Slay My Love Read online

  One hunter typically wouldn’t go after two vampires without backup, but Hutch’s recklessness wasn’t surprising; he was ambitious, like Franklin.

  If Franklin hadn’t been assigned to Gianni, he probably would have been dispatched for cleanup. Thanks to the prissy vampire, he’d been spared.

  “Nice,” Captain Ash replied. She always encouraged lower-ranking officers. “What about you, Denhart? Any news?”

  Franklin wasn’t about to say what really happened. “Nothing exciting. Just tailing the new one. So far, not much to report.”

  “That must be a drag,” said Hutch, “following one around, not allowed to kill it.”

  Franklin thought of Gianni’s lips on his cheek, his arrogance. He’d expected Gianni to attack him, but instead he’d struck up a conversation. Muddied the waters. When he’d invaded Franklin’s space, there was no sense of danger, no fight-or-flight response. Franklin had frozen and let the brief cheek kiss happen. It would have been easier if his assignment was to kill him. Gianni didn’t seem like a monster.

  Hutch was waiting for an answer. Franklin reluctantly spoke up. “They want him for the labs. It’ll be worth the wait for a live capture.”

  Chief Darrow’s door opened. With a nod to the waiting group as they saluted, General Labat exited the office, her cadets following on her heels. Ash, Hutch, and Franklin made their way in to give reports. Darrow’s office was large enough for a conference table but so cluttered the space felt small. Shelves of books lined the walls, what books didn’t fit on the shelves lay in piles on the floor, and papers were strewn about. Franklin never liked coming here; the mess made him feel claustrophobic.

  If Franklin left out most of what happened, none were the wiser. He couldn’t possibly tell Darrow he’d let the vampire within striking range. That he’d spoken with him. That Gianni had been more inquisitive and less violent than he’d thought possible for a vampire. He confessed to being caught spying and said the vampire had simply fled.

  “You were spotted?” Darrow leaned forward in his chair. “Is this vampire going to be too much for you?”

  “It won’t happen again. Everything is under control, sir.” Franklin swallowed, contemplating his future in the long pause. He wanted to keep this case. A live capture was a rare opportunity. He couldn’t fuck up.

  “Be careful next time.” Darrow’s gruff voice filled the room, and his attention turned to Ash.

  Phew. It was over. Franklin was lucky not to be taken off the assignment. Darrow could easily have passed it to Hutch. The thought made his blood boil.

  Back in his barracks room, Franklin rolled his shoulders to release tension, then sat down at his personal computer and logged the night’s field notes. These records were his alone, so he left nothing out, admitting his failure on the screen. The word Buffy glaring in front of him set his teeth on edge. No way would Franklin give the fiend his real name. Names held power, and Franklin would give away none. He needed a new plan to convince this vampire to trust him.

  Franklin never thought he’d brainstorm ideas to get closer to a bloodsucker, but if that’s what it took, he would do it. He’d underestimated Gianni and let him get the upper hand. It wouldn’t happen twice.

  If Franklin returned to the park bench and waited, would the vampire seek him out? Instead of tracking Gianni, he could wait to be found. If it didn’t work, Franklin could go back to stalking, but he had a feeling about this vampire. Gianni wanted his attention. If the vampire wanted to be close, Franklin could do close.

  Gianni

  Rising before the other vampires had its advantages, especially if one wanted to slip away unnoticed. Gianni left the Farthing at dusk. Sunlight, too low in the sky to harm him, filtered long across the horizon, beautiful golds and oranges streaking over the tree line. Gianni admired the picture it painted on his way to the library. He needed something useful to do other than endless window shopping. The city library was open late every Thursday, so he went straight there to see about getting a card.

  He could go to vampire-owned establishments, of course. Nightclubs and gaming dens catered to unsuspecting humans on the front end and vampires in their exclusive private rooms. The old Gianni would have made a beeline to these places, eager to establish his rank in the pecking order. But he had no energy left for society.

  Books never laughed at him.

