Read The Slayer Online

Authors: Theresa Meyers

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

The Slayer (12 page)

BOOK: The Slayer
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“Materializing objects is not a trick, Mr. Jackson, it is a power we work to achieve.”
He took the glass and sniffed the contents, making sure it was wine. The pleasantly tart flavor of grape swirled in his mouth, but he nearly choked when he saw what the contessa had in her own glass. She held her own goblet to her lush mouth, but the red liquid was too bright, too viscous, to be wine.
“That a special vintage?” he asked, suspicion lacing his tone. She pulled the glass away from her lips and nodded.
“Anything I'd want to try?”
The contessa arched a brow and shrugged. “I'm not in the habit of telling men such as yourself what you can and cannot do.”
Winn was momentarily distracted by the disappearance of his soup bowl and its replacement by a dinner plate filled with braised beef, tender asparagus, and roasted red potatoes. It smelled better than anything he'd eaten in months. The back of his mouth ached and watered. His stomach growled. He didn't bother trying to figure out which fork he was supposed to use to be proper; he just grabbed one and tucked in.
“It's good to see a man with an appetite,” she said softly.
Winn glanced up at her as he chewed a bit of beef so tender he could cut it with his fork. He swallowed. “You say that like it hasn't happened in a while.”
She sipped at her wineglass thoughtfully. “Perhaps because it has been a long time. I've been a widow now nearly two hundred years.”
Winn choked and launched into a coughing fit. “Two—two hundred years?”
She wove her hands together and rested her chin on them. Her gaze danced with amusement. “Does that surprise you?”
“A little,” he muttered. “You don't look a day older than one-fifty—one-sixty at most.” He knew she had to be an old vampire to have the powers she did, but there was no way a man looking at her could have guessed her age. The smooth unblemished complexion, glossy hair, thick fringe of lashes about her eyes, and lush figure hinted at someone likely in her twenties, if that. “Not that I mean any disrespect,” he added quickly, then started eating again. Perhaps if he was eating she wouldn't expect any more conversation from him.
She gifted him with a generous smile that fisted straight through his chest and squeezed his heart hard, and for a second Winn forgot how to swallow.
“No offense taken. In fact, it pleases me enormously.”
“That I can't guess your age or that you surprised me?”
“Both. You aren't like any other Hunters of my acquaintance.”
“And that's a good thing?”
“Absolutely.” A flicker of anger flared deep in her eyes then disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
“You don't like Hunters much.”
“Before meeting you, no. You see, Mr. Jackson, Hunters killed the count, my mother and father, my brothers and sisters. My cousin, the emperor, is really all I have left of my original family.”
“Hard to forget those who've done you wrong, isn't it?”
“Which is why I find you so refreshing, Mr. Jackson. The Hunters in Europe will smile at you while they stab you in the back. They are well versed in the arts of politics and intrigue. While they profess to live as equals among us, they can never be truly trusted.”
The fork slipped from Winn's grasp and clattered on the plate. “Sorry,” he muttered, feeling every inch a sodbuster sitting with royalty, rather than an accomplished lawman.
“You are everything you appear to be, Mr. Jackson, and you say precisely what you think. That is what I like best about you. I will always know where I stand with you, whether enemy or ally.”
Her words were simple enough but wormed their way down into the deepest parts of him, pricking his conscience and bruising his honor. She was wrong. There were dark parts of him that never came to the surface, were never allowed to. He'd done things he was horribly ashamed of. How could she accept him so completely when he didn't even accept himself? “I can honestly say, Lady Drossenburg, you're not like any vampire I've ever met before either.”
She leaned forward slightly, the light from above causing a slight shadow along the velvety upper swell of her pale breasts. Her long, tapered finger lightly brushed her full lips, making Winn think seriously about what it might be like to kiss her. With her finger she traced around the edge of her crystal goblet, making it sing. The vibration of it went straight through him. “True, but then how many noble vampires from the House of Drossenburg have you had dinner with?”
A smile tugged at the corner of Winn's mouth, and he couldn't stop it. “Only one.”
“And how many noble vampires from the House of Drossenburg have you danced with?”
Her question took him aback. He didn't dance. Climb trees, scale the rock face of a cliff, or crawl through a forest on his belly, he'd done, but not dance. The promising start of his smile flattened. “None.”
