The Slayer (5 page)

Read The Slayer Online

Authors: Theresa Meyers

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Historical, #Fantasy, #Romance, #Paranormal

BOOK: The Slayer
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“Well, you certainly let me know what you wanted. But it's time you learned what
I
want.” Her sleek, dark brows pinched with disapproval, and she nibbled away at her bottom lip. An image of kissing that exact spot flared to life in his mind and caused his gut to twist with awareness of her very lush female form.
“Do you always wear your hat indoors?”
Winn lifted his chin and snatched the Stetson off his head, heat pricking his neck beneath his shirt collar, making it itch. He hated how easily she made him feel as if he wasn't worthy enough to be scraped from her boots. “I thought you
wanted
me to go with you.”
She turned away from him and looked out through the dark windows that rimmed the observation deck. The airship rose higher into the intense midnight blue of the sky. Her gloved hands gripped the smooth teak railing. “I am tolerating your presence on this ship for a simple reason.” She glanced at him, and sincerity mixed with distrust shone in her eyes. “I feel you could make a difference.”
Winn let that soak in for a second. She needed him, but didn't like him. “No offense, Lady Drossenburg, but as long as we're being honest with one another, I find the fact that you're a vampire revolting.” He resolutely settled the Stetson back on his head.
She glanced at him, her dark brow arched with bemusement, but not anger. “No offense taken, since I find the fact that you are a Hunter equally revolting.” She turned away from him again, her slender back straight as she stared out into the depths of the dark, star-strewn sky.
A long pause stretched out between them, as if she were waiting to see who would fall into the gap and speak first. Winn figured it would have to be her since he didn't have anything more to say.
The broad expanse of glass acted like a mirror, reflecting the curves and elegant lines of her profile. Flawless skin, the color of cream, stretched over high cheekbones and a straight, small aquiline nose. Her lips were a touch too full, but they somehow balanced the thick, long fringe of lashes that curved upward, nearly touching her brow. Winn realized he was staring a second before she caught him.
“Mr. Jackson, I realize you are not comfortable with us, but if you plan on being difficult I will be forced to isolate you to your rooms for the duration of our trip.”
Winn was sorely tempted to tell her to go ahead and try, but experience tempered his tongue. There were far more vampires aboard this ship, and while they wouldn't kill him, because they needed him, they didn't have to be nice about how they got him to wherever they were headed.
She turned and looked at him, the unusual color of her eyes drawing him in. The contessa might be a vampire, but she was also a mighty fine-looking woman. Her glossy curls curved around the small shells of her ears, and each slight tilt of her head made the blood-drop ruby earrings at her lobes dance with movement, drawing his eye to the long column of her neck.
Unlike some homespun frontier woman, there was a natural polish to her that seemed to make her glow with confidence, and an air of superiority which clung to her like a second skin. The way she held up her chin and straightened her spine, the subtle movements of her hands, all spoke of someone used to ordering and being obeyed. She was as intoxicating as a bottle of Kentucky's finest redeye.
“Our captain is awaiting instruction as to your first destination,” she told him briskly, pushing away from the rail and walking quickly past him. Winn silently fell into step behind her, down through the wide-open observation deck to a narrow hallway that ran along the edge of the dining room. A dark, sweet floral perfume followed in her wake, but he couldn't place it. No hint of sulfur. It was a clever trick, but he must never forget that under that creamy skin, behind that sometimes radiant smile, she was a Darkin. A vampire. Someone who, with little provocation, would terminate his life in the blink of her long lashes.
The corridor terminated at a dark, polished wood door with a brass porthole in it.
She stood back and waited for him to enter. Winn felt a bit odd about that. It was true, he'd never taken the time to get to know a vampire before. When he'd been an active Hunter, it had always been kill or be killed. Vampires in his experience weren't much for polite conversation. But her uppity manner was annoying all the same, as if he didn't even measure up to the heel on her highly polished little boots.
Winn put his hand on the warm smoothness of the wooden door. “You know I might not be so inclined to be defensive if you vampires weren't acting so high and mighty.”
Her shoulders stiffened slightly at the insult. “Good evening, Mr. Jackson.” She spun on her heel, but before she could walk away, Winn put his arm out on the opposite wall, barring her exit.
 
