Must Love Hellhounds

dead.
    “Be seated.” Favashi waved to a chair placed at the open end of the semicircle.
    The old warrior settled himself without any fuss, but Raphael had seen Simon in his prime. He knew the Guild Director was feeling the kiss of age. And yet, he was no old man, never would be. He was a man to be respected. Once, Raphael might’ve called such a man a friend, but that time had passed a thousand years ago. He’d learned too well that mortal lives blinked out with firefly quickness.
    “You wish to retire your position?” Neha asked with regal elegance. She was one of the few who continued to keep a court—the Queen of Poisons might kill you, but you’d admire her refined grace even as you took your last agonizing breath.
    Simon remained coolly composed under her regard. Being Guild Director for forty years had given him a confidence he hadn’t had as the young man Raphael had first seen take the reins. “I must,” he now said. “My hunters are happy for me to stay on, but a good director needs always consider the health of the Guild as a whole. That health flows from the top—the leader must be eminently capable of undertaking an active hunt if necessary.” A rueful smile. “I’m strong and I’m skilled, but I’m no longer as fast, or as willing to dance with death.”
    “Honest words.” Titus nodded approvingly. He was most at ease among warriors and their kin—for though he might rule with brutal strength, he was as blunt as the hard line of his jaw. “It’s a strong general who can give up the reins of power.”
    Simon acknowledged the compliment with a slight nod. “I’ll always be a hunter, and as is custom, I’ll remain available to the new director till my death. However, I have every faith in her ability to lead the Guild.”
    “Her?” Charisemnon snorted. “A female?”
    Michaela raised an eyebrow. “My respect for the Guild has suddenly increased a hundredfold.”
    Simon didn’t allow himself to get drawn into the dialogue. “Sara Haziz is the best possible person to take my place for a number of reasons.”
    Astaad settled his wings. “Tell us.”
    “With respect,” Simon said quietly, “that is no concern of the Cadre’s.”
    It was Titus who reacted first. “You think to defy us?”
    “The Guild has always been neutral for a reason.” Simon’s spine remained unbending. “Our job is to retrieve vampires who break their Contracts. But through the ages, we’ve often found ourselves in the middle of wars between angels. We survive only because we are seen as neutral. If the Cadre takes too much of an interest, we lose that protection.”
    “Pretty words,” Neha said.
    Simon met her gaze. “That makes them no less true.”
    “Is she capable?” Elijah asked. “This, we must know. If the American Guild falls, the ripple effect could be catastrophic.”
    Vampires would go utterly free, Raphael thought. Some would slip softly into an ordinary life. But others, others would murder and kill. Because at heart, they were predators. Not so different from angels when all was said and done.
    “Sara is more than capable,” Simon said. “She also has the loyalty of her fellow hunters—I’ve had a significant number of them come up to me this past year and suggest her name as a possible successor.”
    “This Sara is your best hunter?” Astaad asked.
    Simon shook his head. “But the best will never make a good director. She is hunter-born.”
    Raphael made a note to find out her name. Unlike normal members of the Guild, the hunter-born came out of the womb with the ability to scent vampires. They were the best trackers in the world, the most relentless—bloodhounds tuned to one particular scent. “And Sara?” he asked. “Will she accept?”
    Simon took a moment to think. “I have not a single doubt that Sara will make the right decision.”

Chapter One

    Sara wasn’t used to feeling sorry for vampires. Her job, after all, was to bag, tag, and transport them back to their masters, the angels. She was no fan of indentured servitude but it wasn’t as if the angels hid the price of immortality. Anyone who wanted to get Made had to serve the angels for a hundred years. Non-negotiable.
    You didn’t want to bow and scrape for a century, you didn’t sign the Contract. Simple. Running out on the Contract after the angels delivered their part of the bargain? That just made you a welsher. And nobody liked a welsher.
    However, this guy had worse problems than being