The Slayer by Theresa Meyers Page A

skin. The way she held up her chin and straightened her spine, the subtle movements of her hands, all spoke of someone used to ordering and being obeyed. She was as intoxicating as a bottle of Kentucky’s finest redeye.
    â€œOur captain is awaiting instruction as to your first destination,” she told him briskly, pushing away from the rail and walking quickly past him. Winn silently fell into step behind her, down through the wide-open observation deck to a narrow hallway that ran along the edge of the dining room. A dark, sweet floral perfume followed in her wake, but he couldn’t place it. No hint of sulfur. It was a clever trick, but he must never forget that under that creamy skin, behind that sometimes radiant smile, she was a Darkin. A vampire. Someone who, with little provocation, would terminate his life in the blink of her long lashes.
    The corridor terminated at a dark, polished wood door with a brass porthole in it.
    She stood back and waited for him to enter. Winn felt a bit odd about that. It was true, he’d never taken the time to get to know a vampire before. When he’d been an active Hunter, it had always been kill or be killed. Vampires in his experience weren’t much for polite conversation. But her uppity manner was annoying all the same, as if he didn’t even measure up to the heel on her highly polished little boots.
    Winn put his hand on the warm smoothness of the wooden door. “You know I might not be so inclined to be defensive if you vampires weren’t acting so high and mighty.”
    Her shoulders stiffened slightly at the insult. “Good evening, Mr. Jackson.” She spun on her heel, but before she could walk away, Winn put his arm out on the opposite wall, barring her exit.
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    There was barely room for both of them in the confines of the narrow hallway. The wild scents of desert, sun, sagebrush, leather, and male invaded Alexa’s space as she turned and stared hard at him. Her imposing glare usually sufficed in getting others to do as she wished.
    Even through the fabric of his duster, she could tell his arm was thick and well-muscled. Winchester Jackson was not a man easily dismissed. And yet, by the gods, she wanted to. From the moment he’d leveled a gun at her, and chosen to think first and shoot later, she’d been intrigued by him. That, coupled with the fact that he seemed to have developed an aversion to hunting, and was part of the legendary Chosen, made her far too interested in him for her own well-being.
    â€œIt’s two A.M. That’s hardly evening anymore.”
    It wasn’t his words, which were prosaic enough, that slipped under her carefully maintained exterior. It was the dark, smoky tone; it was the way the words sounded like pillow talk between lovers. It was the heat in his eyes, and the sound of his elevated heartbeat. Sparks snapped along her nerve endings. Alexa was profoundly grateful she didn’t have a bothersome pulse to contend with. Like his pulse, clearly visible at the base of his strong, brown throat, hers would have given her away.
    Her gaze snapped to meet his, and she felt herself falling into the blue of his eyes, so dark they matched the midnight sky. Part of being a good diplomat was knowing when to fall back from negotiation. “Of course. Then I’ll wish you good morning, Mr. Jackson.”
    â€œNot so fast. Once I’ve talked to this captain of yours, I’d like to know where my bunk will be. Your kind might not need much rest, but I do.”
    â€œOh, don’t make the assumption we do not sleep,” she replied. “We just sleep like the dead.”
    His sculpted, firm bottom lip smoothed slightly at her humor, but it was hard to tell with his mustache if it was the beginning of a smile. The tension that eddied in invisible currents between them began to ease just a little.
    He might not like that she was Darkin, or vampire, but he wasn’t averse to