“Well, clearly we shall have to remedy that immediately.” She rose, elegant and fluid, from her chair, and Winn automatically stood out of courtesy.
As she walked by, the tantalizing scent of sweet female filled his nose and the satin of her dress made soft slithering sounds, bringing to mind the sound of sheets moving on a bed. Winn discarded the thought with annoyance. He'd been far too long without a woman. That was all.
The contessa glanced over her bare shoulder at him, her amber eyes half hidden behind luxurious sable lashes. “You will dance with me, won't you, Mr. Jackson?” The words were simple. Easy. Something any female could have said. But her husky tone slipped like smoke through his defenses, making him far too aware of just how truly female she was.
Winn's pulse sped up, and he tried to ignore the distinct pressure building in his groin. She might be a vampire, but Lady Drossenburg was much, much more than
just
a vampire. How could he tell her no without appearing impossibly rude? he told himself. Besides, he could certainly find her attractive without trusting her. The two didn't have to go together like meat and potatoes.
He followed her out the double doors of the dining room and found that the furniture and potted palms of the observation deck had been pushed aside, and the carpets rolled away, leaving a smooth expanse of dark wooden flooring.
At the corner on a high table stood a phonograph. The contessa scooped up the train of her red satin skirt and draped it over her arm and nodded at the phonograph. Winn watched in wonder as it began to spin, the needle lifting of its own accord onto the wax cylinder. Strains of music filled the room, and Winn stepped toward her, grasping her right hand in his left and settling his right hand upon her slender waist.
“You'll have to show me what to do,” he said, and was horrified by how lust-filled his voice sounded to his own ears. The contessa simply smiled, her teeth white and even against the dusky color of her full lips.
“It is easy enough. First let the music fill you. Then step to the side and allow your other foot to follow. Then repeat to the other side.”
He took a deep breath, letting it fill his chest, and felt the music causing him to sway, then stepped as she suggested. Outside the windows of the observation deck the night was a midnight swath of blue velvet studded with diamond stars. He wasn't sure if any of her crew was watching them from hidden locations, but he doubted it.
Beneath his hand the curve of her hip slid against the silk of her gown, causing a friction that made it hard to focus as she swayed and turned with him, alone on the dance floor. Her breasts brushed now and again against his chest. Winn wasn't sure how long he could endure the torment. The suit was beginning to chafe, especially the pants.
She gazed up at him, her eyes soft and sensual. “See? You have an untapped natural ability, Mr. Jackson,” she murmured.
He gazed down deeply into her eyes, nearly getting lost in the rich golden color, and stopped dancing. For a moment he just held her in the circle of his arms. “Winchester,” he said softly.
“Pardon?”
Winn lightly wrapped one of her dark curls around his finger. It was silken to the touch and made him envision threading his fingers through a mass of curls tumbling down her bare back. “You ought to call me Winchester, or Winn. After all, there are three of us who are Mr. Jackson. I'd hate to think you meant one of my brothers instead of me.”
Her eyes twinkled with merriment, and she lightly bit her bottom lip. “Then you shall also call me by my given name.”
Winn shook his head. “Oh, I don't know that your crew would be very happy if I stopped using your title.”
“Then what do you propose? We have clearly gone beyond formal titles.”
Winn bent his finger, tucking it under her chin and lifting her face a fraction closer to his. He'd never been this close to a vampire without fearing for his life, but in this moment he found himself fearing a loss of his control far more. “Would you mind if I called you Tessa?”
Her gaze shifted, lingering on his mouth for a moment, then reconnected with his, full of heat and intent. “Tessa it shall be.”
Winn knew what a woman looked like when she wanted to be kissed. And while every male instinct in him shouted to grab her, kiss her hard, and indulge in the feel of her, Winn was experienced enough to know that just because you wanted to do something, didn't mean you should.
Instead he brushed the satin softness of her cheek with his fingertips. The pad of his thumb lightly grazed her sensual bottom lip. He drew in a sharp breath and found it saturated with the exotic floral fragrance that cloaked her skin. It reached in and coiled about his senses. It intensified the feel of her soft curves beneath his hand, and the heat which radiated off her. His pulse grew so loud he could hear the rushing thump of it filling his ears. For a moment it was just the two of them alone flying among the stars.
