Must Love Hellhounds

They were closer to the house. But not close enough. If Tim was in there, he was either injured, dead, or didn’t give a shit. Else he’d have been shooting as well. Which meant it was time for drastic measures. Simon had been very clear in his instructions.

“We walk a precarious line. The angels need us. But if we prove too powerful, they’ll cheerfully wipe us from existence. Hurt the vampires they send after you, but try not to kill. Because if you do, you become a threat, not an asset.”

Problem was, the vampires were healing from the nonfatal wounds only to continue their relentless-and openly deadly-assault. “Deacon?”

“Yes.” Agreement.

Even as her hand moved to retrieve the miniature flame-thrower strapped to her thigh, a knife hit the vampire in front of her, severing his carotid artery. As he choked on his own blood and fell away from the attack, another knife lodged in the eye of the vampire she’d hit with her first bolt.

Neither knife was Sara’s.

Then the shooting started.

Knives from the left. Gunshots from the right.

And a clear pathway to the house. It had been the best choice at the start, a place from where they could make a stand. But now the odds had changed. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Fight.”

Smiling, she palmed a second gun from a shoulder holster and began firing two-handed.

Five minutes later, they had their backs to the house and the vampires were bloody and broken; caught between their guns and whoever was throwing knives-and other things-from the vicinity of the fence.

The head vamp raised his hands, palms out. “I yield.”

There was a collective groan from the other vampires-all still alive-as they collapsed onto the ground. Sara couldn’t believe it. “You think I’m just going to let that go?”

The vamp smiled. “Politics is a most unkind mistress.”

“Should I expect any other visits from you?”

“No. The test has been passed.” He blinked, his injured eye healing at a phenomenal rate. “And the archangels have little interest in the inner workings of the Guild.”

“So the whole trying-to-kill-me thing? What was that?”

“It had to be done.” Shrugging, he turned to his troops. “It’s time to go.”

Another five minutes and there wasn’t a single vampire to be seen in the cool dawn light of a winter morning. Sara finally lowered her weapons and glanced at Deacon. He was bloody, his jacket torn in several places, but it was the look in his eyes that rocked her to the core. He was pissed. “Goddamn it, Sara. I don’t like you being hurt.” And then he kissed her.

It was hot and wild and amazing… until Lucy began howling. And someone coughed.

Sara tore away from the kiss, gun raised-to see a tall woman with long white blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, her eyes frankly curious and her body plastered with knives. “So,” Ellie said, with a huge smile, “you and the Slayer, huh? I like.” She looked Deacon up and down, and whistled. “Best Friend Seal of Approval bestowed. With gold foil edging, even.”

Grinning, Sara went to hug her. Elena shook her head. “I love you, Sara, but you’re all bloody with vampire.”

“Ugh.” Sara looked down at her soaked clothing. “I thought I told you to stay away.”

“Would you have done that?” Ellie raised an eyebrow. “Exactly.”

Giving up, Sara threw up her hands. “We need to check on Tim-the hunter inside.” She turned to Deacon. “Think we should send Ellie in? We wouldn’t want to get blood all over Tim’s floor.”

Deacon’s eyes gleamed. “Good idea.”

Elena glanced from one to the other. “Do I have ‘sucker’ written on my forehead? I don’t think so. I know all about Timothy’s demon fiend of a sidekick.”

Despite his words, Deacon was already at the door. “Tim?”

“I’m okay,” came the groaning answer as Lucy went into a barking frenzy. “Luce, girl, down.” A few growls but the dog quieted.

“Cover me,” Deacon said and opened the door.

Sara was ready to shoot Lucy-to disable, not kill-but “the damn devil-eyed dog” was sitting attentively by the sprawled form of her master, grinning as if she wasn’t just waiting for a chance to bite off their faces. Tim had a gun in hand, a nasty bruise on the side of his face… and smelled like a distillery.

“Jesus, Tim,” Ellie muttered, waving a hand in front of her hunter-sensitive nose. “What, you took a beer bath?”

Tim winced. “Shh.”

“You’ve been on a bender?” Sara blew out an angry breath. “We thought you were dead.” Or a serial killer.

“Hey,” he muttered, “I got conscious long enough to shoot them, didn’t I? And I’m allowed to go on a bender after I find a vampire torn to pieces by a hate group-they even cut off his fingers one by one. How fucking noble.”

Sara had had one of those cases, too. She’d baked nonstop for five days after. Her neighbors loved her. “Who’s been feeding Lucy?”

“Me, of course.” He gave her an indignant look. “As if I’d leave my baby without food.” He kissed that mangy black head. “She knows where her stash is. And I leave fresh water all over the place.”

“Tim,” Sara pushed, “this is important. Can you prove where you’ve been the past few days?”