Chapter Twenty-Seven
The six hunters gathered in their favorite pub. “So, what’s our next move?” Charles asked. He had been appointed the nominal leader of the group, having the most kills to his name.
“Barrett doesn’t want us to do anything while the vampire is with his daughter, or while they are at the manor.” Jeffrey Allen remarked, with a sneer. “No bloodshed on the family grounds.”
“The man’s a fool,” Albert Sinclair muttered. “The vampire is there all the time. I know Barrett is ‘retired’ from the business, but what the hell? He’s in the best position to take the bloodsucker’s head.”
There were murmurs of agreement all around.
Charles held up his hand for silence. “I can’t argue with that, but we have to honor his request. To that end, we need to find the vampire’s lair.
Since he transports himself back and forth, that presents a problem.
He’s done a damn good job of covering his tracks.
Except for a few people in that village where he used to live, no one knows anything about him—not his last name, or where he came from, or where his other lairs might be.
I checked the Guild record book. There’s nothing on his page but his name.
Whoever started the record estimated his age to be four hundred and fifty. ”
Thomas Lunt swore under his breath. “Damn. I knew he was old, but damn.”
“Ideas?” Charles asked.
“He’s already killed several of our members,” Sinclair said. “We have no proof he’s killed anyone in our district, other than the Guild members who have attacked him. As powerful as he is, maybe we should just leave him the hell alone.”
“Leave him alone!” Stanley Mayfield, the youngest member of the group, exclaimed. “Leave him alone? You turning yellow, Sinclair?”
Sinclair stood. Fists clenched at his sides, he glared at Mayfield, then rolled up his left shirtsleeve, revealing a long, jagged scar that ran from his shoulder to his wrist. “I destroyed the vampire who did this.” He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing another nasty-looking scar that ran from his neck to his navel.
“I took the head of the one who did this. I’m not afraid of this bloodsucker.
But he’s older and stronger than any of the others we’ve encountered.
By my count, he’s killed seven of us in the last few months. Are you ready to be next?”
Stanley’s face paled as he stared at the scars and contemplated his own future.
Sinclair buttoned his shirt and sat down. Reaching for his mug, he drained it in one long swallow.
“In all fairness,” Charles said, “the bloodsucker didn’t kidnap Bryony, although he did keep her his prisoner for several months.”
“Fairness? He didn’t kidnap her so that makes it all right?” Allen remarked, with a rueful shake of his head. “I don’t think so. Our job is to destroy vampires when and where we find them. No discussion of right or wrong required.”
“This is a matter for the Guild leadership to decide,” Charles said. “Until we hear from them, or Barrett himself takes the creature’s head, tread carefully.”