 
There was barely room for both of them in the confines of the narrow hallway. The wild scents of desert, sun, sagebrush, leather, and male invaded Alexa's space as she turned and stared hard at him. Her imposing glare usually sufficed in getting others to do as she wished.
Even through the fabric of his duster, she could tell his arm was thick and well-muscled. Winchester Jackson was not a man easily dismissed. And yet, by the gods, she wanted to. From the moment he'd leveled a gun at her, and chosen to think first and shoot later, she'd been intrigued by him. That, coupled with the fact that he seemed to have developed an aversion to hunting, and was part of the legendary Chosen, made her far too interested in him for her own well-being.
“It's two
A.M.
That's hardly evening anymore.”
It wasn't his words, which were prosaic enough, that slipped under her carefully maintained exterior. It was the dark, smoky tone; it was the way the words sounded like pillow talk between lovers. It was the heat in his eyes, and the sound of his elevated heartbeat. Sparks snapped along her nerve endings. Alexa was profoundly grateful she didn't have a bothersome pulse to contend with. Like his pulse, clearly visible at the base of his strong, brown throat, hers would have given her away.
Her gaze snapped to meet his, and she felt herself falling into the blue of his eyes, so dark they matched the midnight sky. Part of being a good diplomat was knowing when to fall back from negotiation. “Of course. Then I'll wish you good morning, Mr. Jackson.”
“Not so fast. Once I've talked to this captain of yours, I'd like to know where my bunk will be. Your kind might not need much rest, but I do.”
“Oh, don't make the assumption we do not sleep,” she replied. “We just sleep like the dead.”
His sculpted, firm bottom lip smoothed slightly at her humor, but it was hard to tell with his mustache if it was the beginning of a smile. The tension that eddied in invisible currents between them began to ease just a little.
He might not like that she was Darkin, or vampire, but he wasn't averse to her personally; she could tell that without being able to read his thoughts. “I'll be back in fifteen minutes. Is that enough time for you to talk to the captain?”
He gave a nod, but a spark still lingered in his eyes.
“You want to tell me why Doc Morpheus and those shifters were after us tonight?” he asked, his voice low.
“Oh, they weren't after me, Mr. Jackson. They were after you. Rumors are circulating among the Darkin that the Book of Legend may be reunited, possibly by the Chosen.” She waited for him to deny it, and when he didn't, Alexa slipped below the level of his arm and walked away. The swish of her taffeta skirts sounded loud to her own ears, but didn't drown out the rush of ichor under her skin.
While vampires might not have a pulse, the immortal ichor, sustained by the life force they withdrew from blood, still ran hot and fast through their veins—and it was certainly doing so now. She held a hand to her heated cheek. Certainly vampire skin was still several degrees cooler than that of a live mortal, but for her it was nearly a blush.
The snick of the door shutting at the end of the hallway indicated he'd entered the bridge. Only then did Alexa hazard a quick glance behind her. He stood there watching her, his gaze intense and assessing. Alexa stifled a gasp, but not quickly enough to stop the rapid intake of breath. He'd deliberately opened the door slightly and let it swing shut and waited for her reaction.
She swung about, mortified that he'd caught her, and balled her fists at her sides, then marched around the corner, where she promptly sagged against the wall.
Insufferable Hunter.
Alexa found she was just as angry with him for tricking her as she was with herself for being affected by him. Why on earth did she react to him in this manner? The feelings were dangerous. Just like the man.
Chapter 4
Alexa didn't see Mr. Jackson again until the sun had already turned the horizon a brilliant apricot over the reddish rock rim of the mountains. Her position on the observation deck, located on the prow, gave her a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree vantage point to the fiery view of the sunrise.
It was so different from the court's location in the Carpathian mountains. Just seeing the rugged beauty of the landscape made her feel, dare she say it? Alive.
She'd deliberately sent Enric back to the bridge to guide the Hunter to his cabin. Under different circumstances she would've escorted a special guest to his quarters personally. But the less time she spent in Mr. Jackson's company, the better.
Over the centuries she'd met hundreds of handsome men. Men of power and prestige. Men who'd satisfied her in many ways. Some she'd cared for. Others had professed their love for her. She was intimately aware of the power of physical attraction. And gods only knew, had acted on it with wild abandon many, many times. But there was something. . . different about Mr. Jackson. Oh, he was a handsome man with those stormy blue eyes and the well hidden smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle delightfully.
Yes, he was tall. And strong. And appealing on a man-woman level. But there was something else—a hard-to-put-her-finger-on danger that emanated from the lawman like a strong aphrodisiac. The wildness of him, she reminded herself, pressing her fist against the giant window and the spectacular view of the rising sun.
Jackson was layered. Tightly layered, and he challenged her on every level.
The lawman was intriguing.
Fascinating.
Unattainable.
