Slay My Love Read online

  Slay My Love

  Lee Colgin

  Copyright © 2019 by Lee Colgin

  ISBN: 978-1-970161-00-7

  Cover design by Natasha Snow: www.natashasnowdesigns.com

  Editing: www.lescourtauthorservices.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  1. Confrontation

  2. Frenemies

  3. Back to the Books

  4. The Library

  5. Rejection

  6. Dancing

  7. New Mission

  8. Spike

  9. Monster

  10. New Friends

  11. Bristol Springs

  12. First Blood

  13. Safe Haven

  14. The Chip

  15. Testing

  16. Visit

  17. Oswald

  18. Basement

  19. Regrets

  20. Packing

  21. Peril

  22. Bad Odds

  23. Like a Dog

  24. Detox

  25. Slow

  26. Reunion

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Also by Lee Colgin

  Acknowledgments

  To the best critique partner in the galaxy, Kat Silver. Keep an eye out for her debut novel—it’s gonna be killer. To everyone who read this and added your feedback and suggestions on Scribophile, your help was invaluable. To Caitlin Taylor for the beta read. To M.A. Hinkle for the editing and Jenni Lea for the proofread. To LesCourt Author Services for setting me up with great editors and for all the help in getting this ready for publication. To Natasha Snow for the gorgeous cover. Thanks, y’all are the best!

  Content/Trigger Warning: Abusive relationship involving physical and emotional abuse (not between the main characters)

  1

  Confrontation

  Franklin

  This vampire was supposed to be different, or so Franklin had been told. He watched from a distance, silent and still. Tonight was for reconnaissance. The Scourge wanted this one alive.

  The vampire sat alone on a city park bench, legs crossed, chin up, eyes forward, gazing at a series of baseball fields. They’d been there over an hour, the vampire and the hunter. Franklin had followed him from the business district. Too bad he couldn’t kill this one. It would be simple with him just sitting there, an easy target. Franklin’s muscles were tense—coiled and ready—but he waited.

  Attempting to catch a vampire alive was dangerous. Information was key. What were this vampire’s habits? His strengths and weaknesses? His age and, along with it, his abilities? Who did he hang out with and who did he avoid? Where did he go to hunt?

  The vamp was not quite six feet tall. He moved with a feline swagger, a sway in his hips suggesting he’d be a loose and limber fighter, difficult to pin down. He had shoulder-length dark hair tucked behind his ears, revealing an oval face, prominent cheekbones, and a small snub nose. Tight-fitting clothes, mostly black, left nothing extra to grab onto in a struggle. Boots. Steel-toe? Franklin couldn’t tell, and it didn’t matter. If it came to a fight, he would worry about fangs hidden behind thin lips, capable of tearing flesh and paralyzing muscles.

  The trick to slaying vampires was limiting close contact to the killing blow. The rules were simple: don’t let them in striking range; don’t look into their eyes; angle for an opening to pierce the heart or take the head. Silver could be useful, but you couldn’t rely on it unless you’re ready to die. The older ones could resist it, and even the young would risk burns to win a meal.

  Watching the vampire begged the question: What was he doing? There weren’t any other people, so he wasn’t hunting. Unless waiting for someone to stumble upon him and offer up their neck was his idea of hunting. Stupid vampire.

  Franklin’s mind drifted back to that afternoon’s briefing with his commander.

  “The new one is different,” Chief Darrow had said. “We think he’s alive—as in not undead—and we need to know more. Tail him, Denhart. Get us some intel.”

  Franklin had stood at attention, ready for a new mission. “You mean…the legends are true? There are living ones?”

  “We suspect so. This one has been seen at dawn and dusk, enduring more sunlight than should be possible. Put together a strategy for a live capture. I want that vamp in my labs. I expect your mission proposal within the month, Lieutenant. If approved, you’ll lead the team. Understood?”

  Adrenaline surged. Another team leader position would put him first in line for a promotion. “Yes, sir.”

  “Keep me informed on your progress.”

  “Right.”

  A living vampire in Bristol Springs, and the mission was going to Franklin. Hot damn.

  Mythology told of a living strain of vampires dating back as far as the creatures themselves, but Franklin had never seen one. Theories speculated the species had begun this way—alive, but also demonic. If specimens remained, descended from those original vampires, the Scourge wanted them for their research. How did the curse come to require death before transition? And how then were the undead able to spread it to humans? Legend had no answers to these questions, but modern science might.

  His leg was cramping. He readjusted, his eyes never straying from the target. Franklin itched to take him out, but with a promotion within reach, he’d bide his time. Hell, he’d stand there watching the goon for a solid month if he had to. Anything to lead the team that would bring this vamp in.

  Franklin rolled his shoulders and willed his muscles to relax. There wasn’t going to be a fight tonight. Instead, he settled in to wait for whatever the vampire would do next. Time slowed. He wondered what the vampire was thinking, staring off into the distance. Maybe this one wasn’t all there. It wasn’t uncommon for them to get loopy with age, the curse breaking down the human brain. Then again, if Chief Darrow was right, this one might not have been human at all.

