The Slayer

by Brenda Huber

  “Not yet.”

  “Which?”

  “Either. Both.”

  “You don’t have the relic yet?”

  “No.” For the love of Saint Gabriel, he hated phones. It never failed. Every damned time he called somebody, it was twenty questions.

  “Well for Christ’s sake, Slayer. You’re a damned tease. Get a guy’s hopes up when you ain’t got any intention of puttin’ out.” Plastic rattled in the background. “Guardian ain’t talkin’, huh? Well, bring him in.” Crunching crackled through the line. Sebastian and his damned Doritos. The way the guy constantly stuffed his face it was a wonder he wasn’t as big as his farmhouse. “We’ll get the location out of him.”

  “Female,” Xander corrected. “And for heaven’s sake, quit talking with your mouth full.”

  “Yes, Mom,” Sebastian responded automatically. Then, with decidedly more interest he added, “A woman, huh? Is she hot? Bring her in and I’ll—”

  “No,” he snarled.

  The crunching immediately stopped. He could have kicked himself. Why had he had to react like that? So quick. So possessive.

  “Ah,” Sebastian drawled. “It’s like that, is it?”

  “No,” he denied, though he knew it would do no good. “Just complicated.”

  That earned him an enigmatic grunt. And again with the chip crunching.

  “Um-hmm.” Another particularly loud crunch echoed over the line.

  Does he never stop eating?

  “Not like that,” Xander snapped. Hell’s bells, he wasn’t going to hear the end of this. “Angelic enchantments surround the building we’re in. It’s a long story. But she won’t lower them.” He ground his teeth. Oh, this was galling. The great Slayer, trapped by a mere human woman. “While they are in place…I can’t leave.”

  Ten seconds of dead silence. Not even the sound of chewing could be heard. And then Xander ripped the phone from his ear as uproarious laughter exploded though the line. He settled back, drummed his fingertips on the arm of the chair, and waited for Sebastian to wind down.

  It took much longer than necessary.

  “So, let me get this straight,” Sebastian wheezed. “She caught you.”

  Another seemingly unending round of whooping laughs. Xander drew a deep breath, praying for patience. He’d almost made up his mind to simply hang up and call Gideon. Brooding asshole sounded more appealing right now than being the butt of Sebastian’s misplaced humor.

  “Okay. Okay.” Sebastian snorted one last time. “Angelic enchantments? Obviously she has the scrolls then.”

  Silence was the only appropriate response to that lame remark.

  “Sooooo,” Sebastian drawled. Xander gritted his teeth—judging by the tone and length of that so, he was in for more ribbing. “Do you need the cavalry to come rescue you from this big bad human female?”

  Again, silence was the only appropriate response.

  “Screw you,” slipped out of nowhere.

  “Aw now, baby, don’t be like that,” Sebastian crooned, his voice filled with amusement.

  Silence. Patience. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven—

  “Okay, I’m done. For now,” Sebastian promised. “Fill me in. Has the other team found her yet?”

  “Definite yeah. Bottom of the third. Bases loaded and Sïnsobar struck out.”

  “Sïnsobar? No crap.” Finally some sobriety.

  In twenty words or less, Xander brought Sebastian up to speed.

  “You sure you don’t want backup?”

  “Positive.”

  “I’ll fill the others in.” Sebastian would be point man on this one, and he knew the drill. “Oh, and Slayer? How about some pics for Facebook? I can see the caption already. Big bad demon pu—”

  Xander disconnected the call before Sebastian could finish.

  The pacing over head had ceased. What was she doing up there? Undressing? Slipping into bed?

  Forcefully yanking his thoughts from that track before his control was completely derailed, Xander stared at the makeshift bed and he grimaced. No way was he sleeping on that with his legs dangling off the end. Ugh, he was filthy. He needed a shower in the worst way. And a change of clothes. Just as the urge to conjure himself clean and a fresh set of clothing occurred to him, he swore again. His calculating gaze tracking up to the ceiling once more. One corner of his mouth edged upward. Ten to one, she kept the scrolls up there with her, somewhere. He’d get into that apartment, one way or another. He stood, stripped down to his skin, and tossed his filthy pants and boots on the floor in the corner.

