Page 1 of Hot for Slayer
Chapter 1
The last time Lazlo Enyedi and I made this much physical contact with each other, the Berlin Wall was falling.
Literally.
As the crowd energetically chiseled chunks of graffitied concrete off the sections surrounding the wall’s checkpoints, Lazlo’s body pressed so close to mine that his heat nearly melded us together.
That was, of course, over thirty years ago. But for someone who’s been around as long as I have, three decades is little more than a shooting star flitting across the night sky, and I remember that moment well. It was history in the making. A watershed hour for the revolution. A shift in the paradigm that led to portentous sea changes in the tides of civilization, and drew people—people likeme—from all over the world.
Although, to be truthful, I only went to Germany because I was hungry.
Careful research had indicated that a very bad man was prowling around Berlin, doing very bad things to innocent people. Since someone needed to stop him, and since I hadn’t fed properly in a few weeks, I decided to pay him a visit and kill two birds with one stone.
Except, it wasn’tfowlthat I killed.
Afterward, I licked my chops, adjusted the shoulder pads of my blazer, and took a stroll through the bustling droves of humans celebrating the epoch-making night.
The thing about creatures of my ilk is, we’ve seen it all happen already, over and over again. We understand that time is a flat circle. We have witnessed civilizations rise, plateau, fall, then plateau again on their way back up. Rationally, we know better than to get too invested in the affairs of mortals. Still, there is something deliciously sustaining about the energy that surges through a crowd during a landmark event. All that transformative, life-changing power is like a current coursing through our veins, and a luscious juxtaposition to the fixed immutability of our own existence.
All of this is to say: I was hanging out in Berlin and having a pretty good time—until I spotted Lazlo Enyedi. My least yet most favorite slayer. Or maybe just the only one I could have picked out of a lineup.
My familiarity with Enyedi was expected, considering that the Hällsing Guild had specifically tasked him with eradicating my bloodline. Still, most vampire slayers came and went, usually done in by a moment of distraction or by their own reckless, hateful hubris. Enyedi, though, had been around since the early Middle Ages.
Probably because he was irritatingly skilled at his job.
I didn’t wonder how he knew that I’d be in Berlin, because there was no point. Tracking me down was a special talent of his, just like simultaneously patting my head and rubbing my belly was mine. Everyone was gifted in their own special way. Enyedi’s skills just happened to be useful.
“Vampire,” he whispered the second our eyes met across the festive mob. There were several million decibels and theequivalent of an Olympic-size pool between us, but I could hear him as clearly as if he dwelled inside my head.
I studied him for a split second. Took in the colorful tattoos that climbed around his neck to curl under his jawline. His dark hair and amber eyes. The towering stillness of his shoulders as people walked around him, instinctively stepping out of his way.
“Slayer.” I sighed.
And then, as was my habit and sole option when faced with Enyedi, I began to run. I wove through the crowd fast enough to lose him but slow enough not to raise suspicions among the celebrants. I ducked under trenches, dodged the hammers and megaphones that were being waved about, and I probably would have vanished into the night—if a sobbing child hadn’t materialized right in front of my eyes.
I skidded to a halt. Stared at the clump of reddened cheeks, snot, and inconsolable tears blubbering at my feet. Waited for the toddler to take a breathing break from the bawling to stammer, “Are you, um, okay?”
He—she?—theywere not. They were desperately looking for theirMutter, and even an archetypal monster such as myself couldn’tnothelp the brat. “Entschuldigung?” I asked, frantically glancing around for a motherly-looking human. Once theMutterin question was located, I scrammed again, but I’d lost too much of my advantage, and ...
Well. That’s how I found myself close enough to Enyedi that I could feel his heart beating against my chest. Pressed between him and the brick side of a house, to be precise.
This kind of shit,I mentally informed the universe,doesnotincentivize good deeds.
The universe didn’t reply, probably because it was too scared of Lazlo Enyedi to speak over him as he said, “Aethelthryth. At last, we meet again.”
I beamed up, hoping that it would irritate him. “Hey, friend.”
We weren’tfriends, not by any correct meaning of the word. But, as much as it pained me to admit it, I did have a bit of a parasocial relationship going on with him, despite us having exchanged a grand total of two dozen words, most of which were some variation ofdie, monster, andno,youdie first. Not that I enjoy relentless harassment, but what’s a girl to do when the only constant presence during the last millennium of her life has been a guy who’s contractually mandated to murder her?
“How long has it been?” I asked, batting my eyes. “At least since the early eighties. I hope you’re still using sunscreen, because those crow’s-feet around your eyes don’t—Shit.” I grunted as a dagger sank into my stomach, pinning me to the brick wall.
It wasn’t a big deal. The only surefire way to kill a vampire was to drag them kicking and screaming into the sun, which Lazlo knew very well. Still, being skewered fuckinghurt.
“Nice t-to see you, t-too,” I sputtered between coughs, trying to hold my smile in place. A mix of phlegm and blood squirted out of my throat and landed on his button-down, but I didn’t feel bad at all.
Fuck him and his dry-cleaning bill.
“Look at you,” he murmured in his faded Eastern European accent, those yellow animal eyes raking down my skin. “Flushed and plump and beautiful. You just fed, didn’t you?”