  The vampire stood, stretched his lithe limbs, and walked away. Franklin would follow at a distance. As he left his hiding place, the creature stopped. Franklin froze, exposed. Luckily, the vampire just bent over, gathered some trash from the ground, and threw it into a garbage bin.

  That was odd. Vampires were a worthless plague on humanity; they didn’t care about litter. Hell, humans didn’t care about litter.

  The vampire continued on his way, his slow easy steps simple to follow. Franklin tailed behind.

  It was going to be a long month.

  Gianni

  Paranoia was real. Of course, being stalked had a way of solidifying the feeling. Technically, it wasn’t paranoia if it was actually happening, right? It was definitely happening, all of last night and again tonight—a presence lurking in his wake. Gianni had expected being the new guy in town would come with challenges. He welcomed the extra attention, but the only interest he’d received thus far was mean-spirited teasing and this creepy human who looked like he’d stepped out of a Sears catalog.

  The stalker was tall, muscular, and didn’t blend into shadows nearly as well as he must have thought. His movements were stilted and cautious. He wore generic, blue-collar clothes a decade past their prime. Brown cargo work pants, a dark matching button-up shirt, unremarkable sturdy material—probably all Dickies. They w
ould be rough to the touch, not soft like Gianni’s cashmere sweater. The stalker would blend in better delivering packages, not following a vampire around until the wee hours of the morning.

  He was a handsome man, but would look even better with a fresh haircut and modern wardrobe. Maybe a beard. As he was, Gianni could only describe him as frumpy. Beautiful broad shoulders like his shouldn’t be hidden under a stiff poly-cotton blend the color of soggy oatmeal. The Scourge must have been letting anyone in these days.

  Gianni let his footsteps echo off the pavement, easy in the heeled Paul Evans boots he wore. Surely by now the slayer realized Gianni knew he was there. What sort of game was he playing? Gianni could hear his footfalls; even the attempt at muffling them was obvious.

  It was time for answers. Gianni rounded the next corner and blazed ahead. Then he doubled back on his path to come up alongside the man. At least now something exciting would happen. They’d fight, or the stalker would flee. Or even better, he’d have his first conversation with a vampire slayer. Risky, but not boring.

  Playing casual, Gianni slipped into step next to him. The slayer startled, darted away, and drew a knife—probably silver. Predictable. Gianni kept his posture easy and open despite the slayer’s fighting stance. He’d remain unthreatening as long as he could, draw this experience out. It was the only interesting thing that had happened since he’d arrived in Bristol Springs.

  Gianni offered a half-smile in greeting. “Hello.”

  The slayer stared at him warily and raised the knife. He wasn’t going to make this simple.

  “You’ve been following me for hours. Last night, too.”

  Still no answer, but the man looked surprised.

  “You thought I didn’t notice?”

  Apparently, the slayer assumed his attempt at stealth had worked. Amusing. The man stood on the edge of his toes, battle-ready, but also holding himself back. Why?

  Gianni took a careful step forward and extended his hand. “I’m Gianni.”

  The man neither accepted the handshake nor offered a name, but he stood his ground when Gianni encroached on his space. They studied one another. This close, Gianni saw the slayer’s wide green eyes, bright with alarm; he had not expected this confrontation. Gianni breathed in. He smelled good. Clean. Behind the soap, his natural scent was sweet, like ripe pears and honey. Static energy bounced between them. There could still be a fight. Gianni almost wanted it. He could take this slayer; he’d trained for it. But he found the man intriguing. He’d rather have information.

  “Why are you following me?”

  The slayer’s eyes shifted up and to the right; he was searching for a lie. Gianni waited, thrilled with the novelty of the situation, balanced on the edge of danger together.

  “Where are you from?” the slayer asked, avoiding the question. His voice was a lovely deep baritone. It would be sexy in the bedroom.

  “Couldn’t come up with a good enough lie, huh?” Gianni set a hand on his hip, smirking.

  “Not one you’d believe, no.” The stiff muscles and tense body language only made Gianni relax more. This slayer wasn’t here to fight. He didn’t know why, but for now, they were safe from each other.

  “I came here from Philly. And you?”

  The slayer’s eyes shifted. He was taking in their surroundings, perhaps looking for an escape? Again, no answer.

  Gianni attempted to put him at ease. “I’m not going to bite you. I’m not even hungry. Besides, I’m watching my figure.” He grinned. No response from the slayer, not even a flutter of expression. He would be a tough nut to crack. “You can answer the question.”

  The slayer tilted his head, a bit like a puppy. “I’m not going to.”

  “Then this conversation is going to be quite dull, and I’d had such hopes for us, Buffy.”

  The slayer’s scowl deepened. “Buffy?”

