The Slayer Read Online Free PDF Page A

was to remove as many obstacles in Colt’s way as he could and pray it was enough to keep his brother alive.
    â€œIf I find anything, I’ll send word through Marley,” Winn said simply.
    Relief softened the hard set of Colt’s jaw. He might be stubborn, but he knew he needed help. Deep down in Winn’s chest a warm, solid feeling unfurled. He knew backing his brother was the right thing to do, even if it meant putting his lot in with a bunch of vampires and going along in a scheme to bring the pieces of the Book back together.
    Colt’s mouth lifted into a smile. “Thanks, Winn.”
    â€œYou’d best go on,” he answered back.
    His little brother and the demon he’d come to rely on left the jail in the quickly dwindling afternoon light. He didn’t have time to ruminate too much on his decision to go search for the second lost piece of the Book of Legend. The vampires would be there come nightfall, and he needed to be prepared.
    Winn pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a worn wooden box with a slider lid. The lid rasped as he shoved it open, revealing the specially crafted silver bullets and salt-packed shotgun shells he rarely used. His fingers caressed the smooth silver, the familiar zing of anticipation firing his blood.
    He might have walked away from being a Hunter, but it was something that never left you. The memories still haunted him. The knowledge of the things he’d done in the name of protecting mankind still burdened his conscience and stained his soul. Once a Hunter, forever a Hunter. It was like a brand. There was no amount of scrubbing or whitewashing that could hide what he truly was at his core.
    Winn slid the lid shut and set the box atop the desk. His brain went on automatic, like he was an automaton, just going through the motions without thought or rationale as to why he was performing the actions of packing. His rifle and back sling, his special ammunitions and packages of salt. His bowie knife and whetstone to sharpen the blade.
    By sundown everything was ready for Winn to leave at a moment’s notice, but the churning in his gut left him unsettled. Winn sat back in his office chair and waited, scraping the bowie against the surface of the stone, finding the hissing grind of it comforting.
    Four hours passed. Firelight from the potbellied stove flickered along the walls, casting the jail cell bars into sharp stripes of shadow. Winn kept pacing. The ticking clock seemed overly loud to his ears and was keeping time with his heartbeat. He hadn’t bothered to light a lantern when dark fell. Vampires had excellent night vision.
    The clock struck ten. A whiff of sulfur tainted the air, and Winn stopped his in tracks, stiffening. A knock rattled the door. Polite vampires? That surprised him. They could have just as easily pushed the door off its hinges and strutted right in, or, judging by the contessa’s disappearing act this afternoon, vaporized themselves into the room.
    He hesitated for just a moment, taking in a deep, fortifying breath. There was no way of knowing exactly how many vampires she’d brought with her.
    Winn pulled the jail door inward with a long, mournful creak. Before him stood the contessa, her dark hair, dress, and small hat blending in with the night around her. Only one vampire stood beside her, a young man with pale skin and streaky blond hair. The highly polished brass buttons that ran on either side of his black uniform glinted in the firelight. He was broad of shoulder and a good six inches taller than the contessa, but they shared the same unusual coloration of their eyes. One didn’t often see a pretty boy like that on the frontier.
    â€œGood evening, Mr. Jackson,” she said, her voice warm and rich.
    He nodded once in acknowledgment.
    The contessa touched the arm of the vampire beside her. “This is His Imperial Majesty’s envoy, Enric.”
    Enric bowed slightly from the