Demon Forged

by Meljean Brook

  She gave a warning glance to the novices surrounding them—each with their weapons drawn, she noted with approval. Behind her, running footsteps suddenly halted, and a shout was muffled as Olek stopped the only one in the room who, given his feelings for Becca, might have posed a danger—to himself, when Irena defended against his attack.

  On the floor, Becca tried to pull herself forward. She gasped as Irena pressed her knee down harder. The rug ripped beneath the novice’s fingers.

  With a soft sound of alarm, Pim stepped forward, lowering her sword. “Irena, please.”

  Irena ignored her. She bent to speak into Becca’s ear. “I’m stronger than you. Faster than you. I could tear you apart without lifting a finger, and you do not yet even have your Gift,” she said. “Will you still try to come between Lilith and me?”

  “Yes.” The novice’s ragged breaths were almost sobs now.

  “Why?” Irena sneered. “Because you are loyal to Lilith?”

  “Because it’s the right thing to do, you crazy cunt bitch!”

  Irena flipped her over. She blocked Becca’s fist, then captured her wrists. The novice could have hurt Irena with a knee to her back, but Becca must have realized there was nothing left to fight. She stared up at Irena, absolutely still.

  “Yes,” Irena said. “That is the right answer. Your loyalty should not be to me, to Lilith, to the Guardians. Only to this.” She laid her hand over Becca’s racing heart. “Only this. Do you see?”

  Becca nodded, and Irena knew that the novice did see. This one was the youngest here, but she was not stupid. And if the others were not stupid, they would see as well.

  Irena hauled the novice to her feet. “Then you will be worthy of your wings.”

  She began to turn, but Becca’s voice stopped her. “And what if I don’t know what’s right?”

  Irena sighed. She hated questions such as these. “Then ask your friends.” She gestured to the novices around them. “Surely one of them will say something sensible. Or ask your mentor, or Micha—” She cut herself off. The novice bit her lip. Irena drew a deep breath and finished, “Or Michael.”

  Humor lit Becca’s eyes. “Lilith?”

  Irena chuckled, more amused by the novice’s daring than the question. “No.”

  “You?”

  Her laughter took off. When she finally wrestled it under control, she wiped her eyes and shook her head. “No.”

  The novice looked genuinely perplexed. “No? Why not?”

  Irena stared at her. The novice had been afraid that she might kill Lilith—and if circumstances had been different, if Lilith had been different, Irena would have slain the former demon—and yet she looked to Irena for guidance? “Why would you?”

  “You’re . . . you.”

  Irena frowned. That made no sense. But the other novices were nodding, and so obviously the only person it didn’t make sense to was Irena.

  “Come to me, then,” she said. “But know that my answer will always be ‘Kill the demon.’ Painfully, if possible.”

  Becca gave a little smile, as if that pleased her. “Okay.”

  Still frowning, Irena turned away from her toward the stairs. Across the common room, Alejandro stood with his forearm against Mackenzie’s throat and his sword angled between the vampire’s legs. Mackenzie’s rage had not yet cooled.

  Alejandro’s tone remained calm, but demanded that the vampire listen. “Your desire to protect your woman speaks well of you—but do not forget that she is a Guardian. You must learn to recognize when she needs protection, and when she does not.”

  From behind her, Becca snapped, “I don’t need protection, you stupid jerk.”

  Irena wasn’t sure if stupid jerk referred to Alejandro or Mackenzie, but the vampire must have thought it was him. Chagrin flashed through his psychic scent before he bared his fangs. “Be quiet, my woman.”

  The novices snickered. Perhaps they’d seen this argument before. Irena left them to it, continuing toward the stairs.

  Alejandro released the vampire, adding, “You’ll likely find that when she needs it and when she wants it will rarely coincide.”

  Irena gave him a look as he caught up to her at the head of the stairs. When she wants it? she signed.

  The corners of his mouth deepened and his cheeks hollowed. His not-quite-a-smile. But his eyes didn’t join in; he regarded her curiously. Do you not know how the younger Guardians see you? Not just the novices, but all of those who are still young.