  “What am I supposed to call you if you won’t tell me your name? I mean, really, it’s a compliment. Buffy was the chosen one. The best of your kind.”

  “I don’t care what you call me.”

  “Buffy it is, then.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “You think asking questions is fair, though you refuse to answer them? I’ll tell you why I’m here when you tell me your name.”

  Gianni took a risk and leaned further forward, betting this slayer wouldn’t attack him. The man dropped his gaze to Gianni’s mouth. Gianni ran his tongue along his lips, careful not to reveal fangs. The man took a step back.

  Interesting.

  “Are you afraid of me?” Gianni asked.

  “Afraid.” The slayer’s eyebrows lifted. “No…I’m baffled.”

  “Because you’ve never met a vampire this charming?”

  “Sure, we’ll go with that,” the slayer deadpanned.

  “Now, now, no need to get surly.”

  Gianni tried to catch his emerald gaze, but the slayer would not look directly into his eyes. So he was superstitious as well as mysterious. The silence stretched.

  “Don’t you have some slaying to do?” Gianni prompted.

  The man narrowed his gaze, perhaps irritated at being called out. “Not tonight. Unfortunately.”

  “Oh, I see. They keep you on a tight leash, huh? Whoever gives your orders must be a drag. No doubt you’ll have to report all of this.” An idea formed in his mind. He shouldn’t. But resisting temptation never came easy for Gianni. “Best give them something juicy.”

  Gianni darted in and grazed the slayer’s cheek with his lips as he passed by, his tongue leaving a wet trail on the stubbled flesh. Without turning around, he added, “Give them my warm regards, will you, Buffy? It really was a pleasure to meet you.”

  Would the slayer relay that part to his supervisors, or would he leave it out? Everything about the man pointed to an uptight, rigid personality. It would kill him either way—to admit it or to turn in an incomplete report. Perhaps he’d leave the encounter out altogether, pretend he’d been successful with his stalking, his target never the wiser. Gianni would ask when next they spoke. He had a feeling he’d be seeing his stalker again. Whatever the man wanted, he hadn’t gotten it.

  Making certain he hadn’t been followed, Gianni made for his suite at the Farthing. A group of young vampires spotted him, some of them hiding their snickers, others not bothering. It was no secret Gianni had fled from Philly to Bristol Springs out of embarrassment. News like that traveled fast, and if he’d thought to escape it by moving, he’d been mistaken.

  “Out looking for the city sovereign? Any luck?” one of them said with a smirk. Gianni hadn’t learned their names. There’d be no need. They weren’t out to make friends. He wouldn’t encourage them with an answer.

  “You haven’t heard?” another chimed in. “He’s not looking for sovereigns anymore. Only a king will do for Prince Gianni.”

  Gianni ignored them and kept walking.

  The Farthing was a large underground complex running a full quarter of the span of the city above it, encompassing nearly fifty square miles and containing multiple levels. Most of the region’s vampires lived somewhere in this complex. Gianni had taken a suite of rooms near the center, thinking it would be a good location to meet people. Near the exit would have been better since he spent all his time prowling the streets of Bristol Springs rather than face the mocking from his fellows.

  Gianni entered his rooms, locked his door, and leaned against it with a breath of relief. It was too early to go to sleep, but he couldn’t resist the pull of his bed. Sinking into its comfort, he curled around his favorite pillow and closed his eyes. It had been a long week of keeping his chin up and holding onto his dignity by a hangnail. News of his folly was sure to die down eventually. It had to. He couldn’t possibly be this lonely forever.

  2

  Frenemies

  Franklin

  Franklin parked his car in the secure underground lot. The Scourge operated from a series of industrial buildings outside the city, one of several satel
lite branches in the United States. The main headquarters were located in Barcelona. Franklin had never seen any of the European offices, though he longed to. His father, General Denhart, insisted his duty was to stay in their own country and protect it.

  “Exterminate the vampires here. Then you can run off to Spain,” he’d said back when Franklin was younger and dreaming of castles. It wasn’t meant to be encouraging.

  Denhart Senior tolerated no interest of Franklin’s outside the family business. Generations of Denhart men protected the public by slaying vampires and fighting demons. Franklin would too. He’d make his father proud if it killed him, and in this line of work, it might.

  In the main building, called the Foundry for its resemblance to metal factories, Franklin waited his turn to report to Chief Darrow. Around him were other hunters, also finished for the night and ready to report. He knew these officers but wasn’t friendly with them. They were rivals for the same promotions. Better not to make friends.

  Ahead of him was Hutch Wilson, also a lieutenant hoping to move up the ranks. He wore a broad grin on his face, probably eager to brag about his night’s work. Franklin avoided eye contact. The captain behind him didn’t.

  “What are you dying to tell us, Hutch?” she asked.

  “Got lucky tonight, boys. Found two young vamps out together. Blood drunk and stupid enough to let their guard down.” Hutch feigned a killing blow with a grin. “They didn’t even see it coming.”