Must Love Hellhounds

He looked at me as if I’d betrayed him, Ellie had said afterward, her face splattered with Bill’s lifeblood. I know he had to die, but I can’t stop thinking that he was right. His blood was so hot.

“Sheer bad luck,” Deacon said, dragging her back to the present. “The situation went critical so fast that I couldn’t get back in time-I was on the other side of the world.” He didn’t move, a predator at rest.

“Hunting?”

“Business,” he said to her surprise. “The Slayer’s rarely called for. I’m a weapons maker by vocation.”

“Deacon? Wait a minute.” Pulling her bag across, she unzipped it and grabbed her crossbow. The familiar, stylized D stared up at her from the bottom of the stock. “This is your work?”

A small nod. “I make tools for hunters.”

“You’re the best there is.” This crossbow had cost her a mint. As had the bow she adored. “And you slay in your spare time? Nice.” Shaking her head, she put the crossbow back into the bag. “How come I’ve never heard of you personally?”

“It’s not a good idea to be friends with the people you might one day have to kill.”

“A lonely life.” She hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but she couldn’t imagine that kind of an existence. She was no social butterfly-not yet, anyway-but she had a core group of friends who kept her sane and balanced.

“Slayers are chosen from the loners.” Raising his hands, he undid the first few buttons of his shirt. “Do you want the shower first?”

She wanted to lick her lips, that’s what she wanted to do. The man’s skin stretched golden and strong over that muscular physique, and she could see dark curls of hair in the open triangle of his shirt. Her body tightened… expectant, ready.

Cold shower time.

“Thanks,” she said, getting up. “I’ll make it quick.”

Deacon just nodded as she grabbed her gear and hauled ass. The Slayer was delicious, no question about it, but she wasn’t in the market for a lover. Not when she was about to make the biggest decision of her life. A decision that might make her existence even lonelier than Deacon’s.

Male hunters were macho idiots-and she meant that in the best way-as a rule. Playing second fiddle didn’t come easily. And it didn’t get much more second fiddle than being the Guild Director’s man.

Deacon finally unclenched the hand he’d fisted the instant he sat down in the chair. Sara Haziz was not the woman he’d been led to expect. Simon had some explaining to do.

“Brown skin, brown eyes, black hair, my ass,” he muttered under his breath. The woman was an erotic fantasy come to life. Small, curvy, perfect. Gleaming coffee-and-cream skin, hair that probably fell to her waist when released from that tight braid, and brown eyes so big they saw right through him.

This was not the woman Simon had described as his “sensible successor.” That made her sound about as interesting as shoe leather. It didn’t even hint at the power beneath the surface, the strength in that backbone. He’d met her only a couple of hours ago, and already he knew she could bust balls with the best of them.

The woman would make a perfect Guild Director.

Which meant he should keep his hands, and his thoughts, to himself. No sucking on sexy Sara’s neck. Or other parts of her body. The office of Guild Director was a necessarily public one. Deacon didn’t do public.

“But she’s not director yet.” He tapped a finger on one jean-covered thigh, his eye on the bed.

He wanted Sara. And he didn’t want lightly. But seducing her wasn’t on the agenda.

“Keep her safe. She won’t accept a bodyguard, but you can accomplish the same thing by keeping her with you on the hunt.”

“I work alone.”

Simon’s face was granite. “Tough. She’s one of my best hunters-she won’t slow you down.”

“If she’s one of the best, why does she need babysitting?”

“Because the Cadre knows she’s my chosen successor. I wouldn’t put it past certain archangels to ‘test’ her.”

Deacon raised an eyebrow. “Were you tested?”

“They almost killed me.” Blunt words. “It’s tough to win against five old vamps on your own. I survived only because I happened to be with my wife at the time. Two pissed-off hunters against five vamps is much better odds.”

So here he sat, listening to water cascade in the bathroom as he fantasized about kissing a slow path down Sara’s body. It wasn’t doing anything to lessen his arousal. And if she walked out to find him hard as fucking stone, he knew damn well he’d be spending the night in the corridor outside.

That, he couldn’t chance-he had to keep her in sight. Simon had been very clear about that. If the archangels planned to test her, they’d do it when they thought her vulnerable. So he’d make sure she never was. Shoving a hand through his hair, he got up and checked the room. It was fairly secure. No outside windows-claustrophobic but safe, no entrances or exits aside from the door-which he jammed shut with a special tool of his own making, and no vents large enough for anything to get through.