Demon Blood

gave you me.”
    Deacon stared at her, as if he didn’t recognize the woman before him. “So when I woke up in that plane, you weren’t exposing yourself to me. You weren’t confessing your guts. It was calculated, designed to get me to go along with you.”
    “Yes.” Though it made her more vulnerable to him. Though it meant he could tear her apart.
    Her heart ached. She tried to brace herself. He could tear her apart now, with a few words. He looked angry enough to do it.
    He shook his head, looked away from her. “At least you didn’t know I was awake.”
    That cut deep. He would have believed that she’d gotten into bed with him just to keep him here? Her chest hurt too much to speak, but she managed, “No. I didn’t.”
    “And it’s the only thing that’s keeping me from walking out that door right now.” He strode toward her instead. With two fingers, he lifted her chin until she met his unyielding gaze. “Don’t fuck with me like that, Rosie. Not again. Caym used me, manipulated me, and he got the response he wanted. But I never liked it even when Camille was doing it. So don’t play me again.”
    She nodded. She wouldn’t need to. He was here now.
    “That includes those sad eyes.”
    She frowned up at him, confused. “I don’t know what—”
    “I know you don’t.” Deacon sighed, then leaned over and kissed her hard. “Now, what’s going on for tonight?”

CHAPTER 17
    Deacon couldn’t get a bead on her. Just a few minutes ago, she’d been sitting in her chair, looking like she was facing a firing squad. Now she was all business, outlining that evening’s schedule.
    He couldn’t make perfect sense of that, either. Her plan was simple enough—have Taylor teleport them to Lisbon, he’d slay one of Theriault’s demons, then pay a visit to the vampire community’s leader—but it didn’t fit the same pattern. They weren’t targeting a demon who’d taken over a community, but one who lived in the same city. The demon had put some minor pressure on the community leader to come under his protection, but the community had seen what had happened to Deacon after falling in with a demon, and declined his offer. That had been the end of it. No threats, no immediate danger. So why this one?
    By the time Rosalia finished up, Deacon still didn’t know where she was going with it. “How is this going to establish me as head?”
    She glanced away from her computer, brows lifted. “It’s not.”
    “No? I’m not blind, Rosie. You’ve brought in three large communities under me in as many days. Why is this one different?”
    “You’re not taking over the communities. Unless you want to?” When he shook his head, she smiled, just a slight curve of her gorgeous lips. “Why did I ask? In any case, there’s no reason to displace José Carvalho. He’s a good leader, just as Tomás is.”
    “Then what have I been doing, aside from killing demons?”
    Deacon didn’t believe for a second that she wasn’t working up to something else. They’d been hopping all over Europe, and when they’d been heading for communities in trouble, that had made sense. Lisbon seemed random—and he had a feeling that nothing Rosalia did was random.
    And he sure as hell didn’t think the sudden nervousness he detected in the pale set of her mouth was leading up to anything good. She was worried about this next part, but she didn’t back away from it, or try to deflect.
    Looking him square on, she said, “You’ve been regaining their respect and confidence, so that when we find Malkvial, you’ve got them all behind you.”
    What did respect and confidence have to do with Malkvial? But he didn’t get a chance to ask. From behind him, a ragged breath sounded, followed by splashing water and the sharp scent of chlorine.
    Taylor.
    Rosalia leapt to her feet, calling in her swords. She tried to block him from Taylor’s sight; Deacon didn’t let her push him back. He turned around and got right in front of her again. He didn’t have shirt or weapons, but he’d be damned if Rosalia ever took another hit for him.
    But the Taylor who’d teleported into the War Room wasn’t the empty, possessed woman who’d attacked them the night before. Though her clothes were soaked and her red hair plastered to her skull, her blue eyes were sharp and clear. This woman, Deacon recognized from when he’d first met her—this was the detective.
    A dismayed detective. She looked down at her dripping clothes, the