  With a resigned groan, he pulled the blankets and the pillow from the sofa and snapped them out on the floor. Naked, he lay down and shifted around until he got comfortable. Sort of.

  Hardwood sucks.

  Rolling to his side, he settled in for a long, uncomfortable night. Just that quickly, images filled his mind. Soft, lush breasts. Long, shapely, bare legs. A slim waist. Toned arms. Creamy skin. Long, golden hair. Lips so soft, so delectable—

  Groaning, doing his level best to ignore the needful ache in his swollen erection, he rolled to the other side and tried to clear his head. Pounded the pillow with his fist. Twice. Temptation. She was temptation. Pure and simple.

  Pray, just pray.

  Maybe—just this once—God would see fit to grant him a little peace.

  Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name—

  It was no use. She tossed the tangled sheets back, kicked them to the side with a disgusted sigh. She wasn’t going to get any sleep. Not like this. With all this stuff running circles in her head. With all these images of him tormenting her. With the memory of his mouth on hers, his hands on her body, his unyielding strength pressed against hers. She was making herself crazy.

  Pushing to her feet, Kyanna tugged her long, flannel robe on over the plain white T-shirt and cotton boxer shorts she’d pulled on after her shower. After grabbing a scrunchie from the nightstand, she wrapped her still damp, tangled hair up in a quick, sloppy bun. Kyanna jerked woolen socks on her cold feet and padded from her bedroom.

  A glass of milk is supposed to help when you can’t sleep, right? Warm milk? Yeah.

  But then she wondered if chocolate milk did the same thing. She couldn’t stand plain white milk. But warm chocolate milk?

  Shrugging, she pulled a canister of hot chocolate from the cupboard.

  Same thing, right?

  A short while later, armed with a cup of Swiss Miss, Kyanna entered the second bedroom and flipped on the overhead light. Maybe if she wrote down some of the information swimming in her head, she might be able to clear her mind. Get some sleep.

  Relegating her untouched cup to the edge of the desk, she pulled the slim volume—no bigger really than a notebook—to her and picked up a pen. The sum of her family’s heritage rested inside this aged leather cover. Kyanna switched on the antique reading lamp. Kyanna gingerly opened the cracking leather, and she skimmed the first few pages. Blotchy chicken-scratches. Every stroke, every bit of information as familiar as the lines of her own face.

  First and foremost, the enchantments and incantations given to her ancient ancestor centuries ago by an angelic benefactor. Next came a complete list of guard and ward stones designated to thwart and repel demons. Somewhere along the line, one of her predecessors had added an index of herbs and potions with healing properties. Others, over the course of time, had included an abbreviated list of demon species. Though information on that front was sparse at best, and questionable in its reliability.

  But the most important section in the book—the information her family had been charged to protect with their lives—was a list of angelic offspring. Otherwise known as Halflings. She’d glanced through that section once, long ago. But she hadn’t recognized any of the names. Of course, that section hadn’t been updated in over twenty year
s. Those Halflings could potentially have had offspring of their own by now. Generations had passed since the first name had been inscribed. And she’d never been instructed to add to this portion of the book, so she could only assume that no other Halflings had been conceived.

  Then again, maybe she wasn’t the only one charged with this kind of task? Was this book just one of many? Was her family not so unique? What if this book only held a portion of information? And somewhere out there, there were others, with different sets of information? Different sets of names. Like a big puzzle. Or torn pieces of some biblical treasure map. Each only effective in a limited capacity, but when paired with the whole, the information therein could be…unfathomable.

  Rubbing some of the sudden tension from the back of her neck, she centered her focus on the here and now.

  She located the last thin strip of aged silk at the bottom of the book and pulled it slightly to the side to open the fragile tome. Picking up a pen, she stared at the stiff, yellowed, blank page and took a deep breath. Writing anything in this journal was serious business. No one had done so in nearly a quarter of a century.

