Синтия Иден - I’ll Be Slaying You

Simon smiled.

Frankie started to shake.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Simon whispered, the scent of his own blood clogging his nostrils. “You had your chance.”

Now, it was his turn.

“Ready for a new case?”

Dee glanced up when Jason Pak strolled into her office. The guy had on one of his fancy suits—always, the fancy suits—and he was smiling.

A smile from Pak was never a good thing.

Dee slowly eased her feet off the desk. “What kind of case?” She’d been thinking about taking a break. Maybe heading over to Biloxi and staying at one of the casinos and enjoying the beach.

He shut the door. No sound. Pak was good at not making any noise. He’d told her once that he’d learned to hunt and track with his Choctaw grandfather.

And that he’d learned to kill by trailing his Korean mother.

He crossed the room and tossed a file onto her desk. “We’ve got word that a Born Master is in town.”

Her blood froze. The ice thickened inside of her, then rose to coat her skin as the chill enveloped her.

Born Master. She licked dry lips. Okay, not a lot scared her, but those bastards did. “What’s a BM doing in this city?” Born Masters were rare, thank Christ. Only a handful were in the United States. Most of them preferred to stay in Europe or Africa.

Born Masters were the vamps who were born bloodsuckers. Well, okay, technically, they were born looking human, acting human, but they weren’t.

Eventually their bodies stopped tolerating human food. The hunger for blood consumed them. Their teeth sharpened. Their senses kicked up to super level, along with their strength.

And then you knew, those freaks weren’t human. They were pretty much immortal.

Pak gave a shrug and his dark eyes never left her face. “I’d guess he’s looking to build a beautiful little vamp army.”

Her back teeth locked. The disease of vampirism had come from the genetic jokes that were the BMs. The Born Masters had gone out, bitten their prey, exchanged blood, and what should have been a few DNA freaks way back when—well, they’d multiplied. Nearly swept away a whole country back in the Middle Ages.

Black Plague, her ass.

It was so easy to rewrite history sometimes. Especially when you were trying to stop the humans from panicking.

Dee pressed her palms against her jean-clad thighs. The better to wipe the sweat away. Because, yeah, she was sweating. Taking down a Born Master wasn’t an easy task. BMs were too strong. All the ones she’d ever heard of were close to a millennia old.

In the vamp world, age brought strength. Especially to the Borns.

“The streets can’t be flooded with Taken,” Pak said, crossing his arms over his chest and watching her with the cold stare that always saw too much.

She rolled her shoulders and tried to look like her heart wasn’t about to break out of her chest. “Maybe the bastard isn’t planning to change folks.” The Taken were the vamps who were killed, then reborn to a life of blood and fury. Not everyone could survive the transformation. “Maybe he’s just looking for some kills.” Her voice was cool, expressionless. “Could be he just wants a bloodbath.”

Sandra Dee! Run, baby, run—

The scream pierced her mind and her hands pressed harder against her thighs. No, can’t think about that now.

Not with Pak watching her like she was some kind of lab rat.

“Been a long time since the city saw a vampire rampage.”

Her face had been ice cold, now her cheeks burned with pinpricks of heat. “Yeah. About sixteen years.” Could have been yesterday though. Because those blood-soaked memories weren’t ever gonna fade.

Mama? Not sleeping. No, she wasn’t sleeping in her bed.

Pak’s head cocked to the right. “I need you to be straight with me, Dee.”

Now that snapped her out of the past. She sat up, fast, eyes narrowing. “I’ve always been upfront with you, Pak. Always.” There wasn’t a shadow in her life he didn’t know about. Without Pak, she would have been on the streets.

No, she would have been dead.

She’d been eighteen and he’d given her a place to stay. He’d taken shit for it, too. A forty-year-old man bringing in a stray from the streets.

Sex hadn’t been an issue with them, though most folks didn’t buy that. Course, Dee didn’t give a shit what most folks thought. Pak hadn’t been a father figure. She’d had a father. Pak had just been someone to keep the monsters at bay.

Then someone to teach her how to kick the monsters’ asses.

And he’d been someone who understood loss.

“This is different. This case is going to be different.” The man was so still. She’d never understood how the guy could be so motionless. She was always moving. Twitching. Tapping.

“It’s just another vamp,” she said, and tried to believe the words. “Born Master or Taken, they can all die.” Just getting them to die was the tricky part.

Getting them to die again.

“If you can’t handle this, I’ll put Zane on point. He can go after the bastard.”

“Zane doesn’t know vamps like I do.” Zane Wynter was a good hunter, no denying it. But the demon didn’t understand the undead like she did.

A pause from Pak. “Zane also isn’t human. He won’t have your…weaknesses.”

Oh, now, that was just hitting below the belt. So Zane was half-demon. Dee shot to her feet. “Charmers don’t have any damn strengths that put them above humans, either.” So the charmers could talk to animals—yeah, like that was an advantage when you were hunting paranormal predators. Over a dozen agents at Night Watch were charmers and they had no advantage over her.

She stared down the lead charmer. “I’m not weak.”

“Never said you were.” Another pause. Jeez but the guy was always working the silences. That tactic used to drive her crazy. Okay. Still did. “Never said I was going to put a charmer on point, either.”

No, just a demon.

“Zane would be a lot harder to kill than you,” Pak said flatly.

“Maybe.” Yes, dammit. Freaking demon strength. He wouldn’t have been caught unaware last night. “But I’m one hell of a better vampire killer than he is.” True and so what if she sounded bitchy?

His nod had her breath easing out. “Yes, you are.” He pointed a finger toward her. “But you’re going to need help on this one. I want Zane watching your back.”

Not going to argue. She could always use the demon’s powers.

“And I’ll get Jude to come in for cover, if we need him.”

Ah, Jude. The tiger shifter who was currently blissed out with his new mate. Dee gave a nod. No way would she turn down a shifter’s nose when she was tracking a vamp.

Her pounding heartbeat still shook her chest, but her palms were dry now, and she asked, “So what’s the target’s name? Which badass thinks he’s taking over our city?”

Pak smiled then, his gator grin, and Dee’s muscles locked. “Don’t know who is he. Just what he is.” He inclined his head toward the file. “Intel says word is ripping through the city about the BM. No name. No face. Just the knowledge from every witch and psychic in the area that power is coming through—and it’s coming through hard.”

Her brows shot up. No name? “Then who’s the client on this one?” There was always a client with Night Watch. The agents didn’t hunt for pleasure. They weren’t supposed to, anyway. They hunted the Other because the cops couldn’t track those killers. When a supernatural went on a killing spree, the higher ups at the Baton Rouge PD called in Night Watch.