He leaned down slowly, and kissed her gently at first, taking his time as he sampled the soft suppleness of her lips. But the contessa was not about to let him set the pace. The moist, warm tip of her tongue slid against the seam of his mouth, and he granted her access, kissing her deeply. She stood on her toes, pressing her lithe body firmly against his. Her eager response shattered his control. A growl of need vibrated deep in his chest.
Her lips curved into a smile against his mouth. “You have an untamed wildness about you,” she murmured between sensual, lingering kisses. “I like it.”
God help him, he liked the very feminine feel and smell of her. But try as he might to lose himself in the moment, Winn couldn't ignore a lifetime of training. There at the edge of her bottom lip were the slightly longer canines that had descended.
Reality hit him hard upside the head like the butt end of a rifle, making his ears ring. What was he thinking? No matter how exquisite she felt in his arms, she was a vampire. With one flick of her fangs she could end his life. And while her fangs had yet to fully emerge, there was a fine line between lust and bloodlust. He pulled back, far too aware of exactly where this was headed, and grasped her hands in his. He brushed a kiss over the back of each of her hands.
“You are a temptation, Tessa, but this is not the time, nor the place. We have a mission, and despite what you may think of my station, I am underneath it all a gentleman.”
And a Hunter
, he added silently.
He gave her a deep bow from the waist and retreated to his cabin, where he locked and barred the door.
Chapter 10
Weak sunlight pouring through the porthole of his cabin woke Winn. He opened the round brass porthole and found himself staring at the most unusual sight. Down below was the bustle and hum of a large city surrounded by water. The sun was coming up in the east, so he knew they could only have made it as far as the East Coast. On closer inspection, he recognized the outline of the newly completed Brooklyn Bridge from drawings he'd seen in the newspaper.
Tall, boxy buildings, crammed cheek to jowl, rose into the sky along wide, bricked avenues. The clatter of horse hooves and cart wheels and the hum of voices grew fainter as they rose into the sky.
Winn pulled on a clean shirt and buttoned it quickly, running his hand through his hair to smooth it. If they were already in New York, they must have made a stop to resupply before crossing the Atlantic.
He took the stairs two at a time up to the topmost deck. The observation lounge was back the way it had been before last night's dance.
The contessa stood alone, observing the city and the ocean as the dirigible rose higher.
“Did we stop already?”
“Yes. There were certain supplies needed before we made the crossing.”
Winn tensed, wondering if any of them had been people. She turned her gaze, connecting with his. “Before you ask. Yes, some of my children did feed. One thing you must understand about vampires, Winchester, is that while they may be undead, they still have strong urges and desires, as real and passionate as any living mortal. They will be far more focused when we reach our destination if I let them satisfy themselves before we embark on the rest of our journey.”
Winn's ears grew distinctly warmer and his heart beat a little faster. He wasn't used to talking about such matters with proper ladies, but since she'd brought up the subject ...
“And is that what happened between us last night? Was that just an urge?”
Her eyes hardened into glittering amber. “Perhaps you are unaware, but there is more than one reason a vampire's fangs might descend.”
“Who said I was talking about your fangs?”
Alexa stared hard at him, challenging his ludicrous question. They both knew he'd left abruptly as soon as he noticed her fangs had been exposed. She'd seen his eyes narrow and grow troubled. But she truly couldn't have helped it. Before he'd even kissed her they'd begun to throb behind the soft tissues of her upper gumline, begging for release. Kissing him had only made it worse. “When vampires are aroused, their fangs are often released.”
For a second, confusion swirled with indignation in the blue of his eyes, then clarity dawned, and his eyes widened slightly. A sly smile lifted the corner of his mouth, reminding her with bone-liquefying intensity precisely why she hadn't been able to hold them back with him.
“Is that what happened.” He sounded far too pleased with himself. “So if I do this”—he ran his fingertips lightly across her cheek and down the length of her neck—“is that enough to make them descend?”
Sparks arced through her from the contact, tightening her breasts and quickening the pulse of her ichor. “It's a start.” She knew better than to bait him, but she couldn't seem to stop herself.