  Getting the card was simple; choosing books was harder. Only twelve books could be checked out at once, and because of the schedule, Gianni could only come to the library on Thursdays. He’d finish all of these before then, so he had to choose wisely.

  Gianni carried his bag, heavy with new goodies, toward the city park, only to find the slayer seated on his bench, waiting.

  Interesting.

  They stared at one another. The man’s expression betrayed his self-satisfaction. So he thinks I’m predictable? That wouldn’t do. Gianni sauntered toward him, torn between irritation and delight. Time to turn on the charm.

  “Buffy.”

  “Gianni.”

  “Are you planning on slaying me this evening?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Then scoot over.” Gianni flung himself next to the slayer in the center of the bench. The man startled and slid away. Gianni followed. He leaned his weight against the slayer’s arm. For a moment he thought the slayer would flee, but the man only stiffened and remained in place. Gianni set his bag on the empty side and crossed his legs.

  “So how’d it go?” Gianni asked.

  “How’d what go?”

  “Telling your boss about last night, of course.” Gianni watched him closely. When color crept into the slayer’s cheeks, he knew. “Oh. You didn’t tell them? Naughty Buffy. Did you lie?”

  “I couldn’t exactly tell him you licked me,” came the irritated response, along with some serious side-eye.

  Gianni laughed. “It was a whim. You can relax. I’ll restrain myself tonight. Besides, you taste like cheap aftershave.”

  The slayer ignored the barb. Gianni would have to try harder.

  “What’s in the bag?” Buffy asked.

  “Books.”

  “Books?” The slayer’s eyebrows lifted, skeptical.

  “Heard of them? Bits of paper stuck together with words on the pages? Surely you’ve seen one.”

  “Why books?”

  “To read, Buffy. Try to keep up.” This shouldn’t be so fun. “I got them from the library, where the books live. If you’re still stalking me next week, you should come.”

  “Hey, you found me tonight, not the other way around.”

  “You were waiting for me,” Gianni countered. “You came here hoping I’d show.”

  The slayer shrugged. Guilty.

  Silence settled between them. The park was often empty at this hour, but across the baseball field, a man walked alone. They both watched and waited until he was out of sight and their bubble of privacy was restored.

  “What’s your name?”

  “I’m not going to tell you my name.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not stupid, you know. It’s not safe. You’ll use it in some bizarre vampire ritual.”

  Gianni’s eyes went wide. He flashed a vibrant smile—wide enough to reveal fangs—and doubled over in laughter. “You are not serious right now! Really? You honestly think I want your name? For what, some spell? Oh my god, you’re joking. Right? Tell me you’re joking.” The novelty of the big belly laugh was such a joy.

  The slayer glared at him, emerald green eyes perfectly serious.

  Gianni met his gaze and chortled. “There’s no ‘bizarre vampire ritual,’ okay? I’m not going to chant your name into a fire or something. Is that really what they teach you people?”

  “You don’t think I’ll believe you over them, do you?”

  “Obviously not right away, but I’ll admit that sounds appealing.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.”

  “Why’d you join anyway? The Scourge, I mean. Wha
t an awful name.”

  “It’s an ancient name.” The slayer looked away. “I’m brethren. My father was a hunter, as was his father before him.”

  For the first time, Gianni wasn’t sure what to say. “Was?”

  “My father retired due to injury. He’s still alive. My grandfather was killed in the line of duty before I was born. I never got to meet him, though everyone tells me I look like him.”

  This had been a poor choice in conversation topics. “I’m torn. I want to say I’m sorry, but it was him or the vampire, right? I mean, you can hardly blame us for fighting back. Still…I’m sorry for your loss.”

  The slayer said nothing. They sat together quietly. On impulse, Gianni reached over and took his hand, their palms pressed together. The slayer stayed perfectly still; he didn’t curl his fingers around Gianni’s, but he didn’t pull away either.

  For a moment, neither of them breathed.

  Gianni felt the slayer’s pulse racing under his fingertips. A glance at his face revealed heat in his cheeks.

