Demon Blood

to save someone else from a demon. So we haven’t been able to rebuild our numbers.” She opened the bedchamber door. Early afternoon light spilled into the far end of the corridor, but it wouldn’t touch Deacon as they crossed to the War Room. “So there you have another reason for my focus. If the demons find out how small our numbers are—and I can’t imagine that they wouldn’t realize it, eventually—both vampires and Guardians are in danger of being destroyed. So I have to stop them before that happens.”
    He followed her into the War Room, wearing only his jeans. Heavy muscle and hard flesh invited a long, slow look, but it was his face that fascinated her. So strong and uncompromising, so often unreadable, yet the irregular lines revealed so much of his life. His features told the story of a man who hadn’t come through every fight unscathed, but he’d come through —and despite the hardness, he could still soften with a laugh or a kiss.
    She wanted to kiss him now. She wanted to touch him. Not to straighten, and not to lead him to bed, but the kind of casual caresses that she’d seen between lovers and friends. The kind that said, I love that you are here .
    Pulling out her chair, she sat at her desk instead. She could touch him that way while lying in bed. She did not know how to here.
    “Theriault spent the morning telling his pregnant wife she is a fat whore.” Resting his shoulders against the wall, Deacon leaned back, arms crossed over his broad chest. “I’d have considered killing him even if he wasn’t a demon.”
    And if Deacon had, Rosalia would have considered not stopping him.
    “It’s unfortunate his wife cannot do it.” Of course she wouldn’t. Humans had rules, too.
    “Unfortunate that she won’t fight back?”
    The sudden edge in his voice made her look up. Warily, she took in his rigid stance, his dark brows drawn together over a hard stare. “What?”
    “I don’t know what pisses me off more, Rosie. That Vin said all that shit to your face, or that you took it without calling him an ungrateful little—” He clenched his teeth, cutting himself off.
    “You tell me to my face that Lorenzo deserved to die, but won’t call my son a . . . ?” She raised her brows, inviting him to finish it.
    “You didn’t love your brother. Only felt responsible for him. Your son’s a different matter.” While she dealt with her surprise that he saw that so clearly, he narrowed his eyes and said, “Didn’t you turn that neatly?”
    Stalking forward, he grabbed the chair next to hers, flipped it around, and straddled the seat. “You just deflected me away from you sitting out there, your son’s hand holding your bloody heart, and you letting him squeeze it.”
    “Deacon—”
    He lifted his hand, cutting her off. “I didn’t believe it, you know. That first night here, I heard Gemma say you don’t fight back. And I was thinking, Rosie’s put me in my place so many times, snapped back at me—Gemma’s got it all wrong. But she was right. And you sat out there, just taking it.”
    And that had upset him? It must have. Anger rolled off him, dark and hot. “Is that why you called me up here?”
    “To fuck it out of you? Yeah.” His jaw clenched. Grabbing her seat, he hauled her close, until only inches separated their noses. “You did it again. Deflected me away from you and Vin. You don’t want me to push on this? Fine. Tell me to back the fuck off. Or convince me that you deserved it, because the next time Vin throws that shit at you, I’m not going to sit—”
    “He was right.” Her own anger boiled up. He wanted to know? Fine. Another item for the list of things a Guardian didn’t do. “Everything he said was true. A Guardian has no business being a mother. It flips everything around. So back off.”
    “No business . . . You believe that?”
    “I know it.”
    His voice lowered, all gravel and frustration. “Oh, I get it. You beat him. No, you can’t do that—you had a human do it. And you didn’t care for him, didn’t feed him or clothe him, didn’t kiss him good night, and you never made sure he had support when he needed it.” He paused, watching her. With a shake of his head, he spread his arms out wide. “Do you see why that makes no fucking sense? If you were anything like the mother I imagine you were, he should be on his knees thanking you for what was probably the best childhood any kid could want.”
    Rosalia couldn’t remain angry when