Demon Forged

by Meljean Brook

  “You said you were ready, detective.”

  Taylor straightened. The voice was as harmonious as Michael’s, but definitely was not his.

  Taylor turned to Khavi and gestured at the computer. “I guess he’s a little busy?”

  “Yes. I volunteered to come in his place while he got rid of the dragon.”

  A dragon? Speechless, she looked over at Joe, who’d gotten to his feet.

  “You are going to Rael’s house,” Khavi said.

  It wasn’t a question—because, Taylor realized, the woman already knew. “We are unless you can see any reason why we shouldn’t.”

  “No. We must.”

  “Well, let’s head out then.”

  Taylor grabbed her coat, aware that half the bullpen was watching Khavi as if a pint-sized can of gorgeous had suddenly appeared in their midst, and she might start sharing it with all of them.

  They weren’t getting lucky today.

  Joe opened both the stair door and the vehicle’s rear passenger door for Khavi. Taylor rolled her eyes and shook her head as she slid into the driver’s seat.

  “Buckle up,” Taylor told her when Khavi scooted to the middle and leaned forward, her elbows on the back of the front seat. Her braided hair was blocking the image in the rearview mirror.

  “No, thank you. I have seen you arrive at Rael’s house. The vehicle is not damaged, so we do not crash.”

  Taylor counted to ten, reminding herself they were planning to kill a congressman, so seat belts were officially low on the list. When she got to ten, she started the car.

  “So were you there?” Joe turned to ask Khavi. “With the plane and the dragon?”

  “Yes.”

  “How’d you do it? The plane, first.”

  “Michael carried the front, I carried the back, and Mariko supported the middle and made sure it would not break apart. Alice tied the boats together and readied them, and Radha took her clothes off and made humans imagine things.”

  “Yeah, I bet,” Taylor said, giving Joe a pointed look. He raised his left hand, wagged his ringless finger. “And the dragon?”

  “Irena tore its chest open and shoved her spear through its heart.”

  Taylor’s brows rose. “Not Michael?”

  “No. But he has the blood now, and that is what matters.”

  “Why?”

  Khavi didn’t answer. God, she hated this shit.

  The grigori rested her chin on her arms. “I have told him that you will never love him.”

  Told who what? Taylor frowned and glanced at Joe. He shrugged.

  “You lost us, lady,” he said.

  “Michael,” Khavi said with the inflection of someone talking to a slow child. “I have told Michael that she”—Taylor felt a poke on her shoulder—“will never love him.”

  “Love Michael?” Could Khavi be serious? “As in, love love? Why would you tell him that? Why would it even cross your mind?”

  It sure as hell had never crossed hers. For god’s sake, she hadn’t even gotten beyond thinking about rolling around on a bed with him—and when she did she pushed the image away as quickly as possible. He was the Doyen. It felt wrong, somehow, to think of rolling around on a bed with him, no matter how freaking gorgeous he was. Sure, he gave her a shiver now and then—but he wasn’t exactly human.

  And he wasn’t in her league, anyway. When it came to romance, Taylor preferred reality.

  Still, her stomach did a crazy little flip when Khavi said, “Because I saw that he will love you. But you will not love him, even though you will know him better than anyone—perhaps it is because you will know him. I do not know why you do not, only that you never return his feelings. So I told him, that he might guard his heart. And a door has shut. He will not love you now.”

  Taylor’s throat tightened. Jesus, how fucking stupid was it that she felt as if she’d lost something that she never wanted or even thought about having? Something that, according to Khavi, she never would want.

  Michael would have loved her?

  But now he wouldn’t.

  “Do not feel sad,” Khavi said, patting her shoulder. “You will no longer take his heart, but he will still take you to his bed. Many times.”

  “Wha—?” The word came up at the same time her breath went down the wrong way. She coughed and tried to convince herself that she hadn’t heard that.

  Joe made a choking noise. “Jesus, lady! That’s just too far!” he exploded. “Where do you get off?”

  Khavi frowned and looked out the window. “Here, I suppose. Continue on, detective. I will watch you.”

  She vanished.