  “You’re warm,” the slayer said. “I thought you’d be cold.”

  “You’re wrong about a lot of things, Buffy.”

  “Why are you holding my hand?”

  “I’m trying to be friendly,” was what he said aloud, but inside, he wasn’t sure. He’d wanted to touch the slayer.

  “Do you hold hands with your other friends?”

  “I don’t have other friends.” Gianni let go, put his hand back in his lap, and cast his eyes forward, scanning the park.

  “That can’t be true. Someone like you? You must have loads of friends.”

  “You’re wrong about that, too.”

  The slayer reclaimed Gianni’s hand.

  Gianni returned to The Farthing feeling lighter despite his heavy bag full of books. Intending to hole up in his suite and read—and by read he meant think about the handsome slayer he’d spent half the night talking to. Upon hearing a familiar and unwelcome voice calling from down the hall, he froze.

  “Ah, there’s my pretty little strumpet now.”

  No fucking way. There stood Oswald, staring Gianni down, a throng of admirers already gathered around him. He looked imperious, as usual, a familiar haughty expression on his face. Fine gaudy clothes were draped elegantly over his broad shoulders, black hair glistening. As if he didn’t stand out enough, he wore shades of purple, eggplant over lavender. Probably bespoke.

  Gianni clung to his books. “What are you doing here?”

  “Now, now, pet. Is that any way to speak to your elder?”

  The bastard blocked his way. Gianni would have to get past him to get to his rooms. “I came to Bristol Springs to get away from you.”

  “I missed you,” Oswald crooned, breaking from his groupies and prowling forward.

  Gianni stepped back. “I hate you.”

  The group surrounding them were eating this up. Gianni felt their eyes on him like cobwebs; he needed to wipe them off. He turned and dashed out the same way he’d come.

  Out of the Farthing and back onto the streets, Oswald’s laughter echoed behind him. Let them laugh. He’d wait them out. They’d all have to sleep before Gianni needed to be underground.

  It wasn’t fair. Oswald shouldn’t have been able to follow him there. He was the sovereign of Philadelphia and had responsibilities. Making this trip on such short notice would have taken some serious finagling—Gianni had only been gone a week.

  Oswald didn’t miss him; that much was bullshit. He’d come to see for himself how low his paramour had fallen. He wanted to rub it in, bathe in Gianni’s disgrace, roll around in it until he’d had his fill. Oswald’s vanity wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d left Gianni broken.

  Again.

  3

  Back to the Books

  Franklin

  Vampires were supposed to be cold. Dead. Gianni’s hand was flush with life. As they’d suspected, he was different. The Scourge would want the confirmation. How could he report to Darrow without telling him they’d been…holding hands? Now that he thought about it, maybe Darrow didn’t need all the details.

  Franklin wrestled with his thoughts. Gianni didn’t fit into the box he’d labeled vampire and marked for the trash. Gianni had a witty sense of humor, even if Franklin was the butt of his jokes. But Franklin could relate to his air of prevailing loneliness.

  Tonight he’d been kind, offering comfort. Friendship.

  None of that mattered. Vampires were not to be trusted, and Franklin suspected the smooth-tongued Gianni lied a great deal. He wasn’t getting to know this creature in any real sense, only the bits the vampire wanted to reveal.

  Capturing him alive wouldn’t be as hard as Darrow thought. If Franklin could get Gianni to trust him, the vampire would practically hand himself over. After that, Franklin could endure whatever remorse emerged. Gianni was a killer who needed to be extinguished; it was the right thing to do.

  Franklin made no report to Darrow. There wasn’t an update worth sharing, although he’d have to think of something to tell the chief eventually. Would Darrow support his plan? Would he even believe a hunter capable of winning a vampire’s trust? Definitely not. He’d log the night’s happenings in his own file, and that would be it. Already things were out of hand, impossible to explain.

  The other hunters also had a quiet shift. After Hutch’s double slaying the night before, vampires kept to the shadows, and the city streets were peaceful.