Because no matter how much he attracted her, no matter how captivating he might be, he was here for one purpose, and one purpose only: to help her find and recover the stolen piece of the Book of Legend and stop Rathe.
Alexa knew herself well enough to know a temptation when she saw one. Besides, feeding from him would be the ultimate in bad taste as the host of a vampire-phobic guest. But that didn't mean she hadn't thought about it. The image of her teeth scraping over his skin elicited a shiver that danced over her.
The thick, hardy,
thump bump
of his pulse announced his presence before she saw him. He strolled into the observation deck, proud as could be, his battered black duster skimming his long legs as he wove between the groups of chairs and settees. She'd seen the type far too many times—Hunters, drunk with their own self-worth, obsessed with carrying out the order of the Legion no matter what the cost. Winchester Jackson might claim he had abandoned hunting, but the essence of a Hunter clung to him, acrid and permeating as smoke.
He lightly brushed an errant palm frond from his path with the back of his hand. Alexa turned slowly, watching his panther-like approach. Oh, he was dangerous to a woman on so many levels it made her dizzy. After her unexpected reaction last night, she decided to peel apart her behavior and resolved to be more objective and scientific in assessing his strengths and weaknesses.
In the morning light his freshly shaved jaw looked smooth, his nose slightly crooked, as if it had been broken a time or two, and his sculpted mouth was firm and unsmiling beneath the imposing mustache. He'd changed into the fresh white shirt, pinstriped black vest, and black pants Enric had instructed the porter to provide him. And while the more sophisticated clothing made him appear more civilized, good tailoring only emphasized his raw, latent power.
He doffed the black Stetson and bowed slightly, amusement flashing in his gaze as if he could read her mind. Which, she reminded herself, he couldn't. “Good morning, Lady Drossenburg.”
She gave him a slight nod in acknowledgment. “Yes. Good morning. Again,” she murmured faintly, but turned away to gaze out the windows so he wouldn't catch her assessing him too keenly.
A strange sight caught her attention as the sky brightened, turning a turquoise blue at the lip of the horizon. Down below, on the edge of a ridge, sat the most peculiar building she'd ever seen. Strange appendages equipped with hooks, enormous metal pincers, and large lenses stuck out of the building, moving at odd intervals, rather like legs and antennae. The structure resembled an insect. “What is that strange building down there? Not a house, surely?”
Mr. Jackson joined her at the window. Alexa felt the heat of his body so close to hers. Her senses filled with the sound of his blood pumping strongly through his veins, and the heady fragrance of his clean skin. She shifted slightly—not that it helped—and gazed down at the strange little house.
“House, laboratory, workshop. Our first stop. Marley's place.”
“Marley?”
“Yep. Best inventor this side of the Atlantic.”
Alexa turned with a raised brow. “Surely you don't mean Sir Marley
Turlock
?”
His face broke into a cat-ate-the-cream grin. “The one and only. Only out here he don't go by ‘sir' much.”
A bubble of excitement mixed with anticipation welled up inside of her. Alexa hurried out the side door of the observation lounge onto the open-aired deck encircling the gondola and leaned over the rail to get a better look at the inventor's home. She heard the heavy falls of Mr. Jackson's boots against the teak decking as he followed her.
While such scientific occupations were not considered appropriate for nobility, let alone vampiric nobility, she was somewhat of an amateur inventor herself. Accounts of Sir Turlock's work were legendary within scientific circles. Alexa glanced at Mr. Jackson. “I should very much like to meet him.”
His dark brow arched, a glint of surprise flitting through his eyes. He smoothed his mustache with a finger. “I don't know if that'd be the best idea. Marley's a bit touchy when it comes to Darkin.”
She nibbled a bit on her bottom lip. “He doesn't have to know.”
The Hunter snorted and placed his hands on his lean hips. “Lady, he probably knows already. The bat wings on the emblem of your ship are kind of a dead giveaway, and Marley's likely been watching us since first daylight.”
“But if you made the introduction ...” she suggested hopefully.
“But nothing. I can't guarantee Marley won't shoot you on sight, and I'm pretty sure that wouldn't please His Vampire Majesty much.”
“Why don't you let me be concerned with what pleases His Imperial Majesty.” This was an opportunity she couldn't afford to miss. No one had heard of Sir Turlock since the unfortunate electrical experiment that had turned his hair prematurely white, injured a few people, and wiped out the entire fish population in a lake in North Umbria.
Mr. Jackson cracked his neck to the side and rolled his rather large shoulders. “It's your funeral.”
“Those are very overrated,” she murmured, gazing down at the strange little house.
The dirigible neared the bluff.
Zip
.
Ping.
The unusual noise caught her attention. A small ball sailed past them and burst into flame. “He's shooting at us!”
Mr. Jackson simply shrugged. “Told you he don't care much for supernaturals.”
“Can't you reason with him?”
“He won't hear me at this distance, even if I shouted.”
She extended her hand, and a dark swirl of smoke turned into the solid physical shape of what looked like the horn off an Edison phonograph, only with a straight tube instead of a bent one. “Would this help?”
“How's it work?”
She smiled and flipped a few switches on the side of the horn. “It's my own invention. Try speaking through the narrow end.”
 
