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 Imperialâ”
“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.
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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 beingâDarkin 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.”
“Certainâ”
“And I want your promise that no matter what happens, you'll bring me home when this is all over. Dead or alive.”
Alexa looked at the imperial envoy, Enric.
You notice he didn't mention undead
. Enric's voice, laced with amusement, filtered through her thoughts.
I certainly did. Can you read his thoughts?
No. They're blocked.
He frowned slightly.
It poses a risk to have a trained Hunter aboard who can shield himself like this.
Alexa's mouth flattened into a determined line.
We are at far greater risk from Rathe and the other Darkin aligned with him. We must recover our piece of the Book at any cost.
You are right.
She caught Winn's hard stare and offered her hand. “Agreed.”
Winn took it and shook it twice. His grip was firm but not punishing. He was a man who meant what he said and said what he meant. Perhaps there was no reason she needed to read his mind when his emotions were so boldly displayed on his features and his words were so plain.
Relieved that they hadn't had to forcibly kidnap him, Alexa's shoulders relaxed. This had gone more easily than she'd imagined, although she suspected that Winchester Jackson wasn't an “easy” man. He was far more complex and deep than he let on. But Alexa had had hundreds of years to learn how to deal with complicated, difficult men. For now she'd enjoy her victory. She offered him a small smile. “We shall depart within the hour. Will that give you sufficient time to pack?”
“I already did.”
His response took her aback, making an uncomfortable tingle skitter up the back of her bare neck. If he'd planned to go with them all along, why did he act so hesitant, and why all the conditions?
It didn't matter, she firmly reminded herself. Vlad would be pleased she'd accomplished her diplomatic mission regardless. And the sooner she got away from Mr. Winchester Jackson, the safer she'd feel.
A slight scuffling noise and the uneasy shuffle of horse hooves caught her attention. Alexa cocked her head to listen, her preternatural hearing particularly acute.
Mr. Jackson's nostrils flared slightly. His gaze flicked to the door, and his eyes narrowed. “We've got company. Your people?”
“No.” Enric raised a brow. “There's someone outside.” The clack of Mr. Jackson's cocking his rifle caused her gaze to dart back to the Slayer. In just the brief second she'd looked away, he'd settled his Stetson on his head and grabbed a long black oilcloth duster and his rifle from an iron nail on the rough wall. She didn't miss the gun belt and holster strapped to his thigh that disappeared behind the oilcloth or the glint of the bowie knife handle in the top of his boot.
“Just past the cell block on the left is the back door to get to the outhouse. Get her out of here. Now,” Mr. Jackson said low and deep. He hunkered down behind his desk and leveled his rifle, taking aim at the door.
The telltale odor of sulfur might be faint to Mr. Jackson, but now that she noticed it, Alexa didn't know how she'd ignored it before. There were Darkin outside. How many, she didn't know. But they must be here for him.
His Imperial Majesty said Jackson was key to defeating Rathe. Surely the other side, under Rathe's command, was just as eager to keep him from reaching Europe as the vampires were to get him there. Enric grabbed her by the elbow and tried to steer her toward the door at the back of the Bodie jail. Alexa yanked her arm from his grip.
I'm staying.
With all due respect, my lady, my job is to protect you.
She glared at Enric.
And my job is to protect him.
Enric frowned.
Very well. We will both stand and fight.
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Today had been filled with enough weird encounters with Darkin that Winn wasn't exactly sure what to make of the ones coming his way now.
A loose board on the rickety porch right in front of the door creaked. Winn slipped his finger over the trigger of his shotgun. No use taking chances. The knob on the front door rotated, then stopped. The back door clicked shut.
There was a muffled curse and a hiss, then the sound of running feet that doubled around the back of the jail.
Winn shot up out of his stance and rushed the front door, yanking it open only to find darkness. There was no one to be seen. “Damn,” Winn muttered.
A heavy blow near the back of his neck sent a spurt of stars into his vision. Winn wheeled around, trying to use the butt of his rifle on his attacker. He grunted, landing one blow, but the man was too fast, or invisible.
