Must Love Hellhounds

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.

Having removed both boots and socks, Deacon stretched out his legs and tipped his chair back against the table, eyes intent. “Bill James.”

It was a punch to the gut, a fucking knife to the heart. “How do you know about that?” Nobody but the three hunters who’d gone after him-and Simon, of course-knew about Bill. To the others, he’d died a hero, been given a full Guild funeral.

Deacon continued to watch her with absolute, unwavering focus, a calm that made her wonder if the man ever let go. “My name is Deacon, but most people know me as the Slayer.”

She stared. He wasn’t joking. Fuck.

Pushing off the door, she walked very quietly to the bed and sat down on the edge. “I thought they made you up. Like the bogeyman.”

“The Guild recruits and trains some of the deadliest men and women in the world. We need a bogeyman.”

She shook her head. “Ellie’s never going to believe I met the Slayer.” It was a joke, the name. Taken off a television show. “The Guild really has a hunter whose job it is to hunt our own?”

“Only when necessary.” He didn’t speak again until she raised her head. “And you know it sometimes is necessary.”

“Bill was an aberration,” she said. “Something snapped in him.” The other hunter had taken to killing children, savaging them with an inhumanity that made her gorge rise even now.

“Hunting our own is a rare thing,” Deacon acknowledged. “But it happens. That’s why there’s always a Slayer in the Guild.”

“Why didn’t you track Bill?” Because it was Elena who’d had to kill the older hunter. Sara had been determined to do the gut-wrenching task-Bill was her friend, but he’d been Ellie’s mentor. But Bill had attacked her with a tire iron in an ambush none of them had seen coming. She’d been unconscious before she hit the ground. And her best friend had had to knife her mentor to death.