  Taylor couldn’t stop coughing. Fuck vampires—the goddamn cigarettes and crazy Guardians were going to end up killing her. Joe offered her a bottled water. She took it, drank.

  To his bed. Many times.

  She’d bet he had a great big bed, covered in white linen. Not too soft, but the kind that was firm—so that when he got going, she wouldn’t sink into the mattress beneath his heavy weight but feel the full force of every deep . . .

  Jesus. Oh, Jesus. Lifting the bottle again, she gulped more water. She was not going there.

  But the image got into her head.

  It didn’t go away.

  Irena woke up on the sofa in her forge. She sat up. Her heart filled.

  Alejandro watched her from the bath, his eyes dark. She must have been unconscious for some time; his hair and eyebrows had already grown in, the beautiful structure of his face had reformed, and his flesh had healed. His fingers no longer resembled flippers. And though his skin was still shiny and pink, at least he had skin again.

  She walked to him. Ice floated in the bathwater. She realized the shine of his skin came from some kind of gel, not the burn. Or not all from the burn.

  She kneeled beside the tub. “You frightened me.”

  “If we are to compare levels of terror, I warn you now that you will not win. Nothing you have will trump watching you fight that dragon.” He studied her for a long moment. “If you fear that a kiss will hurt me, please choose this time to remember that I enjoy the pain.”

  She’d never needed anything as much as she needed that kiss. With a shuddering laugh, she surged forward. She held her hands back, gripping the edge of the tub, but her mouth found his and explored, reclaimed. Olek, my Olek. He lifted his arms from the water, thrust his fingers into her hair to pull her closer. Icy water dripped down her nape.

  A sigh came from behind her.

  As Irena looked around, she contained her snarl—barely.

  Michael stood in his linen tunic and pants, holding her spear and her kukri knife. The blades flamed with magical fire before he extinguished them. “You will want these.”

  She did want them. Everything in her leapt toward them, but she remained kneeling beside Alejandro. “Will they not be most useful in your hands?”

  He shook his head. “No. They will be more useful in yours— and if you should ever face another dragon, it will not be so difficult to defeat.”

  Yes. His sword could slice through stone like it was water. The dragon’s scales would part beneath these blades, too.

  She rose to her feet. “Will you show me how to make them burn?”

  “I cannot. Unless you wish to drink the dragon blood first.” A smile played around his mouth when she shook her head. “I thought not.”

  He passed them to her. Irena’s fingers wrapped around the weapons; they looked no different than before, but she felt the heat within. She vanished them, and felt their presence in her cache like a gentle burn against her tongue.

  When she returned to Olek’s side, he sat up, as if he intended to stand. She placed her hand on his shoulder and held him there.

  His gaze warred with hers. Finally, he relented and sat back into the water. “What of Anaria? When do we plan to return to Chaos?”

  “Anaria has already left the realm.”

  Irena wondered if she only imagined that resigned tone in Michael�
�s voice. But if so, she wasn’t alone. Olek’s face tightened.

  “What has she done?” he asked.

  “She killed a small dragon. Its blood, its heart—they are hers. I have closed the portal beneath the sea . . . but it does not matter so much now.”

  Irena’s blood ran as cold as the bathwater. “What does that mean?”

  “It means she used the dragon’s blood to weave a spell that weakens the barrier between Chaos and Hell. She will return to Chaos and smash through it, and take her nephilim army into Hell—or Lucifer will see its weakness and break through to Chaos . . . and then to Earth, bringing with him more dragons.”

  Olek’s hand gripped hers. “So either Anaria will take the throne, and the nephilim will gain the power to enslave human will—or Hell will soon find its way to Earth, with Chaos behind it.”

  “Yes.”

  Irena tasted the heat of her blade and spear. “How do we stop it?”

  “Khavi has seen a way. Dragon blood can weaken the barrier—but it can also make the barrier as unbreakable as the will of the person who casts the spell.”

  Relief lightened Olek’s grip. “You have dragon blood now.”

  “Yes.” Michael’s psychic scent darkened. Irena’s hand began to shake in Olek’s. “And I was born of it, when my father drank the blood so that I could be conceived.”

