Page 18 of Twilight Destiny

She thought it over, then said, “All right.” After all, if she got into trouble, Saintcrow was only a phone call away.

Saintcrow rose with the setting sun. Opening his preternatural senses, he tracked Rosa’s whereabouts to the restaurant in town. Letting his mind brush hers, he discovered she wasn’t alone. And she wasn’t with Kincaid. Curious, he dressed and willed himself into town.

Rosa looked up, unable to hide her surprise when Saintcrow strolled toward their table.

“What are you doing here?”

“I own the place, remember?” Saintcrow replied, his voice and his gaze icy as he regarded the man who was glaring at him. “I come here often.” He inclined his head in the stranger’s direction. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Miss Ravenwood?”

“Mr. Saintcrow, this is Paul Rhinehart. He’s a reporter. Paul, this is Mr. Saintcrow.”

Reporter, hell, Saintcrow thought as he shook the man’s hand. He was a hunter. And a well-known one, at that.

“Order anything you like, you two,” Saintcrow said. “It’s on the house.”

“Thank you,” Rosa said curtly.

Sketching an old-fashioned bow, Saintcrow took his leave.

“He owns the hotel?” Paul asked, his gaze following Saintcrow.

“That’s what he said.”

“How do you happen to know him?”

Rosa bit down on her lower lip, wishing she had refused his invitation to dinner. “He’s a friend of a friend of mine.”

Paul nodded, his expression pensive.

Dinner was a strained affair and when it was over, Rosa pleaded a headache, thanked Paul Rhinehart for a lovely day, and made her escape as quickly as she could.

As she’d expected, Saintcrow was waiting for her at home. He sat on the sofa, his arms spread along the back, his legs stretched out in front of him, his expression impassive.

“Did you have a nice evening?” he asked.

Rosa swallowed hard. “Until you showed up.”

“Indeed. And what did you tell Mr. Rhinehart about Morgan Creek?”

“Don’t you know?” she snapped, then bit down on her lower lip as his power rolled through the room.

“Of course I know!”

“Then why ask me?” He was angry, she thought, but, darn it, so was she. What game was he playing, when all he had to do was read her mind?

“The man might be passing himself off as a reporter, but he’s lying. Paul Rhinehart was once a world-renown vampire hunter, although he doesn’t seem to be as active as he used to be.”

Dumbfounded, Rosa stared at Saintcrow. A hunter? Paul hardly seemed big enough, strong enough, or tough enough to physically take on a vampire, even a fledgling. Going against a nightwalker as old as Saintcrow would be suicide.

“The man has taken more heads than any hunter in the country.”

“I don’t believe you. He’s a wimp.”

Saintcrow snorted. “In this case, size doesn’t matter. He knows what he’s doing. I’ve heard that in recent months he’s been working hand-in-hand with a powerful necromancer.”

Rosa frowned. A necromancer? She wasn’t even sure what that was, but it sounded scary as hell.

“It’s someone who can reanimate dead bodies,” Saintcrow remarked. “Someone who can communicate with spirits. Someone who practices black magic and has the power to control the dead. And the Undead.”

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