  She started with the date. Her name. There was so much she could write. So much she’d gathered from her one, brief conversation with Xander. But the only things that came immediately to mind were things like sexy bedroom eyes. Kisses so enthralling they made a girl forget where she was. Who she was.

  A male that defined sin incarnate.

  No. She had to get serious. Provided there might be—some far, far off day—a new generation to pass the book on to, she wanted them prepared for whatever Hell tossed their way. What had Xander told her about?

  The Sacred Relics. The Prophesy. The demon species she’d seen tonight. Charocté, he’d called them. Xander himself.

  But where to start?

  Quickly, methodically, she penned in her notations and what definitions she could, going into as much detail as possible. Recording her impressions. When she was finished, she sat back and read what she’d written.

  Not bad. At least it was coherent.

  Then she remembered something. “The Slayer.” Xander had called himself that a couple of times. Curiosity pricked her. She began cautiously thumbing back through the delicate book, searching for any entries regarding the Slayer.

  All too soon she found what she was looking for. And what she found had her eyes all but bugging out of her head.

  “‘Recorded in the year of our Lord, Eighteen-Fifteen by Sarah Thompson. The Slayer,’” she whispered aloud. Was she afraid he could hear her? Maybe a little, considering the shocking page she was staring at. He’d rated an entire page. All to himself.

  On paper he was completely and utterly horrifying.

  Holy crap on a cracker!

  “‘Lucifer’s deadliest assassin,’” she murmured. “‘A top general in Lucifer’s army. Origins: Believed to be one of the original Archangels. Age: Unknown. Weakness: Unknown. This dangerous demon is unpredictable and greatly feared by others of his kind. Do not engage. Avoid at all cost.’” Setting the pen aside, she leaned back, tipped her head against the back of the chair, and covered her face with both hands.

  Do not engage?

  Avoid at all cost?

  Oh, dear Lord. What have I done?

  For a long moment, she was beyond words, beyond thought. And then it all came crashing in on her. Not only had she brought possibly one of the deadliest beings on Earth—as well as in Hell apparently—into her sanctuary. But she’d just told him she intended to hold him captive for an indeterminate amount of time.

  Kyanna placed a shaking hand flat on the page and leaned closer. Her however-many-greats grandmother had even added a crude drawing of him in demon form. Amazingly accurate, if memory served.

  Oh Lord. Oh Lord.

  Peering at the spider-scrawl, she held her breath and prayed she’d misread.

  Nope. No such luck. The words remained the same. In addition, smaller script toward the bottom of the page accused him of all manner of evil, up to and including withering the crops in the fields, breathing fire, making livestock fall over dead for no apparent reason, causing solar eclipses, and sacrificing virgins.

  Okay, so some of this obviously had to have been wild, superstitious paranoia. Solar eclipses? Breathing fire? Withering crops? Really? She couldn’t buy into any of that.

  The virginal sacrifices?

  Considering the smoldering stares he was capable of, not to mention his mad talent at kissing?

  She’d be willing to bet ten to one every virgin within a fifty mile radius had willingly thrown herself upon his alter and begged to be his sacrifice.

  Kyanna gently closed the book and pushed it back into place before rising. She took a long gulp of tepid chocolate, her mind racing. What on earth was she going to do with him? She couldn’t very well have him wandering through her store while innocent customers shopped. She couldn’t let him up here while she wasn’t around. Couldn’t risk him finding the book. And she couldn’t very well lock him in the basement.

  Or could I?

  No!

  She wasn’t that cruel. And something told her he wouldn’t exactly go quietly either.

  Back to square one.

  Unsettled, she returned the cup the kitchen, washed it, and set it in the rack to dry. She should go to bed. Get some rest. But she was too revved up to sleep. Or too spooked, considering what she’d just read. Chewing a thumbnail—something she never did anymore except in times of extreme stress—Kyanna began pacing the confines of her living room.

  Again.

  Now what am I going to do?

