Page 82 of The Slayer Seduction

I don’t trust it, not for a second.

My wand glows at the tip for light and the Slayer grabs my forearm, leading me down the concrete steps.

“Fuck,” he hisses out as we glance around. This isn’t just a tornado shelter, it looks more like a home.

Shelves line the walls, filled with different tomes and journals. The place almost seems like a well-preserved escape in time. There are different trinkets from different eras. I wouldn’t be surprised if the rug we were standing on isn’t a couple hundred years old.

The space is quiet, with a touch of eeriness to it. My gaze clocks on one shelf in particular. It looks like stacks of moleskin journals. I shouldn’t touch, but something deep inside me tells me I should. There’s a deep maroon book capturing my attention.

I swallow thickly as I open it.

1-28-1892

No sign of our brother, no luck finding his lineage either. It’s possible he’s stuck in the void.

Days are getting longer. There’s no hope for anything but destruction.

I grow tired.

The endless cycles are perhaps making me lose my mind. There’s no reason to live and I wonder what my purpose in this cruel world is.

Vampires are becoming far more rare, the hunt more delicate, but it’s not enough to hold my interest, not anymore.

My life is not my own, and there is no hope of stopping this endless suffering.

I just wish for it to end.

Maybe I’m just nosey, but I grab another journal and flip through the pages.

5-3-2003

My brothers won’t give up the hunt and I owe them everything.

But what if I didn’t? What if it could just all end?

“Slayer?”

He grunts in response, but doesn’t stop his perusal of the space.

“I think maybe this one doesn’t want to be⁠—”

I don’t finish my sentence as a loud thud sounds above us, dust sprinkling from the ceiling upon impact.

“Get behind me. Be ready,” he directs and I don’t even hesitate as I do just that.

The pounding footsteps of the opposing slayer are loud. Jesse Georgiev is the name of his vessel. He’s the same slayer we met in the alleyway. His appearance is still imposing and makes me uncomfortable. I grab the back of my Slayer’s shirt and I can feel him stiffen under the fabric.

Jesse doesn’t speak right away, and he shocks me as he strolls around the space, taking a seat in a worn green recliner, flicking on a lamp that has to be from the twenties.

The warm golden glow of the light just makes him look even more intimidating. Yet, there’s something sad and broken about him, too.

“I suppose you’re here for my book,” Jesse says, steepling his fingers, looking at us like our plans are so transparent.

“It didn’t need to be this way,” my Slayer tells him and the other man nods.

“Essam is dead?” he asks, and my Slayer gasps.

That was his name? This is the first time I’ve heard any of them use an actual moniker outside of brother or slayer.