His gaze grew determined, sucking her in and making the very air between them vibrate with the tension. “Hmm, what about this?” Winchester leaned in and followed the path of his fingers with the firm, sensual press of his mouth against her skin in a series of quick kisses.
The tickle of his mustache sent tremors up and down her spine. “Show me your teeth.”
Her request made him pull back a fraction. “Pardon?”
“Bite me.”
One of his brows quirked upward. “That's certainly a first. Never had a vampire ask me to bite them before.”
He nuzzled beside her ear, inhaling deeply. “Why is it you don't smell like sulfur like other Darkin? You smell instead like a flower garden at midnight.” He brushed his lips over skin in a silken slide along her neck that turned her knees to the consistency of aspic.
“It's jasmine—” She gasped as his teeth scraped her sensitive flesh, making her ichor flow faster and harder through her veins. “We only emit the characteristic Darkin marker when we are preparing to kill or in imminent danger. Otherwise I just smell of jasmine.”
“Ummm. I like it.”
Not half as much as she did, she was sure. The pressure to release her fangs was causing a substantial ache both to her gums and much lower. It had been a long time since she'd taken a lover. How could she even consider it? He was a Hunter, after all. He nipped at her collarbone, then soothed the spot with a soft laving of his tongue.
Alexa couldn't hold them back. Her fangs came out in full force, and she knew from experience her bloodlust wouldn't be far behind. Sexual satisfaction was intensified a hundredfold when paired with feeding, for both the vampire and his or her chosen partner. But it was yet one more reason she couldn't take Winchester Jackson as a lover, even if he made her crave it.
He pulled back, and his gaze was seductive. “Well, I'll be. You were right, Tessa. There they are.”
She was shocked when he pulled her hard against him and slanted his mouth hard against hers, the tip of his tongue tentatively caressing one of her fangs. Alexa's knees threatened to buckle. The fangs were tied so closely to her most intimate places on her body that she felt the slick, warm caress between her thighs.
She gasped at the intense sensation. If she did not restrain him, or at the very least herself, the temptation to feed from the virile offering, pumping so richly through his veins with a pulse like a siren's song, would overcome her. So Alexa did the only thing she could. She feigned indifference, even though it was the furthest thing from the truth.
“And is your curiosity now satisfied, Mr. Jackson?”
 
 
Winn's skin prickled as confusion tore through him at the sudden shift in her demeanor to nearly that of an ice princess. He didn't care for women who played games. Damn. He'd let himself get so caught up in her allure, he'd forgotten for a moment that she wasn't just a woman, she was a vampire. Winn released his hold on her, fixing his gaze on the sharp ivory points pressing against her bee-stung, rosy bottom lip. “It was very educational, Lady Drossenburg. Thank you.” The air cooled even further, turning frigid between them.
She straightened the edge of her dress that he'd pulled aside when he'd bitten at her neck like a damn vampire. No wonder it had gotten her aroused. The contessa inclined her head politely. “My pleasure, Mr. Jackson. If you will excuse me, I will see to the necessities of our departure.”
Winn watched her walk away, stiff as a board, her skirts slithering over the floor in a train of dark purple taffeta the color of a bad bruise. He wanted to kick something. Hard. Instead Winn pulled back his fist and slammed it into the wall. His knuckles screamed in protest. He rubbed his throbbing hand with his opposite palm. Next time he'd know better than to trust his libido. Hell, who was he kidding? There wasn't going to be a next time, or for that matter an ever again.
Hunters had strict rules of engagement for good reason: to save their asses. And rule number three was ironclad.
A Hunter didn't involve himself with a Darkin lover. Ever. It clouded one's judgment.
Winn growled, angry at himself and just as pissed at Colt for falling into the same damn trap. Maybe his little brother was smarter than he was; maybe he'd gotten rid of that demon by now. He hoped.
Winn watched the city fall away as they drifted purposefully out over the ocean. Soon there was nothing more to see than endless blue. It became monotonous, rather like the life of a Hunter. He sequestered himself in his cabin, cleaning and checking his weapons for the remainder of the day.
Once upon a time he'd been naïve enough to believe he could simply walk away from the life and be someone normal. Now Winn knew better. Hunting wasn't going to let go of him. Not now, not ever. Unless Rathe managed to open the Gates of Nyx. If he did, then none of them had much longer. With that morbid thought, Winn went back to polishing his weapons.
