Demon Blood

Croix found Madelyn and took his revenge, he would change—but Rosalia feared the damage had been done. Not everyone could be repaired.
    Lorenzo hadn’t been.
    “Rosa?”
    She looked toward the aisle, where Father Wojcinski stood, wearing his short-sleeved clericals. Smiling, she rose to her feet and joined him.
    “When I saw your companion leave, you were looking very much as you did in my kitchen three nights ago.” He studied her face, as if trying to read behind the smile. “Are you still conflicted about using the man in this quest you spoke of, or have you convinced him to help you?”
    Her heart seemed to drop into her stomach. Keeping her dismay from her expression, she murmured, “Piccola bambina,” before vanishing the audio receiver, to let Gemma know she hadn’t been cut off.
    “I have convinced him.” Though she couldn’t forget how he’d withdrawn that morning—or how the worst was yet to come. Deacon must have noticed how she was positioning him at the head of so many communities. Focused on his revenge, he hadn’t yet asked why, but eventually he would. “Partially.”
    The priest sighed. “You cover it well, but I suspect I have just revealed something I shouldn’t have. Will this jeopardize what you’ve done?”
    She shook her head. “He will not leave before we’ve finished.”
    Of that, she was certain. But that didn’t mean Deacon wouldn’t be angry—and wonder if he’d been manipulated. That would not rest easy with him.
    “But now he will think you’ve misled him.”
    “And I will tell him I have not—and that is truth, Father. So do not fret. You have jeopardized nothing.”
    He regarded her closely, and he had known her too long and read her too clearly. Leading her to a pew, he sat. “Nothing, Rosa?”
    “Nothing that was not already in jeopardy.” Like her heart. She knew her smile was brittle. “A demon destroyed everyone he cared about. He’s a good man, and a brave one—but I don’t know if he will risk happiness again, Father, or even if he feels that he deserves it. How can I be with a man who will not let himself love me without hating himself for it? I deserve more.”
    “If he’s as good a man as you say, Rosa, then so does he.”
    They were in agreement about that. Deacon deserved more, even if he didn’t believe it. But what could she do if he would not take what she had to give him?
    She would not quit yet, though.
    “Ah, I see your determination. I know now that all will be well.” Smiling, he squeezed her hand. “And as we are discussing matters of the heart, it would not be amiss to mention that I am meeting with Vincente and Gemma tomorrow to discuss the wedding ceremony. I assume the reception will be held at the abbey?”
    She had just assumed, too, but now she realized that neither Gemma nor Vincente had said a word about it. “I’ll ask them.”
    If Father Wojcinski thought it strange that she didn’t know, she couldn’t read it in his expression. He appeared tired, she realized—probably still losing sleep over an abuse and depravity that was almost worse for having been committed by a human . . . someone a child should have been able to trust. She would take care of that, soon.
    And perhaps it would be tomorrow’s item on the list of things a Guardian shouldn’t do.

CHAPTER 16
    Rosalia took the long way back to the abbey, winding through the streets, shifting into several different forms. She walked through her front door as a young boy, spooning the last of a pistachio gelato into her mouth.
    She could hear Deacon in the War Room. He’d likely been there all day, listening to surveillance from Theriault and St. Croix—the inactivity must be wearing on him. As amazing as his walking around during the day was, it wouldn’t take long before he felt trapped by the sun, limited to moving between two rooms.
    In any case, surveillance was her responsibility, not his. She’d have to find something else for him, something he’d enjoy and that would keep both his hands and his mind occupied.
    Gemma’s soft snores were audible through her bedroom door. Relief lightened Rosalia’s heart. The young woman hadn’t slept after the nephil’s attack last night. Perhaps a nap would erase the tiredness from her eyes. Vincente’s, too. Although, judging by the sound of pacing coming from Gemma’s room, Vincente wasn’t sleeping with her.
    Rosalia sighed, stopping by the kitchen to toss the gelato cup. Never had she imagined