soap and skin, heated up from within to create something uniquely Deacon—pure male with an edge of steel—wrapped around her like an aphrodisiac. Since she couldn’t not breathe, she was overdosing on it by the time the elevator kicked them out on the third floor. “Stay here.” She held up a hand. “I need to check your credentials.”

He leaned his back up against the wall opposite her door. “Say hi to Simon from me.”

Keeping an eye on him, she swiped her keycard and entered the room. It was fairly basic—a double bed beside a small chest of drawers, a table with just enough room for the hotel phone and maybe a laptop, a couple of chairs. Really, everything she needed while on a hunt. The call to Simon’s cell phone from her own went through without problems.

“Deacon,” she said the instant he picked up. “Who is he and why is he here?”

“Give me a description.”

She did. “So?”

“Yes, that’s Deacon. He’s on a job and it’s something I want you on as well—I assume you’ve completed the retrieval for Lacarre?”

“Yeah.” Intrigued by what he wasn’t saying, she put a hand on her hip. “What’s the job, and does it have anything to do with vampires getting their heads lopped off?”

“Deacon will explain. We need to sort this out fast.”

“Will do.” She paused. “Simon. The other thing . . .”

“It’s all right, Sara. The decision doesn’t have to be made today. Or even tomorrow.”

But Sara knew it did have to be made. “After this job. I’ll give you an answer.”

“I’ll wait for it.” A pause. “Sara, Deacon’s extremely dangerous. Be careful.”

“I’m pretty dangerous, too.” Hanging up after a few more words, she went to the door and pulled it open. The man in question was standing on the doorstep. Her eyes drifted down to the duffel that had materialized at his feet. “Whoa. You’re not staying here.”

“I have a lot to tell you. I’ll crash on the floor.”

Her streak of curiosity was a pain in the ass sometimes. “Yeah, you will.” Waving him in, she locked the door. “So, let me guess—we have to find and neutralize this psychopath pretending to be a hunter.” There’d been five murders in the past week and a half that she knew about. All vamps. All killed by decapitation.

Deacon dropped his bag on the floor beside hers and shrugged off his jacket to reveal a rough navy shirt that threw his eyes into even brighter relief. “I’m not so sure he’s pretending. I’ve been on his trail since the day after the second murder, and all signs point to a hunter.”

“I don’t believe you,” she said, remaining by the door, arms crossed.

Putting his jacket over the back of a chair, he pulled it out and grabbed a seat before bending down to unlace his boots. “Doesn’t mean it’s not the truth.”

“Hunters don’t go around killing innocent people.” It wasn’t what they were, what they did. There was honor in being a hunter. “We make sure vampires don’t get killed more often than they already do.” Legend had it that before the formation of the Guild, vampires who dared try an escape were simply executed upon discovery.