  Rather than join the poker tournament springing up amongst bored cadets, Franklin made his way to the school rooms. Here future hunters learned their vocation, studied their prey, and received lessons from the Scourge’s professors. Franklin had spent much of his youth in these rooms, striving to outperform classmates.

  What he wanted now was source material, the old mythology books detailing vampires who were actually alive. Time to take a closer look at these legends, to find something they weren’t taught in school. He needed an advantage over Gianni, anything useful when dealing with the cagey vampire.

  Selecting two large volumes, he took a seat at a desk and settled in for a long morning of research.

  Franklin patrolled in Gianni’s favorite places but found no trace of the vampire. Every night for five nights he checked the shops along the business district, the streets suspected of bearing entrances to the vampires’ underground lair, the neighborhood around the library, and the city park Gianni frequented. Nothing. Darrow was becoming frustrated, and Franklin would need something to report soon.

  Where was Gianni? Was the vampire avoiding him? Did he leave town, and Franklin’s searches were all for naught? There was no way of knowing. He couldn’t just walk up to another vamp and ask. Hunters and vampires didn’t have conversations. Except for Franklin and Gianni. If he didn’t find the vampire, Franklin would be reassigned, the opportunity lost. The possibility invaded his thoughts like a weed, tenacious in its persistence.

  On the sixth night, Franklin rounded the corner by the ballfields—and there he sat, posed primly on their bench, already waving at him. Franklin smiled without thinking, then banished the expression.

  As Franklin approached, the vampire rose. The hunter stopped in his tracks. Gianni was stunning. His dark hair was done up in curls. Was he wearing makeup? Yes, he definitely had on makeup: eyes outlined in black, darkened lips, color in his cheeks. Was that rouge, or was he blushing? Franklin couldn’t tell. Gianni wore white this evening, a stark contrast to the blacks he seemed to favor and striking next to his porcelain skin. Fabric flowed from delicate shoulders to slim hips. Feminine. The heels on his shoes made him nearly as tall as Franklin.

  Franklin’s gaze traveled from the vampire’s feet to his face. Gianni looked delighted with the attention. He smirked, crossing his arms over his chest, and spoke.

  “You’re late.”

  “You look nice.” It came out of Franklin’s mouth unbidden. What the hell?

  “You’re forgiven.” Gianni smiled and reached for him. F
ranklin came to his senses and stepped back, out of reach. Gianni’s eyebrows lifted. “Jumpy tonight? I won’t hurt you.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Why? Did you miss me?”

  “I was worried.”

  Gianni smiled. This one seemed genuine. “Were you really?”

  Franklin didn’t know what to say. Was he worried? Yes. Should he have admitted it? Probably not. Things never went as planned around this infernal creature.

  “It’s been a rough week.” Gianni let him off the hook. “It’s good to see you.”

  Franklin went over a litany of responses in his head. It’s good to see you too. I’ve also had a rough week. Are you okay? All were true. All he vetoed. Gianni made him tongue-tied. Fortunately, the vampire talked enough for both of them.

  “My ex is in town. It would seem I have two stalkers. Lucky me. How about you? How goes the slaying?”

  “Oh, um. It doesn’t. I mean, I’m not patrolling right now.”

  “No. You were searching for me. Why?”

  Franklin shrugged. Gianni was his assignment, but it wasn’t as if he could say it, though surely the vampire was clever enough to have made that deduction. “You’re interesting,” was all he came up with.

  “Am I? Sweet of you to notice.” Gianni peered up at him through painted lashes. “So why is it you’re not trying to slay me, exactly? Not that I’m complaining. I don’t want to fight you.”

  Franklin was accustomed to straight answers. Could he tell Gianni the truth? The vampire would see through any lie he came up with on the spot. “I haven’t been ordered to kill you.”

  An eyebrow lifted. “What have you been ordered to do?”

  Franklin took a breath. “Monitor you.”

  “Why?”

  Franklin was nearing his limit of safe topics. “The Scourge think you’re different.”