  She did not think of it much. I can imagine.

  Then you imagine poorly. He stopped halfway down the stairs, and she turned to face him. It is almost with the same reverence that they have for Michael.

  Reverence? She snorted. It is fear, perhaps.

  And respect. He started down again. They wouldn’t have been so conflicted if they cared nothing for your opinion, and only feared you.

  She followed him, unease dancing through her belly. All of her life, she’d urged young Guardians to find a path true to themselves. She’d never thought they might look to hers as a model.

  But it had not always been that way, she knew.

  “When you were young, Olek,” she began in Russian, and continued with her hands when he turned to face her, you did not regard me with reverence.

  Yes, I did. I’d heard the same stories as every other novice, he replied. But after I saw you, I only wanted to sheathe myself between your thighs.

  Her breath caught. Never would she forget her own powerful response upon seeing him staring at her across that courtyard. She thought of his promise to meet her at the forge later, and hoped the evening would pass quickly.

  The color in his eyes deepened. Yes, he hoped so, too. They reached the bottom of the stairs; the hub was empty.

  “Taylor and Preston are in the conference room,” he said quietly. “We wait for Lilith and Castleford to join us—and for Michael.”

  Though hearing him respond to her in his native language felt so perfectly right, Irena couldn’t mistake the unsettled note in Olek’s voice at his mention of Michael. What has happened?

  Nothing. He intercepted her frown, and shook his head. I do not lie. I’ll tell you as we wait with Taylor. Hopefully, the Doyen will be himself again when we next see him.

  Oh. Irena understood all too well; he’d met with Michael, and the Doyen’s shields hadn’t held firm. And she still had no idea what Khavi had told Michael. Did your hands shake?

  Alejandro gave her a sharp glance, followed by a reluctant nod.

  So did mine, she said.

  The giant flat-screened TV mounted behind a sliding wall panel in the SI conference room probably cost more than all of the rolling-cart monstrosities and half the detectives’ computers at Ingleside station, Taylor mused. If Rael had managed to talk Uncle Sam into setting this up for the Guardians, then the SFPD obviously needed a demon sitting in on the city budget meetings.

  She glanced over at Joe, who sat in the chair beside hers, eating candy. He jerked his bushy eyebrows at the screen, then tapped his fingers on the table. Unlike the screen, the long, metal folding table was better suited to Ingleside than here, and clearly didn’t match the buttery-soft leather seats that cushioned their asses. She shrugged, then held out her hand so that he could pour M&M’s into her cupped palm.

  Waiting wasn’t so bad, Taylor decided, separating out the red candies to eat first. She’d already called her mother, saying she’d be home late. No surprise there. She’d left a message for Savi, telling the vampire that she’d wait at SI so they could begin digging into Wren’s history—which actually meant that Savi would be digging while Taylor watched her perform magic on the computer.

  And by the time Lilith and Castleford showed up, she might have figured out why the hell she and Joe were really here.

  Her gaze settled on Cordoba, who stood against the far wall. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Irena since she’d come into the room. Irena stood against the wall opposite the tall Guardian.

 
Guardians apparently had a problem with parking their butts in a seat, but no problems talking. Their hands had been flying in that sign language. A bit rude.

  But, to be fair, she and Preston hadn’t shared their M&M’s, either.

  She moved on to the orange. One color at a time, one question at a time.

  The first big question was Cordoba. Although the Guardian currently looked less like a federal agent and more like a brooding romantic hero with his black breeches and boots—and a heavy twist of a villain thrown in with that devilish little goatee—the man knew his way around an investigation. Unlike Irena, Cordoba hadn’t been in the background. And Joe got a little starry-eyed around the Guardians, but he was a cop to his bones. He wouldn’t still be looking at Cordoba with any kind of respect if the Guardian had bumbled around.

  And though Cordoba had crossed lines, he hadn’t bumbled his way over them.

  Lilith had lied. SI didn’t need them here.