As the sky beyond the porthole darkened there was a knock at his door. He didn't bother answering it. It wasn't until he smelled the tantalizing fragrance of roast chicken that he bothered to open the door. A dinner tray covered with a linen napkin sat waiting for him. A quick glance up and down the beautifully wood-paneled hallway showed it was empty. Taking the tray into his cabin, he kicked the door shut.
He ate dinner, then washed up and got between the soft cotton sheets. The bed was too soft, the gaslights too bright. He switched off the lights, allowing a stream of silvery moonlight to fill the small cabin. He tossed and turned, brooding in his bed until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, and somewhere over the empty openness of the Atlantic, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
 
 
He awoke with his head throbbing and his joints aching like he'd been on an all-night bender down at the Golden Goose Saloon with a miner determined to celebrate his good fortune with everyone in the place.
From the pale daylight he could tell it was morning. He washed his face, but didn't bother scraping the stubble from it. What was the point in appearing respectable? He'd gone and proved to himself yesterday he wasn't. What Hunter went and kissed a vampire?
Winn glanced at the fancy-pants suit he'd worn dancing with the contessa and decided against putting on any of the clothes her crew had neatly placed in the drawers of his dresser. Instead he pulled on his familiar clothes and gathered up his weapons. His duster and hat gave him a sense of security. Winn knew who he was and who he wasn't. The weight of his rifle and the crossbow on his back, the pistol and water repeater holstered on either hip, and his bowie knife in his boot comforted him. Besides, he wasn't about to leave them behind for anyone to help themselves or sabotage him.
He marched up the stairs to the observation deck. Through the windows it looked as if they were lost in the clouds. White and grayish mist obscured everything, and Winn couldn't even tell if they were still above the endless ocean or not.
Just beyond the windows, he caught sight of the contessa pacing the rail. Her long-sleeved, dark blue gown sported a rather large bustle, had an underskirt and accents at the hems and cuffs of pleated purple, and twin rows of large, gold buttons marched down her chest to the bottom of her military-style jacket. Winn decided to join her and find out exactly how long it was going to be before they reached their destination.
“Good morning, Tessa.”
She turned, her eyes narrowing a fraction as she lifted her chin. Drops of moisture clung to her upswept dark hair like little diamonds. “Did you sleep well?”
Winn shrugged. “Pretty deep, but good.” Why did she want to know?
“Enric was concerned when you didn't wake the second day.”
A chill skated through him that had nothing to do with the dampness in the air that clung to his lashes and wet his skin. “Second day? How long was I asleep?”
“This is your fourth day aboard the ship.”
How was that possible? Her brow furrowed slightly before she turned away from him to stare at the nothingness of swirling white on the other side of the rail. A prickling sensation at the back of his neck told Winn she knew more than she was telling him. Winn moved as quickly and silently as he could, placing a hand on either side of the railing, effectively trapping her between him and the rail. “What are you not telling me, Tessa?” he growled into her ear.
She stiffened in front of him, her posture defensive, making her shoulder blades poke him in the chest. “Enric added some herbs to your roast chicken to help you sleep.”
Winn cursed in four different languages. That explained the pounding in his head. “You drugged me?”
“It was for your own benefit.”
Winn lost his patience. He leaned forward and grabbed her determined little chin in his hand, forcing her to twist around and look him in the eye. “Don't you
ever
do that to me again. I'll decide what's best for me. Got it?”
She nodded, but her eyes were mutinous. He'd been rougher than he'd meant to be. He let go of her, releasing his hold on the rail and stepping back.
“You should be giving me your thanks instead of haranguing me,” she muttered, an angry edge to her tone. “The voyage over the ocean was hardly smooth. You're better off having slept through it.”
“Don't matter. I'm not afraid of the hard stuff, Tessa, but I hate not being able to control my own decisions.”
Before them the misty gray veil of clouds parted, revealing a sight that shocked Winn's mind and ensnared his imagination. The pale stone walls of a castle stood stark and defiant on a rocky perch. A lone tower, capped in a sloped, black slate spire, pierced the sky. Even from this distance he could easily make out the image of the Drossenburg family crest on the flag, bat wings and all, in the field of bloody red.
BOOK: The Slayer
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