  And so was Khavi. Together, could they stop Anaria? “Is she preparing the spell?”

  “We cannot prepare. It can only be done when it is to be done.”

  Irena’s hands did not stop shaking. His every word had increased her dread.

  Olek said, “Where is Khavi now?”

  “With Detective Taylor.” Michael paused. He bowed his head before looking up at them again. His eyes were obsidian. “You have done well, the both of you. And I—”

  His head snapped back as if he’d been struck. “Irena,” he said without emotion. “I need use of your knife.”

  She called in the kukri knife and threw it to him.

  He caught the blade and vanished.

  Taylor knew it would go bad the second Wren opened the door. Lukacs—a vampire now—stood in the foyer behind her.

  With her hand behind her back, Taylor signaled to Joe. He stepped casually to the side of the door, out of Lukacs’s sight, and drew his gun.

  Taylor hadn’t seen Khavi since the car. Was she watching? Was she seeing this?

  Why wasn’t she down here kicking Lukacs’s ass yet?

  “Good evening, detective,” Wren said, then mouthed, Go.

  “Good evening, Miss Wren. I apologize for the lateness of our visit and for failing to notify you that we were coming, but an issue with the security arrangements for tomorrow’s ceremony has arisen. If you can accompany us to the funeral home, I believe we can quickly sort it out and return you to your duties.”

  Sheer relief filled Wren’s usually expressionless eyes. “Of course, detective.” She stepped out of the house, onto the porch.

  Taylor didn’t see Lukacs move. One second, Joe stood beside the door. The next, Lukacs had ahold of his jacket and was dragging him past the foyer.

  Joe fired up at the vampire, hit his gut. The vampire snatched the gun away, and hauled her partner up. His fangs gleamed.

  Taylor burst through the door, gun in hand. She aimed for the forehead, fired.

  The vampire reeled back, dropping her partner. A bullet in the head sometimes stopped a vampire. Not always. This was one of the ‘not always’ times—but he’d released Joe, and that was what mattered.

  Taylor sprinted for him. Behind her, Wren fired into Lukacs’s chest. Should have told her to go for the head. Lukacs didn’t have the same problem. The vampire lifted his gun, aiming for Joe’s face.

  Not a chance in hell was that going to happen. Taylor threw herself over her partner.

  Sharp bursts of gunfire rang in her ears. Her chest and stomach felt as if she were punched—once, twice. Fire burned in her gut, in her lungs. Bullets. Holy shit. She hadn’t worn her vest. The vampire had shot her. Maybe killed her.

  She’d thought it was going to be fangs.

  Her head swam. She couldn’t breathe. She heard Joe’s hoarse voice, then his shout to help her, please help her.

  Taylor opened her eyes. Oh, look. Michael. Not Khavi. Lukacs must have caught her when they were switching shifts. Bad luck. Just bad luck.

  God, she didn’t want to die.

  She turned her head. The vampire’s head lay on the floor next to her, staring. His body was somewhere else.

  Pain shot through her like another bullet when Joe touched her. His wrinkled face filled her vision. She hadn’t seen him cry before. Not even at her dad’s funeral.

  “Let him save you, kid. Okay? For me.”

  She thought she said okay. Then looking down at her was Michael, who wasn’t going to love her anymore. His hand touched her face. His eyes were so black. She couldn’t even see herself in them.

  His harmonious voice sang in her head, so beautiful. “You have sacrificed your life to save another, Andromeda Marie Taylor, and so I can offer to you a transformation. You will be a Guardian, you will be immortal, and you will serve.”

  “All right—but only if you never use my full name again.” Her reply sounded stronger than she was. Maybe it was only in her mind.

  If so, he must have heard it. “No conditions. A yes, or a no.”

  How could she say no? She’d already promised Joe. “Yes.”

  Taylor thought she felt his relief. She knew she saw a brief smile on his hard mouth. He sat back, his gaze still on her, and vanished his tunic. Thick muscle carved his broad chest.