The stench of sulfur cut through the night air, sharp and pungent, burning in his nose and eyes, but Winn couldn't see the creature's face until he stepped into the pool of light coming through the doorway.
Winn went momentarily rigid as he saw the face of Hoss Dalton.
“What the hellâ”
A fist like a sledgehammer slammed hard against his jaw, making Winn stumble back. Didn't matter what the bastard looked like, he had a hard right hook, and no way could Hoss hit that hard. Winn bent low and grabbed up his rifle, firing it point blank in the belly of the Darkin while he could still see the bastard.
The creature stumbled back screaming, its voice fading to a thin wail almost like a steam whistle as the silver in Marley's special bullets dissolved the Darkin into a column of acrid black smoke.
“That's one down,” he muttered. Winn didn't waste a second. He dashed inside, grabbed his black knapsack, slapped his rifle holster and gun on his back, and ran out the back door. Enric and the contessa were fighting with two more Darkin that looked like members of Dalton's gang. Damn shifters. They must have gotten to the bodies and taken the skins before the mortician reached them.
Bits of flashing light were still sparking in his vision, but he could see the vampires and shifters were equally matched. If he'd been a normal Hunter, he would have sat back, poured himself a shot of whiskey, and watched the show, but nothing about this was normal. He'd already given his word to help the vampires, and even if he wasn't a Hunter any longer, Winn was still a man of his word.
He squinted, trying hard to aim at the shifters in the dark, but the vampires moved so damned fast he couldn't get a clean shot. He settled for winging one of the shifters and letting the silver do the rest.
Winn shut one eye, set his sights, and shot. The sound of the gun firing made all the Darkin, shifter and vampire alike, pause for one second. The creature he'd shot bucked forward, one hand clawing at its back. It twisted, its eyes fully black now, and not anything close to human, while it dissolved into a thick twist of dark sulfuric smoke.
The vampires took off running, the last shifter taking off after them.
Winn cursed under his breath. He was clearly out of practice in this game. He'd forgotten how fast Darkin could move. He ran back around the front of the jail and grabbed the horse at the closest hitching post, kicking him into a gallop after the contessa, Enric, and the shifter.
Beneath the dark, starlit sky, a moon, cleaved in half as it waxed toward full, hovered over Bodie. It illuminated the pale surface of the desert enough that he could see their bodies, dark and moving in the night.
The horse huffed beneath him, hooves pounding out a solid rhythm and kicking up spurts of dirt as they galloped toward his target. Damn vampires. He knew they could move fast as a bolt of lightning under the right circumstances, but he hadn't thought they could make it this far in the time it had taken him to get a damn horse.
The night smelled of dirty oil from the creosote bushes, and wood smoke from the fires in Bodie. A faint tint of sulfur in the air, from the supernaturals ahead of him, confirmed the Darkin presence.
Silver moonlight washed the desert in light and shadow, turning it surreal and painting haunted faces on the rocks where there were blank slates in the daylight.
Winn pulled the reins, moving the horse in a wide arc so he could intercept the quickly moving supernaturals. He pulled his rifle from the holster on his back and pulled down the lever, preparing to shoot. The vampires ran straight at him, then split apart at the last moment, giving him a clear opening at the shifter.
Winn fired.
The shifter jerked to a stop, peering down at his chest before his whole body began to shake and convulse, exploding into a fireball, then a twisted column of smoke.
Both the contessa and Enric walked toward him, neither of them breathing hard, because they didn't need to, but both looking far more worn than they had in his office. “You two okay?”
Enric gave him a stiff nod. A dark, deep set of scratch marks across his cheekbone marred his pretty face. “Was that the last of the four of them?”
“Four?” Winn knew of only three. Damn. There was still one on the loose.
A haughty laugh, deep and vile, interrupted them. All three of them turned in unison as a man dressed like a dapper plantation owner in a long, gray coat, hat, and gloves approached. He clapped, his gloves muffling the sound. Despite the dust of the desert his clothes were spotless perfection.
“Very well done. Very well, indeed.” His smooth Southern drawl had an unctuous quality to it that crawled beneath Winn's skin.