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“Merde,” Mouse spat. Shit. Couldn’t mean anything good. “The Angel of Death?”
It had been ages since I heard Peyton called by that moniker. I’d been sixteen the first time I met him, before I worked for the council, before I had a werewolf boyfriend. Hell, my acquaintance with Peyton predated my sense of self-preservation, since the guy had damn near killed me.
To thank him, I’d ripped out one of his fangs.
It was the only surface wound a vampire couldn’t heal, and he’d never forgiven me.
Oh yeah, we went way back.
In his heyday he’d been famous in Europe. His sadistic appetites were well-known among the vampire community, the nasty violence at odds with his beautiful, youthful face.
The Angel of Death.
“Where is he?” My voice hitched up, making me sound a lot less calm and cool than I was pretending to be.
“Look, lady. You don’t want none of him, okay? People go in, they don’t come out. He might be pretty, or whatever. Maybe he’s great in the sack, I dunno what you two are into. But it’s not worth it. Some vamps it’s a bite and flight. They take your blood and bounce. But not this guy. This guy will use you up until there’s nothing left.”
Yup. Sounded like the Peyton I knew and loathed.
I couldn’t blame him for going a bit blood happy now that he was free again. Because of me he’d been chained in silver for over a year and starved the entire time. If I was deprived of food for a year…well, I’d die. But if I were a normal vampire and denied the feed? I’d be ravenous. A bottomless pit of hunger. It was no wonder he was eating his fill and then some.
I wasn’t trying to defend the actions of a serial-killing maniac vampire, but I got it.
Maybe it was time to start worrying, since I was sympathizing with Alexandre Peyton.
“Does it seem to you like I’m on a mission to get my rocks off with him?” I waved the gun again.
“I dunno. People can get weirdly motivated when it comes to vampires. The blood, the sex, the whole, you know…immortality thing.”
Point taken.
“I’m not here to fuck him. I’m here to kill him.”
“And this guy?” Mouse jerked his chin towards Desmond.
“Trust me, I’m not planning to fuck him either,” Desmond replied dryly.
“Hardy-har-har.” Mouse adjusted the front of his sweater with deliberate slowness, as if to say, Look what you did to my lovely clothes. “Fine. I’ll tell you guys where to find him. But I ain’t doing it for free.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I stepped closer and crammed the gun under his chin, letting the barrel tickle his barely there stubble. “You’ve mistaken this for a bartering agreement. We’re not exchanging anything. You’ll give me what I want and I’ll take it. End of story.”
He let out a muffled meep, but kept talking. “He’s dangerous. I give up a guy like that, and he’s going to c
ome after me. It needs to be worth my while.”
“He might come after you. But I have you right now. Which is scarier?”
Mouse met my eyes with a dead stare. “Him.”
“You don’t know me very well.”
“I know anyone who wants the Angel of Death dead is probably a good guy. The good guys don’t run around killing people.”
I released him and stepped back, lowering my weapon but not putting it away. “Don’t be naïve. There are no good guys anymore. If you don’t tell me where to find him, I’ll find someone who can. But you better believe I’ll give Peyton your name instead.”
“Wh-why would you do that?”
“Because you’re wasting my fucking time.” I turned to Desmond. “This guy is useless. Let’s kill him.”