  And there was Khavi, with one of Irena’s knives, which suddenly caught fire. With the burning point, she sliced symbols into Michael’s bronze skin. Blood welled. His gaze never left Taylor’s. Soon the symbols covered his torso, his arms—and when Khavi moved behind him, Taylor thought his back must now be bleeding, too. Khavi cut a final symbol into the side of his neck.

  Then Michael leaned over her again, lifted her to his throat. “You must drink.”

  Taylor fought her revulsion. Savi had never told her about this part of the transformation. With vampires, yes. Not with Guardians.

  But maybe they kept it secret, like they tried to do with everything else.

  “Please, Andromeda,” Michael said—then, “Taylor.”

  She put her mouth to his neck. Gagging, but she managed to swallow once, twice. Michael pulled away. She thought she saw regret in his expression as he looked down at her. Then he lowered his head, and his mouth opened over hers.

  Oh, she thought. His lips weren’t hard at all, but just firm—and so warm. His tongue stroked into her as if he wanted her to taste him, as if he needed her flavor in return. She gave herself over to the sensation.

  Then a brilliant white light came and burned all sensation away.

  Irena did not hold Olek down again. Five seconds after Michael left, he was out of the tub and dressed. They both paced the forge. Olek used his phone; no one knew what was happening.

  A few minutes later, when Irena was ready to scream with not knowing, Khavi appeared with Irena’s knife.

  Irena could not believe she was glad to see the woman.

  Khavi passed her the blade, and Irena scented the blood on it. Her breath stopped in her throat.

  “Michael?”

  “He is transforming Taylor. Come with me.”

  Taylor? Irena held out her hand, not hesitating, and let the sorrow and relief circle within her. The detective had not wanted to be a Guardian, would not want to lose her life, her home, and Irena was sorry for that. And yet she was fiercely glad the woman would live—was glad Taylor would fight beside them.

  She glanced at Olek, saw the same mixture of emotion before the room spun, dissolved. She held onto his hand as her feet steadied. The heavy scent of flowers filled her lungs. Gunpowder, blood—Michael’s, Taylor’s, a vampire’s. She looked around, recognized the room, the f
urnishings. Rael’s home.

  They’d been teleported into his large living area, near the window overlooking the bay. In the middle of the room, a brilliant light surrounded Michael and Taylor—too bright. Irena had to look away. Wren stood near the fireplace, her face expressionless, her emotions in a wild, terrified storm. Irena did not need to read Preston’s psyche; grief and hope etched his lined face as he stood near the center of the room, staring at Michael and Taylor.

  The brilliant light that surrounded them slowly faded, and Irena saw that their mouths were fused together in a deep kiss. She could not stop her laugh. In sixteen hundred years, she had never seen Michael kiss a woman—or a man, for that matter.

  Olek glanced at her, amusement in his gaze. “He did not transform me in such a manner,” he said, and set her laughing again.

  “Me, either,” she said, when she caught her breath. Wiping her eyes, she looked again . . . and her laughter died completely.

  Symbols decorated Michael’s skin. She turned, searching for Khavi, hoping the grigori would have an explanation. But Khavi had gone.

  A frown settled between Olek’s brows. He turned to Wren. “Where is Rael?” When confusion slipped into her psychic scent, he said, “Stafford.”

  She shook her head. “I only saw the vampire.”

  The light of transformation vanished. Michael rose, holding Taylor cradled in his arms. He looked to Olek. “Take her.”

  Preston stepped forward. “I can—”

  “She is strong—she does not know how strong,” Michael said. “When she regains consciousness, she might hurt you without meaning to.”

  The detective looked torn, but nodded. “All right,” he agreed—yet still followed Michael as he gave her to Olek, and hovered as the transfer was made.

  Irena frowned when Alejandro’s face tightened. She glanced at Taylor. Blood collected at the corners of her lips. Her eyes were wide and staring.

  Irena had never seen a transformation affect a new Guardian in such a way. Unconscious, yes. Not empty.

  “This blood on her mouth is yours, Michael,” Olek said. “What have you done?”

  His back was to them. His bare shoulders were low, as if he bore a heavy weight. “I have given her part of myself and my power, and linked her to me. She will be the new Doyen. She will not lead you, but she will be the one who transforms and brings new Guardians to—”