  Taylor picked out a yellow M&M’s candy, the only one in the bunch. This one, she’d let melt instead of chewing it.

  So SI didn’t need them, and yet . . . here they were. Lilith had no reason to do her any favors. And Lilith could be a bitch, but Taylor couldn’t see how bringing Joe and her in on the investigation was sticking it to them. Lilith wouldn’t stick it to Joe, in any case.

  Hell, Lilith probably wouldn’t stick it to anyone unless there was a point to it. Whatever Lilith was, at least she always had a purpose behind the bitchiness.

  And then there’d been that visit from Khavi. Taylor had gotten the impression from Irena that the grigori was just a nut, but that nut had also had a purpose. Khavi had shown up in her car for a reason—and Taylor didn’t think it was just to rip her heart out over Jason.

  But why would an ancient grigori give a flying flip about her?

  Two greens sat in her palm like little eyes. Taylor stared at them, then let them drop to the table. She swiveled her seat around. Irena was back in her leather longstockings and that white fur mantle. Her Guardian outfit. Not playing agent anymore. Good. Taylor wanted the Guardian in front of her, not the pretend cop.

  “Irena.”

  Irena’s gaze left Cordoba. Her brows lifted.

  “Is it me, or is it Joe?”

  She wondered if the Guardian would lie. Wondered if Irena would pretend not to know what she was talking about.

  But Irena didn’t even hesitate. “You.”

  Preston turned in his chair, frowning.

  “How?” Taylor pressed before he could say anything. “What’d she see?”

  “A vampire. That is all we know.”

  Fear rose hot and bitter in the back of her throat. She tried to swallow it down. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I thought you would refuse our protection,” Irena said. Something flickered in her eyes, and she added, “And we are not used to sharing with humans.”

  No shit. But she couldn’t even spit that out. Trying to absorb the idea that Khavi had seen her death took every brain cell she had.

  “Jesus,” Joe said, catching up quick. “Can you change it?”

  “We will try.”

  Which was a far cry from Yes, Taylor thought. But she remembered Khavi had said she’d altered her future by refusing to ask about Jason. So it could be changed.

  And maybe Irena was right; Taylor probably would have told them to go screw themselves if they’d mentioned this to her yesterday. But Khavi showing up in her car had changed that, too.

  “I’ll take protection,” she said. Her fingers didn’t shake when she picked up the two green M&M’s and tossed them in her mouth. So she was cool. She was okay with this. Everything would be all right. “I have faith in you guys.”

  And lucky for her, Castleford hadn’t shown up yet, because that was a big fucking lie.

  The rooms in the Special Investigations warehouse housed only the necessities and were as austere as a monastery’s—but where a penitent might use a cold shower, a vampire used hot. Deacon sweated and gritted his teeth against the scalding blast of water.

  He still felt unclean to his soul. Sleep hadn’t been an escape, but had given him dreams as vivid and as dark as death. Dreams of Petra screaming, of his bones shattering.

  Not just dreams. Memories.

  Refusing to look in the mirror, he wiped down, then slung the towel around his hips. He anchored it with one hand, slicked the other through his hair.

  Ferocious tension gripped him as he emerged from the bathroom. Someone was in his room. The lights were still off, just as he’d left them. Darkness wasn’t dark to a vampire—and he couldn’t see anyone.

  Then she was there, coalescing out of the shadows.

  Rosalia.

  Instead of releasing his tension, her appearance squeezed it tighter. She was temptation, every sin in a single package. Crimson silk skimmed her curves from her incredible breasts to her knees and didn’t look half as smooth as the pale silk of her skin. The straps of her shoes glittered.

  Her smile was sweet and open.

  Fuck him. She wasn’t sin. Any man could sin. They couldn’t have something like Rosalia.

  He sure as hell couldn’t. “What do you want?”

  Unperturbed by his rough greeting, she lifted her hand. A black suit jacket appeared, its collar hooked on her index finger. A pair of trousers draped over her opposite arm. “I brought clothes.”

  Deacon strode to the foot of the bed, where he’d tossed his pants that morning. “I’ve got clothes.”

