Angels' Flight(42)

“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 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.”