 
Winn didn't see the harm. He'd done far worse testing out Marley's inventions, which tended to be fantastic successes or horrible failures, with little in between. He held up the small round end to his mouth and spoke. “Marley ... Marley ... Marley ...” The sound came so loud it echoed off the hills. Winn pulled it back and looked at it. “I'll be. It works.” The astonishment in his voice earned him a sour look from the contessa.
Another missile sailed past and, with a
ping
, exploded against the hull. “Good. Get him to stop shooting before he damages us,” she ordered.
Winn lifted up the horn and bellowed. “Damn it, Marley! Stop your shootin', it's me, Winn ... Winn ... Winn ...” The words vibrated his arms so hard they tingled. The volley of projectiles from Marley's direction stopped.
One enormous lens on the roof swiveled into position, lifting to look at them. Winn waved his hat, knowing Marley could see them. A few moments later, Marley flashed the word SAFE in Morse code via a large communication mirror.
“He knows it's me. He gave us the go-ahead to land,” he said. She gave him one quick nod, then closed her eyes as if concentrating.
He waited until her lashes fluttered and her eyes had opened again and the ship began to drop down toward the bluff before he questioned her. “What are you doing?”
“Beg your pardon?”
He rolled his hand in a small circle. “You're doing something when you close your eyes. What is it?”
The contessa gave him a mild look. “Talking to my crew.”
“Talking—
Mind
-talking?” He'd heard of the strange and improbable ability, but Winn wasn't sure he bought into it. He had a hard enough time communicating sometimes even when he spoke clearly and concisely, but deep down he had known something had been going on between her and Enric, and now he knew he'd been right.
The contessa gave him an indulgent smile, as if he were a simpleton. “Vampires are capable of far more than communicating telepathically, Mr. Jackson. It appears your education on my species is lacking.”
That poked a sore spot. Hard.
Winn knew not all Hunters were educated the same, but it was because information in the different parts of the Book scattered across the globe varied considerably, not because he was ignorant.
“Perhaps you'd like to educate me,” he volleyed back. The dilating of her pupils indicated that she hadn't missed his double entendre. Winn wondered what he'd do if she took him up on his offer. Foolish as hell to give in to the churning emotions and needs inside him. She was a vampire. He was a Hunter. They weren't just different people; they were different beings.
He handed her the speaking amplification device. Her eyes narrowed, making the whiskey color of them more intense. She poofed it once again into the smoky particle it had come from.
Last night had been an experiment. He'd wanted to see how she'd react when he turned on a little of the famous Jackson-family charm. It had rattled her for sure. Which meant anytime he needed information or wanted to goad a reaction out of her, he now had a secret weapon in his arsenal. He just had to remind himself to keep a mental distance.
She turned and leaned a hip against the rail to look up at him. She was a good head shorter and had to turn her face up, like a sunflower seeking the sun. In the early morning light her skin was pale and as fine-grained as a baby's. Winn had to shove his hands into his pockets to prevent himself from reaching out to sample her skin and discover if it was as soft as it looked.
Her lips curved in a small smile as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. “Are you going to take me with you to meet Sir Turlock?”
Winn schooled his features, not liking that she so easily read him. He wondered fleetingly if he hadn't been vigilant enough and she could read his mind. He hoped like hell not. While mind reading was part of the glamouring process he knew about, the whole idea that they could telepathically communicate with one another was something new and different. “I'm not going to stop you, but I'm not going to be responsible for his reaction either. I warned you.”
Her lips pressed together into a firm, stubborn line, but given the fullness of them, it only made it look more like she was puckering up for a kiss. His skin contracted. Winn quickly looked away and focused on Marley's place instead. It annoyed him that he reacted to her. Clearly it'd been too long since he'd sought out some female company. She was a vampire. Just a damn vampire, and she'd suck him bone dry just as soon as kiss him. He'd do well to remember that.
A breeze, still cool with morning dew, blew across the deck, heavily scented of wet earth and the last sweetness of night-blooming cactus flowers. Birds zipped about, twittering and chirping morning songs. With quick efficiency the crew unfurled a wooden-rung rope ladder over the side of the airship. The rungs clacked as they hit one another, tumbling end over end to reach the ground. The contessa marched over to the swinging ladder, her military-like efficiency firmly back in place. Posture regal, she glanced over her shoulder. “Are you ready?”
“Perhaps you ought to let me go first. Just so I can prepare him a mite.”
She folded her hands in front of her, but Winn didn't miss the curious mix of anger and disappointment in her eyes. “Very well. Can you please inform us by the mirror when you are ready for me to join you?”

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