  Her lips pursed, casting her opinion on the wrinkled fabric. “Clean clothes.” Her hips on full swing, she joined him beside the bed. “I can take yours, and they’ll be pressed and ready for tomorrow. You’ll need at least one change while you’re here. Unless you expect to go shopping soon?”

  Jesus. He’d rather not. And it was hard to argue with her reasoning. “All right.”

  “Good.” His clothes vanished, replaced by the clean suit, a snowy white shirt, and underclothes. Rosalia sat on the bed next to the pile, selected a pair of black socks, and began picking at the tiny string connecting them. “I went back to Rome.”

  He’d been about to tell her to haul off, but that stopped him. “To the church?”

  “Not the church you found me in. But there was a church, and everything and everyone there was as they should be.” Her smile faded. “I found no vampires, though.”

  Had she thought her brother might have survived? He wondered if she’d hoped to find him or if she dreaded it.

  “Do you think your brother knew you were down there with the nosferatu?”

  A faint, unreadable smile touched her lips. “Oh, yes.”

  “He made a deal with them?”

  She actually laughed. “A nosferatu wouldn’t make a deal with a vampire.”

  No. Nosferatu hated vampires too much—saw them as an abomination. “Then who . . . ?”

  “A demon.”

  His blood chilled. “You think your brother made a deal with a demon—and the demon made another deal with the nosferatu?”

  “Yes.” She leaned back. Her warm brown eyes seemed to see through him. “Lorenzo should have known better than to get involved with a demon. It never ends well. It especially never ends well for vampires.”

  He gave her a sharp glance, but couldn’t read anything behind her slight smile. “Now there’s no Lorenzo, no vampires. I suppose you won’t be going back to Rome.”

  “Oh, I’ll return. I still have obligations to fulfill.”

  Well, he wasn’t going to ask what. And he didn’t want to be standing around much longer with her leaning back on his bed like that, the hem of her dress riding high on her thighs. He might be bothered by what she’d just told him, but the bloodlust didn’t care. As it was, he was thankful he’d come out of the bathroom holding his towel bunched in the front.

  “How about you go get started on those obligations?”

  “I am.” The bed creaked as she sat up. “I have your dinner.”


  He allowed himself a glance at her neck. He could dream. “I thought Irena had it.”

  “She did, but she was going into a meeting. I offered to bring it instead.” Two tall glasses appeared in her hands. She hefted one, then the other. “Nosferatu or demon?”

  The scent hit him. His fangs ached. “Nosferatu.”

  Her brow creased. “Are you sure? Too many days of this, and your mind won’t be sharp.”

  Yes, but another day or two on living blood would bring him back to normal. “I’ll take that chance.”

  He’d take any chance that the nosferatu blood would make him even stronger than it already had.

  “Did it have any effect yesterday?”

  He nodded his head, still amazed by it. A smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah. It did.”

  A hell of an effect. After leaving Polidori’s, he’d returned to the warehouse and joined Echo and Ben sparring in the gym. Older than Echo and Ben, he’d already been stronger, but he judged his speed had increased by half.

  His smile faded. Then he’d asked them about accessing the Internet. Ben had helped him secure a laptop from the tech room for his personal use—and Deacon had come upstairs, written out everything he’d learned about Ames-Beaumont, and e-mailed it to Caym.

  Rosalia leaned toward him, handing over the glass. “Then I guess it must be worth it.”

  Her forward movement made her breasts sway. Jesus. Deacon turned his back to her and downed the blood in a few long swallows. There was no reason to savor the taste. As incredible as the scent was, the blood had no flavor.

  And it didn’t matter that drinking soothed both the hunger and the bloodlust. The combination of Rosalia and the scent left him rock hard.

  He continued facing the wall. “You’ve got one second to get out of here, sister, and then I’m dropping the towel.”

  “That sounds like reason to stay.”

  What was she, a tease? His brows lowered, but a buzzing from the dresser stopped him from whipping around and seeing if she’d follow through on that.