  Chapter Ten

  Xander reclined on the sofa, his fingers laced over his stomach, pillow and blankets folded neatly beside him. He cracked his jaw and glowered at the door, at the crystals caging him in. Kyanna’s footsteps descended the stairs. Finally. He checked the wall clock before returning his attention to the crystals. Seven a.m.

  About damned time.

  He’d been up for longer than he cared to think about. He was tired and bruised from her double-damned hardwood floor. His clothing was filthy. He had a headache, and he was hungry.

  And he hadn’t had a Pepsi in over twenty-four hours.

  The very idea was more than any demon should have to tolerate.

  As Kyanna cautiously stepped up to the door of the office, he caught his breath, his physical discomfort all but forgotten. Hunger of another kind punched through his system, catching him off guard. Her hair, damp and fragrant, was caught up in a messy top-knot, taunting a male to pull it down and wrap it around his fist. She wore layered tanks in both bright and dark shades of purple and a jagged edged skirt that reminded him of an overlarge handkerchief. Barely-there, strappy sandals emphasized her narrow feet. Her dainty toes were festive with bright purple nail polish.

  Dark, spiky lashes framed gorgeous, luminous blue. But other than a slim bit of mascara, her face was unadorned by makeup. Even if he hadn’t heard her pacing overhead until the wee hours of the morning, he’d easily have been able to tell she’d spent a sleepless night. Dark shadows smudged beneath her eyes. Even now, she smothered a yawn.

  Her skin was flawless. Strawberries and cream. He greedily took in her flushed, freshly-scrubbed cheeks, the ivory column of her throat, and the smooth bare expanse of her shoulder. The swell of her breasts was more temptation than he could take. His mouth began to water. His shaft began to harden. Making a conscious effort, he uncurled his fingers from the cushions and dragged his focus back up to her face.

  Xander deliberately blanked his features, arched an eyebrow, and he waited for her to speak. Keeping his expression impassive took far more effort than he was accustomed to expending.

  “Good morning.” Her voice was husky, dragging at something deep in the pit of his stomach.

  He grunted. That was a matter of opinion. C
urious about how she intended to proceed, he crossed his arms and let out a long, seething breath.

  “Um, are you hungry? Can I get you some breakfast?”

  He remained silent. As long as she had those damned crystals in place, caging him in this tiny cell, she wasn’t getting even the sorriest excuse for cooperation. She blatantly stared at his naked chest. Lingered on the bloodstained waistband of his pants. He watched as she caught the edge of her lower lip between small white teeth. A crease formed between her brows.

  If she stared much longer there, he’d be sporting wood the likes of which she’d probably never witnessed before.

  “Shower,” he barked. A command, not a request.

  “A shower. Right. A shirt. Clothes,” she murmured. “Clean clothes. Definitely a shirt.” She seemed in a daze, her gaze loitering overlong on his abdomen. As predicted, his shaft continued to harden.

  Her gaze dropped a few inches. She dragged in a shuddering breath and color flooded her cheeks. Her eyes grew round as saucers, and all movement arrested. He cleared his throat, whether for her benefit or his, he didn’t know. Kyanna jolted, blinking guiltily at him as color swamped her cheeks. That unfamiliar tick in his cheek came back, despite his pissy mood. He bit down on the inside of his lower lip.

  The Slayer did not grin.

  At least, not unless it was a wickedly evil grin.

  And he wasn’t feeling particularly evil just now. Wicked, yes. But not evil.

  He leaned forward, clasped his hands between his knees. She stared, and the color in her cheeks heightened. Kyanna cleared her throat and snapped steel into her spine. “You can come upstairs, take a shower. I’ve lowered the secondary enchantments on the apartment, but it’s only temporary. You’ll sleep down here again tonight,” she warned. “And I’ll get you new clothing.”

  “You do not leave the building without me.”

  Her lips pursed thoughtfully. “I’ll call a friend.”

  With a terse nod, Xander shoved to his feet and prowled toward the doorway. Kyanna hastily removed the crystals and hurried to tuck them back into the storage closet. The minute she turned back around, he was in her face.