The Slayer Read Free Page A

stage—”
    â€œThat mountain lion must have had its fill ’fore it got to you.”
    Hoss looked at him, his bloodshot eyes narrowing with suspicion. “There weren’t no mountai—” Winn locked gazes with Hoss, and the man went blessedly mute.
    Winn carefully modulated his voice, keeping it low, slow, and even, letting the power well up from his gut and resonate in his throat as the glamour took over. “A large mountain lion attacked you and your gang before the stage with the Black Gulch bankroll came through. You were knocked unconscious after your gun backfired and slammed your head up against the rocks. And because it was so traumatic you’re never going to hold up that stage again.”
    â€œ... backfired ... traumatic ... never again ...” Hoss repeated softly, his eyes glazed.
    Throwing a glamour over the man made a kind of sickening feeling slosh about in the pit of Winn’s stomach. He didn’t like resorting to Darkin tricks, hadn’t even when he was a Hunter. But it was better this way, he assured himself. Better for Hoss. Better for the town. There was no need for these folks to be afraid of vampires, or even know they existed.
    The walk back into town was slow going and damn hot. But thirty minutes later, Winn trudged up the sagging wooden steps of the Bodie jailhouse and led Hoss inside.
    â€œNow you’re going to sit down here for a bit till that sunstroke wears off you, you hear?” Truth was Winn was a might concerned the glamour might wear off before Hoss was fully functioning again, and he might relapse and remember everything. Winn needed to keep a close eye on him for a bit.
    Hoss shook his head again. His eyes cleared as the glamour faded, and he dutifully sat down in the only ladder-back chair on the front side of Winn’s large, scarred desk.
    Winn sat in his office chair and opened the left side drawer of his desk, pulling out a brown glass bottle of whiskey and a shot glass.
    â€œYou mind if I have some of that?” Hoss eyed the bottle longingly and licked his cracked lips.
    â€œYep. I do.” Clearly Hoss was back to normal and good to go.
    Hoss scooted to the edge of his seat and closer to the bottle. “But I’m mighty parched.”
    Winn refrained from bodily just shoving Hoss out into the street and instead jerked his head toward the door. “Plenty of saloons in town. Go take your pick. Just make sure you tell Brewster to go take care of your boys up there first. No need for the buzzards to pick them clean.”
    Hoss got up from the chair, not needing further encouragement. The door swung shut behind the older man, and Winn kicked back a slug of the old Kentucky Red Eye, letting it sear a path down his gullet and chase away the chill in his stomach. He thought twice about taking another shot. If the vampires were coming, he’d have to have his wits about him for certain.
    Winn set the shot glass on his desk, then leaned forward and scrubbed his hands over his face. He pulled on the hard waxed ends of his mustache.
    It had been bad enough that his little brother Colt was bent on stirring up demons, but now there were vampires to contend with, and who knew what else might be dredged up by Colt’s danged obsession with the Book of Legend.
    Pa had hid his piece for good reason. The three brothers who had started the Legion of Hunters—Cadel, Haydn, and Elwin—had hacked the Book apart for good reason. And as far as Winn was concerned, he had one damn good reason for keeping himself out of hunting.
    If that was even possible. He rubbed at the tight rope of scars across his thigh. Perhaps he’d been deluding himself for the last ten years. Ever since he’d had the run-in with that demon who’d nearly drowned Colt, and got an axe imbedded in his own leg for his troubles, he’d realized he wasn’t cut out to be a Hunter. There was too much at risk. He poured another jigger of